To proclaim from the start that the

I spend a goodly amount of space on this blog telling stories about growing up in the house on 92nd Street, I firmly believe that we had probably the best family to come up in.  We did fight an awful amount, especially Kiki and me, but at the end of the day, I would lay down my life for her, and I know that she would take care of mine as if it was her own.  Johnny, Kiki, and me were good together, we had fun together, from hanging out playing in the street, to riding motorcycles in the sand at Gerritsen Beach on Sundays, went on school vacations with Mor, other times with both Mor and Far, always knowing that we had to behave, manners were tantamount, holding the knife and fork was a must, being polite, doing as you were told, no fighting or arguing, and always please and thank you.

When we were home, we still had manners, but Mom was less strict, properly holding the fork and knife was a given, but we could talk, laugh, and carry on at the dinner table.  My Mom's only rule was no singing at the table, no singing, no singing.  That was the worst.  The absolute worst.  You see the radio or music was always on, and we all did a lot of singing, not very good I might add.  It was shear torture to have the music on and not be able to sing, pure torture.  When we got Jennifer, we got hit with "disco", she danced and sang "boogie, oogie, oogie" just as loud and off key as the rest of us.  When "Saturday Night Fever" was released we already knew about the BeeGees.  My Dad already had us listening to all kinds of music, we sang Barry's falsetto, sang their harmonies.  He introduced us to everything he liked, I think I was the only ten year old that knew who Petula Clark was and would woowoo him when he played her, sure we knew Frank like other kids, but no one else knew about Gilbert.  I guess it kind of explains my eclectic taste in music.

We were the only ones to have a dome, surf board, or a dog in the pool

My Dad took us all on our separate adventures, taught us many things, and probably the most important was that he loved us.  He showed us how important it was to hug it out, he is the demonstrative one, my Mom not so much. He is my dad, and nobody had a better one.

 I guess I pretty much still feel the same way.

moral of the story is to begin.....