May Madness..

I’ve been an emotional mess lately…

The other day I took my son to the tuxedo place to get him fitted in his tuxedo for prom, and we were there longer than expected. Of course, that is to be expected when you come the day before the actual prom, when EVERYONE is there to pick up their tuxedo. Anyway, for our “entertainment” they were showing professional wedding videos on a big screen in the waiting area. Being the romantic that I am, I found myself fully immersed in the video…perhaps a little too much.

I was truly impressed by the professionalism of the videos they were showing. They were all so beautiful—it made the Kardashian wedding look like pure garbage. It wasn’t hard to be fully immersed—the video captured every emotion of the wedding party. The tears of the father as he gave away the bride; and the capturing of the tears of the groom as he sees his bride for the first time walk down the aisle. Oh my God. I started to tear up myself.

I immediately thought of the weddings of my children. None of my children are engaged or close to being getting married, but as I watched these videos, I couldn’t help thinking of their weddings and all the emotions that were bound to be involved, including what everyone would be wearing, the venue, the church, was my daughter’s father make it to the wedding, etc. Luckily, my son finally got out of the dressing room looking quite dashing in his purple tie, and immediately all those emotions were slamming back at me again. Oh my God, I realized, this is my son’s last high school prom.

Don’t even get me started with the graduations.

My step-son graduated last week, my daughter is graduating from a private Art college this week, and my middle son is graduating from high school next week. I was shopping for graduation cards the other morning, and as I was browsing from each card, reading the sentiments inside, I felt myself getting emotional again, tearing up after deciding on each card. Oh dear Lord, this is getting ridiculous.

Why or why do our children have to grow up so fast? Why can’t they stay little, and not outgrow my lap? I know it’s just something every parent has to face, and some parents embrace the day when their children finally leave the nest, but I don’t think I’m going to take it very well.

Fantasy Island, Revisited

Remember that T.V. sitcom from the 1980's called, Fantasy Island?

The visitors of the island flew in small private planes to an island to fulfill their fantasies. They wrote letters to Mr. Rourke asking for their fantasies to be fulfilled, and the people who were involved in the fantasy were either flown in from another location, or they would suddenly appear on the island as if magic. If I remember correctly, most of these fantasies involved unrequited love or passionate revenge. No matter what it entailed, Mr. Rourke would make it all happen. No fantasy was too hard or impossible for Mr. Rourke.

I don't know what kind of super human powers Mr. Rourke had specifically, but he had some. The show never really revealed how Mr. Rourke was able to do all that magical voodoo, hocus pocus, we only saw the gleam in his eye, and could only assume that he had a beaucoup amount of endless cash; I mean, he owned the island! No matter how he did it, he made it happen. Whether it be a time warp entry on the other side of the island, or even if it mean't bringing back someone from the dead. Perhaps he wore those white suits because he was an angel. Who knows. We will never know, will we?

Watching the show, you never really could predict what was up Mr. Rourke's sleeve. Even his little companion, Tattoo, Mr. Rourke's right arm man, always seemed to be in the dark most of the time. "But, boss, what are saying, boss?" Mr. Rourke was the man dressed in white, looking sharp, standing tall, raising his very tropical looking drink to his guests exclaiming with a smoldering Spaniard accent, "Welcome to Fantasy Island!" Then the music would come on in the background. A sinister sounding music joined with a raised eyebrow would clue the audience, that the fantasy would not be exactly what his guest was waiting for.


For a moment, let's pretend Fantasy Island really existed. Would you want to go there? Do you have a fantasy you want to fulfill? Perhaps you need to reconnect with a lost connection? If you personally got an invitation from Mr. Rourke himself, would you accept? I'm always surprised by people who are invited to the Jerry Springer show, who actually show up. But, if Mr. Rourke was a real non-fictional character, I think I would still think twice about accepting his invitation.

As I was driving on my commute this morning, I wondered about this. How I got to thinking about Fantasy Island is beyond me. I just remember singing the theme of the Love Boat, and realized that Fantasy Island did not have a theme song.

Fortunately, I don't have any real regrets in life, but if I could go back in time, I would turn the clock back to the year 1987 and go to that interview for that technical writer job that I never showed up for. I've been kicking myself for years over this. True, I got the call unexpectedly, and I could understand hardly a word the person who called me had said; only that it was for a technical writer position for a Asian based company I had never heard of, and that I was referred to by my English writing instructor, Mrs. Farias, at the business college I had just graduated from. He gave me the address for the interview, but all I could make out from the conversation was that it was in a location somewhere in San Jose.


So this is my "fantasy": Meet with the Asian based company on the island for that interview. Exciting, huh? Instead of a business suit, I'd be interviewed by a guy wearing a straw hat and Hawaiian shirt with puca beads. I know it doesn't sound romantic, but throw in some Mai Tai's and some palm trees and give me a lei and I'd be happy.


On the way to the interview however, I would come across an older bunch near the seashore. The older man would be reading a newspaper on a large easy chair next to another man, sitting against a rock who is writing studiously on a pad a paper. In the water in front of them are two older women, chatting away, while soaking their feet in the water. Those would be my long lost grandparents-most of whom I have never met. Upon seeing my approach, my grandmother would quickly come to my side and offer me a piece of her lemon meringue pie. My other grandmother would take a brush and comb my hair in a thick braid. The older man reading the paper, looks up and gives me a smile, his blue eyes sparkling. The other grandfather quickly gets up and recites a poem he just wrote to me. He smiles, gets up and playfully tugs my ear.

What's your fantasy?