Kevin James Malone is not my nephew. He is the child of my oldest friend, Sarah McCormick Malone, whom I have known since we were three. There is a picture of the two of us on her parents’ couch in our rain gear on our first day of kindergarten. [We were adorable.] We were already fast friends then and have been ever since.
From the time he was born, I was around about as much as any of his maternal uncles as the Malones lived in New Mexico and Michael, Bill and John, her three brothers, lived in the Midwest and on the East Coast, where her parents had settled.
On one wonderful Mother’s Day weekend, Sarah and Kevin came to visit “Uncle Mat” when I lived in Santa Monica. We flew kites on the beach and road around in my convertible, watched movies late into the night, Kevin outlasting both his mother and me. Kevin was maybe three years old.
When the eldest McCormick daughter, Mary Clare, celebrated her 25th anniversary to her husband Jim Eros [I had brunch with them last weekend], her parents threw a dinner at their country club on Long Island.
It seems to me that I was still living in California but was in New York at that moment and John and Eileen, Sarah’s parents, told everyone there would be a surprise guest. [Me.]
Kevin was then about eight or nine then. At some point in the evening Kevin went to his grandmother and asked her why Uncle Mat had a different last name than her other brothers, leaving Eileen to awkwardly attempt to explain.
Forever captured in the photo album of my brain is Kevin Malone walking up to me at that dinner, dressed in a suit and tie, putting his hands on his hips and looking up at me and demanding to know: what do you mean you’re not one of my mother’s brothers?
It was a hiccup in our relationship we survived.
Years later, when he and his father and I were visiting him at work, we met his boss. Kevin introduced his father and then me and said, this is my Uncle Mat.
When he was married to Michelle, I gave a toast at the Rehearsal Dinner. We shopped for a shirt for him that day, together.
Kevin is not my nephew by blood but he is my nephew by choice. His and mine. I refer to him as my nephew when I talk about him to other people. There is no other way to describe my relationship with him or his to me.
When he emailed me yesterday, along with others in his family, to announce he had passed the Bar in the District of Columbia, I felt so proud and glad. Today I learned he has also passed the Bar in Massachusetts and I felt another swell of pride.
You see, I have no words to describe how wonderful a young man Kevin is. He is one of the most unique individuals I have ever encountered. Caring, thoughtful, whip smart without being arrogant about it, determined to be the best Kevin James Malone he can be.
I don’t remember how I met Sarah McCormick Malone but I did and our childhood friendship has endured and I am blessed to have been included in her family as a member of choice and they in mine, as family of choice.
Because of logistics we will not be able to do it this year but we have spent many a Christmas together over this last decade.
In the Strum und Drang of these last days before the election, I am comforted by the presence in this world of a man like my nephew Kevin, now a member of the Bar, a lawyer for real, who will do extraordinary things in his life.
Kevin, I am so proud of you. Congratulations.
Kevin and his mother the weekend of his wedding to Michelle Melton…
Letter From Claverack 06 19 2017 An Attitude of Gratitude
June 19, 2017It is the evening of June 19th; Father’s Day is beginning to fade as is Pride Weekend in Hudson.
An on again, off again rain falls and an hour or two ago the sky was nighttime dark. Cosseted in the cottage, a martini by my side, I watch the raindrops splatter on the Claverack Creek.
It’s interesting. I was very sensitive over the weekend, a little raw. When I woke Saturday, I was in an unexpectedly foul mood and at the end of the day I took myself home and had a talk with myself.
I felt raw because it was Pride weekend and I woke acutely aware that I am not part of a unit and that I haven’t been very good at dating. The last one felt like I had entered a reality version of Sartre’s “No Exit.”
I am alone and normally it doesn’t bother me and over the weekend it did. Hudson is a town of couples and I am not coupled, which puts me at a bit of a disadvantage. You’re the odd one at the dinner party.
And, then, Sunday, it was Father’s Day. Always a hard day for me. I did not have a great relationship with my father. He was good to me the first few years and then, he wasn’t. The last seven years of his life he had almost nothing to say to me. The night before he died, I was being a squirrely twelve-year-old and he angrily sent me to my room.
It was the last exchange I had with him. The next morning, he had a stroke and died. So, I have spent my life trying to read the runes of the little time I had with him.
Okay, so it’s problematic. Parental relationships are problematic. Maybe mine a little more than others and mine probably a lot less than others, too.
It’s just it pops up on Father’s Day.
And I know so many good fathers; I sent text messages to them today. My godson, Paul, among them. He has two children, a girl, Sophia, and a boy, Noah. I don’t know them well and know enough to know they are interesting children and that’s because they have wonderfully invested parents.
And then there is Tom Fudali, who is Paul’s father, who made me Paul’s godfather and I am eternally grateful for that because Paul is not my son and he is my godson and our relationship is something I had hoped for and didn’t think would happen and has.
And there is my friend, Robert Murray, father of five, who exchanged texts with me while watching his son, Colin, play soccer in New Windsor. Robert reminds me of my oldest friend, Sarah’s, father, John McCormick, who had six children and made their home the place to be. On bitter Minnesota winter nights, the neighborhood would gather and skate on the rink in John’s backyard. They are some of my most magical childhood memories.
And then there is Kevin Malone, Sarah’s son, who has always thought of me as his uncle even though I am not actually his uncle but we have an avuncular relationship that is so effing wonderful! He is not a father and he is wonderful and is a jewel in my life.
So, I was being self-indulgently depressed, and I need to focus in on all the wonderful things which go on in my life and all the wonderful people who are in it.
In the craziness that has been in my mind this weekend, I am so glad I wrote this as it reminds me of all the things for which I need to remind myself that I need to have an “attitude of gratitude.”
In Memoriam:
I read today that Stephen Furst had died. He gained fame in “Animal House” as Flounder, went on to “St. Elsewhere” and “Babylon Five” and directed movies and television shows. For a time, in the 1990’s, we were friendly. He was a gracious, gentle soul, doing his very best in life. RIP. I remember you fondly.
Otto Warmbier, the young student returned from North Korea in a coma, has passed away. It is heartbreaking. At least he was at home, with family.
Tags:Attitude of Gratitude, Claverack Creek, Colin Murray, Father's Day, General, John McCormick, Kevin Malone, No Exit, Otto Warmbier, Paul Geffre, Robert Murray, Sarah Malone, Sartre, Stephen Furst, Tom Fudali
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