The Peakin

So yeah. I wanted to be like my dad ever since I was a little kid. I would shave like him, sleep on the couch like him. Open beer cans like him. Watch the Yankee game like him. Blame the dog for farting, like him. Sometimes Gwenny, just because that was funny.

I went to work like him. I ate bacon and egg sandwiches like him. I drank orange juice like him. I used pepper like him. I used so much pepper like him it turned into what I do. Use a shitload of pepper.

I played sports like him. I ran fast like him. I impressed the coaches like him. I made the varsity team like him. I had waivy hair like him.

I liked Corvettes like him.

I got a paper route like him. I earned my own way like him, even though he helped me out.

I made something of myself early in life like him, but I did it earlier. He had me later. My father has Alzheimer's like his. I have to take care of him like him. I am faced with this question. Do I take care of dad or do I pursue my career? He chose pursue his career. What will I do? Have I already decided by being the son of him? What would he choose? What would he want me to choose? What should I do?

There are no correct answers. This is the realm of judgment. School cannot teach you how to answer these questions. Only experience and values can. And you are the judge of your own value system. Even if you believe in God. Because if you believe in God, then you believe that God is in all of us. God is one. So therefore, your choice is a God-driven choice. Provided you believe in God. And if you don't believe in God, then your choice is a self-fulfilling choice driven by a value system that drives you to choose for one reason or another. And you choose. Based on that system. In my opinion, that system is God's system whether you like to choose to believe in it or not. But that's for another time.

So. I'm in this million dollar career. I feel sorry for myself for being rich. And maybe for being Rich, considering I tried changing my name de facto.

Money does not have to buy happiness. Money can buy security. And security can lead to living risk-aversely. To make the best of your moments. This is not to say you can't achieve this objective in another manner. My point is that I may not be able to. At least not now. I've grown up 29 years with this mantra, it's a very tough thing to change entirely however I want to believe in it. But. I can steer the craft in the direction I want to head utilizing the whats and hows I have now. And the whats and hows I have now are money-makers. I'm compelled to take more risk. A natural course with lower operational risk (given experience) is to start my own hedge fund. It could get me to the end-game wealth-wise 5-10 years quicker. And if it doesn't. So what. I don't need it anyway, I just need the resolution of it all. If it doesn't work, I'll live sufficiently and enjoy the people I'm surrounded by.

But. I'll be successful. Because you know what? I always am. I got that from my dad. If it's not directly from the experience of starting a business, then it will be the experience of starting something that I should be ready for. If it doesn't work out, it's because the boredom of it all has reached a breaking point for me, which will be the signal to move on to Living and Loving Alzheimer's. Either way, the success or failure of starting a hedge fund will bear fruit to Living and Loving Alzheimer's. This is the story of what happens after my dad has Alzheimer's.

I'll have a kid. Kids. I'll start this fund. It will work or it won't. I'll start Living and Loving Alzheimer's. Depending on whether the hedge fund works, I'll need external investors or I'll finance it myself. So the motivation to be successful on the hedge fund thing is that the more successful I am financially the more equity I can keep in the L&L business, maximizing the equity of the wealth creation event of my lifetime.

Posted by F.Newara at 02:15 PM | Permalink

Let there be honest moments...
let there be private moments
Let those you love love you, (for)
each and every you now they know.

Posted by F.Newara at 09:20 PM | Permalink

Hindsight's a funny thing. When I reflect on my childhood, it's hard to know what was reality at the time, but when putting the mosaic together certain things stand out in my mind. My dad was always busy. There was little time for us to share together. I am used to considering "time to share together" as events like ski trips, Giants games, rides in the Corvette, and working for him Saturdays and summers. But as I've grown up in some degrees outside of my family unit as well as experiencing honest love and companionship and what that means, I realize far more was "missing" for me than the father-son events. Even though we called each other "Buddy", we rarely spoke to each other. But at the time, I didn't know I wanted more. I didn't know what "more" was. Now that I know "more" I want more "more". The silver lining is the Alzheimer's experience I've shared with my Dad could have a meaningful, lasting impact on how I am "father" to my children. But the importance of being there now, of highlighting what it is that is so valuable to me rests on me identifying the pattern I was following and am trying to break all the while I'm living the exact same pattern as I've come to want to avoid. But am I trying to avoid the being or the action of who I am? Is it a way of life or the means to living a way of life? Perhaps it's a bit of both.

