Happy Father's Day

So father’s day, like mother’s day, is an awesome holiday. Celebrating your parents! The people who bore you, loved you and nurtured you. They rock! Or so I’ve been told. I’ve never had the joy of celebrating father’s day and sometimes mother’s day…I hate father’s day. Of course, I’m a mom, so I appreciate the day to be celebrated as a mom, but my mother…well issues. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. But, we have many, many issues. And, some years have been good and some not so good.

But, father’s day. It has ALWAYS sucked for me. It’s the day I’m reminded that I don’t have one. My father took off before I was born…didn’t even stick around to find out if I was a girl or a boy…We’ve never met. He knows nothing about me. He doesn’t even know my name. But I know his.

I’ve often thought about looking him up and with the internet, I know EXACTLY who he is and where he lives. But, I’ve never taken that step to contact him. Why? Because quite honestly I don’t think I could handle the rejection AGAIN. Clearly, he wants nothing to do with me…or he would have found me. I still go by the use the name Somerville. (initially hyphenated with my married name, and now it’s officially my middle name). I’m proud to be a Somerville and always will. And, I’ve never strayed from the Westpark area of Cleveland. Sure, I moved to River and then Avon Lake, but I’ve never left the area. His loss and worse, he lost out on the GREATEST thing I ever accomplished, his granddaughter, Meghanne.

But despite the fact that my father is a total asshole—no I’m not bitter. I’ve been lucky to have several wonderful “fathers” in my life. First my grandfather, (read my blog “I Named Him Marley Anyways” about my grandfather—more to come about him), my uncle Ray—who is AWESOME, my “brother” Marty, whose boys have grown into to amazing men, despite the fact that he left them way too early, my ex-husband Gordon, who is an great father to Meg, and of course, my husband, Marc, who adores his boys more than anything. One of the things I fell in love with Marc was what a great father he was. I love this quality in men, since my father was a total turd.

So happy Father’s Day to all those who have chosen to be a “FATHER” and a big F-U to the too many deadbeat dads that are out there.

Summer Vacation

It amazes me when I meet fellow Clevelanders who have NEVER been to Cedar Point. In fact, when I was dating my husband (also a native Clevelander) , we took our three children (at the time ages 10, 8 and 6 ) to Put-In-Bay for the day, and upon leaving, I suggested that we should stop at Cedar Point on the way home (it’s cheap after 5 p.m.). The end to the perfect day on Lake Erie. I was shocked to learn that he (nor his children) had NEVER been there! Upon hearing this news, of course, we made a stop at America’s Roller Coast and had a fabulous time.

Growing up I came from a family with a ton of kids (13+ plus including me) so “family vacations” to the places I took my kid, as a single mom, (Outer Banks, Virginia Beach, Disney World, Miami, Bahamas, Punta Cana,) were never in our future. Instead the annual trip to the Local 120 Pipefitters Picnic at Cedar Point was our summer vacation. And, despite the “local” venue, we were just as excited! We marked this day on our calendar, counted down the days until it got there and of course, like Christmas, didn’t sleep the night before.

The drive to Cedar Point was also one of the most thrilling parts of our “vacation.” Hard to believe but when I was young I-90 didn’t exist! So, it was like a 2-hour trip to get to Cedar Point and you had to take Route 6 (Lake Road) the whole way there.

Lake Road. The endless steam of beautiful homes on the LAKE (and not the kind you see now—which have been raised to build modern colossal mansions that “celebrity” athletes live in or people with a butt-load of cash; Big Z and Mo Williams of the CAVS are my neighbors now along with Indians Player, Travis Hafner). They were the “classic” homes, the kind you dreamed of living in and could envision your family actually calling “home”. They were within your reach. Something to aspire to if you decided to be a doctor, lawyer or mogul of industry. (some of these homes still exist, but sadly they are becoming a thing of the past)

So, in addition to “punch buggy”, the “license plate game” and singing “99 bottles of beer on the wall” (a classic children’s sing-a-long) picking out our house on Lake Road was a game we all played.

So imagine my excitement when I got my first Lake Road address. The first home I owned was in the “low rent district” on Lake Road in Rocky River (I like to call it my Baltic Ave/Lake Road House). I was so proud of that home and delighted in the fact that I while it wasn’t on THE LAKE, I had a Lake Road address and I could actually afford it. I arrived. Stupid really, petty and materialistic but nonetheless it meant a great deal to me at the time. (I was only 26).

All those years of living in River, and walking my dog every night along the shores of Lake Erie, I realized I was a water person and was bound and determined to someday get my “real” Lake House.

So my second home, that I bought three years ago, while not a Lake Road address, the address wasn’t important as it was for my first home, is actually on the Lake and I have a Lake view from 90% rooms of my house. No longer proud; I cherish every moment I live here. After 3 years, I still wake up every day and pinch myself that this is my home. Each day, I thank God that I’m fortunate enough to live here and say a pray for all those who helped me achieve my dream.

Of course one of those people is Marty. Fondly, one of the Best Memories I have of Marty is our annual summer vacation to Cedar Point the year I found out I was pregnant with Meg. It was days after I had the conversation with Marty about “adopting” my baby (see blog “raised by another”). At this point I hadn’t told anyone in our family or circle of friends that we would see about my “situation”. I almost didn’t go because of course, roller coasters were out of the question and how was I going to explain that I didn’t want to ride when EVERYONE knew I was the first in line?

So when I arrived Marty announced to our usual “group” of riders that him and I would catch up with them later, as both of us were out the night before and we were really hung-over and would need some time recover before we hit the big rides (everyone looked at us...what were they thinking the night before the Pipefitters Picnic!). A brilliant cover considering that several people witnessed the toll morning sickness was taking on me.

Marty hung -out and stayed behind with me the whole day. 12+ hours of just me & him—despite the fact that his wife and young children were there. We talked, and talked and talked, ate our way through the park (yum...chocolate covered bananas!), dodged the right people, and rode the appropriate rides. At the end of the day we finally caught-up with everyone for the last ride of the night: the “Iron Dragon”— thankfully a pregnant woman safe ride. As I lowered the shoulder harness, I looked over at Marty and said “if you promise me you will help me achieve all my dreams, I think I can do this, I’m going to keep my baby.” Of course, he said yes. And strapped in, we took off on the ride.