D(olce) & G(abbana) Are Only Two Letters in DisGust (A Commentary on the D&G Scandal)

by Nicholas D'Ambra

dolce & gabbanaImagine Oprah saying in an interview that she didn’t think African-Americans deserved equal rights. Or, Gloria Steinem saying that women should be barefoot and pregnant.

Talk about taking way too many steps backward.

I’m not saying Dolce and Gabbana are as important as the two women above, especially in reference to those ladies’ fierce opinions and ardent support of their respective causes. D&G are, however, fashion icons with a platform to speak, and in the gay world (of which I’m a member), fashion is almost like a religion of sorts.

I find it interesting that people, like Dolce and Gabbana, who excuse their words under “freedom of speech,” are generally people who are espousing words of hate. I could completely see D&G’s point of view if they were some red state-heterosexual-morons with a complete lack of education and brain function. They are not, however, and that is what is so disturbing. […]

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Balancing Life and Death (In Honor of My Dad)

by Nicholas D'Ambra

Nicholas D'Ambra's dad IIII lost my Dad just over two years ago.  I was there when he passed away.  I watched him.  I told him it was okay to let go; all the while, I was dying inside.

His death was the single most debilitating experience of my life.  It felt as if the ground beneath me had given way.  Nothing made sense or seemed to contain purpose.  The blurry empty feeling followed me through those auto-piloted days of making arrangements.  Everything felt irrelevant. Nothing mattered anymore.  I wondered why we bothered…any of us.  The pain was overwhelmingly immense.  It was so excruciating that I wanted to disappear forever.

For a split second in time,  I reasoned that my husband would be okay and maybe grateful not to have me so sad all the time.  Everyone would be.  Except my son.  I couldn’t allow my own grief to become his. […]

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Daylight Saving Time is a Waste of My Time

by Nicholas D'Ambra

Daylight-Savings-time_0Throughout most of my adult life Daylight Saving Time meant nothing to me, save for the fact that every fall I got an extra hour of sleep.  I was only mildly annoyed that I lost that same hour every spring. That was the case…until I had kids.  Our daughter was born in June.  Sleepless nights were the joy of our summer this year.

Having a five year old boy running around (reminding us that he doesn’t nap anymore) only made that fuzzy glow around each day that much fuzzier.  There were no “nap when she naps.”  By the end of September she was finally sleeping through the night.  Some parents have looked at us in awe over this.  Let me be clear, it was no easy feat.

We aren’t the “cry it out” parents so the Furber method was out.  We are not those “extremely patient” parents so the letting-the-child-decide-when-they-are-ready-to-sleep method was out as well. […]

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Three Men And a Little Baby (Girl)

by Nicholas D'Ambra

Nicolas and familyIt happened two months ago that our lives changed drastically.  We were two Dads and a beautiful five-year old boy.  Two and a half men.  We were way passed diapers and pre-chewed food (sometimes that stuff smelled as bad going in as it did coming out).  Things were moving along rather smoothly and we had finally found our rhythm.  Our son was graduating from preschool on Friday and the Wednesday before was his last day of “class.”

There I was, a grown man standing in Starbucks after dropping him off for the last time at our beloved preschool, tears coming down behind my Wayfarers ( a retro-nod to the days when I thought I was cool…I never was BTW).  Friday’s graduation was going to be embarrassing.  An Irish-like Keening seemed inevitable. […]

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Raising My Child on Pennies a Day

by Nicholas D'Ambra

penny

 

They are a nuisance.  They are in my sock drawer, the floor of my car, everywhere in my desk, in the little crack of the door jam where the floor and the threshold don’t quite meet, EVERYWHERE!

Inevitably, when I reach for meter money in the car I always end up with handfuls of them, most often concealing a much needed dime in the palm of my hand. They are…Ugh! PENNIES!!! […]

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Helicopter Parent, Me (And the Price We Pay for Technology)

by Nicholas D'Ambra

I am a self-proclaimed helicopter parent.  I originally thought the term meant one who rises above everything while looking out for everyone.  Turns out, it references a parent who hovers.

I’ve been told this by all the “professional” parents around me and some school care-givers as well. They don’t actually say “helicopter parent” to my face, but, rather they whisper or infer it.  It’s okay.  We waited until our forties to have a family.

If I seem cautious with my children, it’s because life has taught me a lot and I’m trying to protect them from excessive E.R. visits. But, I want them to learn from my mistakes. Rarely a good thing to be sure.  I wrestle with this everyday.  My Mom and Dad wanted a better life for me and my sister; I want better for my children.  But I wonder,  are we making life too easy for our children?

I see other parents do it and sometimes I cringe.  Recently, at dinner with another family, I witnessed a full nuclear meltdown when the child hadn’t received a particular color of crayon. My wide eyes and gaping mouth did little to hide my shock at how the parent handled this. Instead of taking their child aside and discussing the unacceptable behavior, the parent walked up to the host station and requested a red crayon for her “poor” child who neglectfully did not receive all of the appropriate shades in their crayon box.  Crisis averted…or delayed?

I may have also unwittingly made similar mistakes.  (But my son is really cute!)  I’m not kidding; even his pediatrician asked me if it was difficult to say no.  It is.  But I do. And I stick to it…mostly.  (But, seriously… he’s reallllly cute!)

The […]

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Our First Back-to-School and Other Catastrophes

by Nicholas D'Ambra

Preschool was difficult enough.  But, at least it was owned by my best friend. And, I already knew a lot of the staff before our little two-year-old son entered the gates.

For the first two weeks, I stayed at school (my husband was with me the first week) and watched.  For two and a half hours, twice a week, I hid behind some wire fencing about fifteen feet away and watched.  And cried. And watched.  I was getting used to our routine when my dear friend who owns the school came up to me and said, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”  Turns out it was a therapist.  […]

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