The earliest memories of my childhood relationship with my dad center around me trying to be just like him. I'm immediately drawn to a picture from the early 80s where I'm laying in the arms of my dad on the red 70s pattern couch in the family room. He's fast asleep and probably in his underwear, which was pretty common oddly enough. There are pictures of me holding a beer can, like dad. There are pictures of me "reading the newspaper", like dad.

Dad was a star athlete. Mom wouldn't let me play football, so I played soccer. And I knew of my dad's success as a running back and his speed as a sprinter. So I made running fast "my thing". I lived across the street from my elementary school and I would sprint to and from school. People always thought it was strange, but I did it. I'd pride myself in the neighborhood games like Manhunt, Running Bases, SPUD, and the like on my quickness and agility. Everyone coveted my speed and agility.

My dad had a paper route when he was a boy, so I wanted to be a paperboy. I wanted to earn an income as soon as I could. I had to wait until I was 12 in order to get a license to work. I had to get a special license that allowed me to work at 12. So I did. And I delivered newspapers for 6 years until I graduated from high school. As much as I was trying to impress my dad, he never really participated in it, letting my mom handle it with me.

I was always looking for an income, so I would work for my dad on saturdays that I didn't have soccer practice, which was most of the year. I'd go to Strober King and watch my dad be "JY" and be the boss. He had high standards and would make sure that every task I took on was done to his demanding satisfaction. Price tags on the items on the floor had to be straight and just in the right spot. All the items had to be dust-free and in good condition. My responsibilities were to keep the store clean and the items looking ready to sell. And I executed perfectly, getting a Jackson or two in return. In later years - high school and college - I would work the entire summer for him, which was really fun and probably the closest we ever were before the Alzheimer's years.

I dreamed of being successful like my dad. We had the nicest home in our neighborhood. It never occurred to me that there were likely nicer neighborhoods in the country. And we had a Corvette. Yeah baby.

So with being financially successful in mind, I decided I'd make a million bucks by my late 20s or 30. And I'd retire by 35 and become a teacher or something else that I wanted to do. Litle did I realize I was setting myself up for a period of confusion and frustration in trying to reach such an ambitious and vague goal.

In order to reach this goal, I'd have to get myself into a top notch college. But I hated all the dorks in my honors classes, so I didn't really envision myself at an Ivy League school. In middle school, Duke won the NCAA championship and they were blue so I thought that was cool. And then I heard they were a good academic school too so that pretty much settled it for me. Duke was where I'd go to get what I needed to chase my dream.

[As far as the storytelling goes, I envision weaving a bunch of my story with his story. Either at the same time period - ie his high school and my high school together - or some other way]

Posted by F.Newara at 05:02 PM | Permalink

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.
From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!"” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

-"The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus

What did Pop-Pop feel as his ship cruised across the Atlantic Ocean? What trials, tribulations, hopes and dreams set him in pursuit of the "American Dream" in 1922? What ups and downs did he experience along the way? The weeks of sea travel and countless risks, starvation and disease. The poverty, fear and hope that accompanied him on his way? The excitement of drawing near Ms Liberty's victorious posture? The memories of war-ravaged countryside and family killed in gunfire.

Why did Pop-Pop move to America? What was his dream? Sadly, I do not know. Certainly not firsthand. My only memories of Pop-Pop were of his final years struck by Alzheimer's. When I was upset that he pissed on my GI Joe figures and scared of the crazy man who thought the door to Greece was behind the piano in our living room.

Pop-Pop worked in the restaurant industry. I'm sure that's not very surprising considering his Greek heritage and the Greek immigrants' hold on the regional restaurant business. He collected the discarded grease and fat from the kitchens and sold it to companies needing it as ingredients for whatever they were making.

My Dad was born in 1936. Clearly times were hard, particularly for a 1st and 2nd generation immigrant family. My father's family lived in poverty, like most of the New American population of the time. There were 12 (?) of them living in the 900 square foot 2 bedroom apartment in Union City, NJ.

