*

We look for the meaning now

Lamenting the Styrofoam embrace of our coffee

And the young male teen walkin’ by talkin’

Tough like he knows strength

Someone saying I’d like to teach

The little shit a lesson

                       They mean that in a good way

*

In a hot vein moment we snarly jointly

At the Bosnia slaughter and I ask

What did we mean when we said never again

And minutes later coming home from

The day you point out a majestic tree and slow

The truck in awe never mind the tire screech behind us

                        I mean that in a good way

*

On the job we crank to high standards

Your shuffling pace spots the missed nick

The unfinished sweep the ugly table we moved

To paint a room muttering lit fuse quick

Before telling me my sanded walls look good

                        You mean that in a good way

*

Then our phone talk connection across

The landscape of our ripped childhoods

With minds and hearts bleeding

To the bump and grind of abuse

And our little boys met

And I’m damn glad they did

                        I mean that in a good way

*

*

In soul muscle moments our hearts unfold

Daring dreams long thought lost

And days we’d thought long gone by

With wounds paid at such a cost

*

In heart smiling moments eyes glow hope

And hands glance into full hold

And here comes another sunrise

That welcomes this dream so bold

*

Walk with me near and walk with me far

The rhythmic wonders of your jazz like eyes

Sends me smiling in joyous dancing

Thinkin’ maybe just maybe we’ve won the prize

*

Timothy J. Feeney’s role as director of a neuro behavioral project for the New York State Department of Health does not end until December 31, 2009, not September 30, 2009 as reported earlier in this blog. While it is troubling to learn that a man who continues to misrepresent his credentials to others will continue to influence the lives of many brain injury survivors and companies providing services to them, it is somewhat comforting to know his time will run out at year’s end.

Mr. Feeney, as regular readers know, continues to say he has both a masters degree and a doctorate when, in fact, he has neither. The “degrees” he does have were issued by Greenwich University, a diploma mill that closed its doors in 2003.

This little boy watching is my heart’s strongest beat. Always there, dark-eyed warm-pensive, he joins me watching the shifting movements of change and time. On this cool first October night we sit together, the long road we’ve travelled stretching out behind us as we face a new bend in the road; the day our father never met. His tears and mine mark this moment as true. Our hands clasped tight, and the clock ticks on.

This little boy smiling knows me well as I know him. Into the sunlight now he comes, chin rising, eyes strong, words crisp clear with autumn clarity, the glow of life in his cheeks, a ray of hope like a brand new friend in his heart. I watch him smiling, knowing his freedom grows with each passing day, that his father loved him a universe, and I do too. We three are now one.

Seeing a childhood friend after 35 years, a friend who is family in your heart is about as uplifting and joyous as it gets. To discover that your friend is married to someone who is as loving and kind and beautiful human being as one could hope to join lives with is, well, wonderful beyond words. And so it was for me last evening when I saw Tischa for the first time in too many years and met her husband, David.

They took me out to the Blackbird Cafe in Canton. New York for dinner.  While there is no way you can catch up on all things after 35 years in a single conversation, I can say that our table glowed with love and friendship.

One of the unspoken truths that join me and Tischa this, we have known each other since we were something like nine years old we knew each others parents. I knew her Mom and Dad and she knew my Mom and Dad and her Mom and Dad liked me and my Mom and Dad liked her.

And so it was deeply special when I told her how, when I was visiting my father’s grave some 25 years after his death in 1969 it dawned on me that his body had begun to break down and was now feeding the soil, which, I also realized, meant that my father was in a real way feeding the Oak Tree that grew next to his grave, which is why, on nearly every visit to his grave, I gather up the twigs the tree sheds and take them with me so by having these twigs I have a part of my father with me.

Over the years I have given a twig to people who are deeply special to me or people I believe to be deeply special to the world we live in. Always I say, as I hand them the twig, My father would have liked you.

Last night, over dinner, I gave Tischa a twig, and when I gave it to her, I was able to say something to her that I have never been able to say before, My father loved you very much. And he did. And had he met David, he would have loved him too. I know I do. I love both David and Tischa. Anyone would, unless, of course, the weren’t paying attention.