What was it like for my father to grow up in poverty? I don't know. He never told me. I've heard stories from my uncle and great-aunt (who is only 3 years his elder) that he was ashamed of their poverty. That he was determined to become something. To make a name for himself. To carry the American Dream baton that Pop-Pop carried from Greece to NJ. Maybe he thought about setting the plate for his own offspring so that they could get advanced education and break the ranks of American capitalism.

But to tackle the breaking of ranks for his children, as that's the here and now, first we must frame history from a factual perspective. Provide the highlights and events of his life, so that we can contrast the Alzheimer's reality at present.

My Dad could run. He could run like the dickens. He was the star running back in high school. His grades were mediocre and certainly his reputation fell squarely on his ability to run all over the opposing squad's team. Johnny the Bullet they called in the local newspapers. Johnny embarrassed every NJ football team that came his way. He had ambitions of playing for Dartmouth in the Ivy League, but his grades weren't up to snuff for Ivy League admissions. His family could not afford to put him through college, so he worked in the construction business for a couple years after high school. And he did all types of things, poured concrete, put up sheetrock, laid roofing. Until he got a call from a former coach, telling him there was a spot for him on the Susquehanna University football team. My Dad jumped at the opportunity and over the next four years would evolve into John Yanuklis: The Living Legend.

Dad set numerous Susquehanna rushing records, including rushing for [7] TDs in a single game in the [70-0] blowout against [school]. John was big man on campus. He was the social chair of Lamda Chi fraternity and all star running back. His success on the field was second only to his social reputation, especially after having gotten a Dean drunk at one of the Lamda Chi parties.

Dad met Mom at Susquehanna. Mom was the polar opposite of Dad. She was not a party animal and was turned off by the obnoxious John Yanuklis. Ann's friends convinced her to go out with him. She did. Opposites attract, I guess. They got married in 1961. [Build out college stories.... would be great to give a late 50s/early 60s feel to it as his hey day preceeded the 60s cultural revolution]

1961-1969:
I don't know much about this era. Dad worked in various construction industry jobs. Not sure if he was at USG yet.

My sister was born in July 1969. After they hit up the moon. The changing of ages before your eyes.

My mom and sister bailed dad out of jail for some kind of drinking incident. Not sure whether or not it was driving while inebriated or some other junkette.

Monroe. California. Monroe.

High Ridge Road. California. Pine Tree Rd.

Rich is born.

Halleluja.

Except that he fucks himself up. Or so that's what he thought.

The thought he had before he thought what he thought next:

It's my "Titanic Mistake". But wazzat??

The longer I let Titanic Mistake mature, the more it becomes

Open Space

Wow, an Alzheimer's Moment.
Please spare me
As I get on board.

June 1, 1978: My birth

1980ish: Joins Strober Brothers as a partner.

81-82: Takes stock public. Incidentally, when I talked about investment banking he never mentioned anything about this. I tend to assume this is because he didn't realize the connection.

1983: Rich goes to Congers with Dad. Eats first bacon and egg sandwich, which he can still taste.
1984: Father dies, had a battle with Alzheimer's
1985: Opens Vails Gate location. Rich works as stockboy some Saturdays.
1987: Rick Strober either falls out or is assisted out a midtown skyscraper. And if that weren't enough, the Stock Market Crash in October.
1988: Acquires Red Corvette Convertible. Rich loves the color blue.
1990: Stuff
1996: Rich graduates, goes to college.
Late 90s: Dad & board sell Strober Brothers to Fidelity. Gets a 3 year consulting agreement. Retires.
2000: Rich graduates
2000-2003: Dad does and says stupid things. We the family poke fun at most of it. What's his name? No who's on third base? Who's Curtis?
Early 00s: Dad gets evaluation that assumes he has Alzheimer's.
He's pleasant. People like him. He declines.
Fall 2006: Rich realizes he never had an emotional relationship with Dad. Promises to spend a year helping him, getting to know him, and forge a relationship "when all is lost".
2007: Rich spends time with Dad. Lives a lot of moments together. Loves it.
2008: Dad's in a home. Watched "Away From Her" and thought the storytelling was amateurish at best. That's not at all what it's like to have Alzheimer's.

(Thisiswhatitslike.com -> Launchpad for the Living and Loving Project?)

Check.

Posted by F.Newara at 10:53 AM | Permalink