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Times Flies, Family

Where the Heck has May gone?



It seems that just yesterday it was April, a month that marks the birthdays of both my late father and my late wife.

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April, according to the calendar, is followed by May – a month proclaimed by the Congressman who was once my boss as “hurray, hurray, the first of May – outdoor [lovemaking] starts today.” He said that to me while all but skipping across Independence Ave, on the way to the Capitol Building. Since I now live in sunny South Florida, that statement holds true all year long , that is for some people ages younger that I am. It was also the month when our eldest son, Phil III made his first appearance, and the current month when he just celebrated his 60th birthday and the first since his recent retirement after 30 years of rescuing drowning swimmers and fighting fires of both the house and forest kind in Volusia County, Florida. Now June is upon us, followed quickly by July, the month when 85 years ago I made my first appearance as a newborn member of the human race. Time does fly. Here I am halfway through my eighth decade, still alive and lamely kicking. None of this, I’m sure, means diddly squat to you but since I’m living through all of this it assumes great significance to me. I need not tell you that I’ve just about had it. To begin with, I’m more or less homebound, utterly dependent on my two saintly (and only) daughters, mothers themselves, who devote a lot of their time every day to driving dear old dad around, shopping for him, keeping his house spanking clean and looking after him in countless other ways, all at the expense of much of their time. They came at the end of the line, after four of our five sons arrived, and I’m sure that the dear Lord and my magnificent wife planned it that way, making certain that I’d be looked after when I would most need looking after, and looked after by the two best daughters any man ever had. Thanks Mary, thanks Connie. Most of the elderly folk living here in Boca Raton and environs are separated from their offspring who live and work in far off locations. I’m blessed by having all my living sons and daughters here nearby in Florida and being the daily recipient of their loving care. Every day Connie and Mary arrive, tidy up the house and take me shopping for my dinner, provided daily by the locally famous Howard’s Market, just a stone’s throw away and serving tasty hot meals to the likes of me, even in the aftermath of destructive hurricanes when just about every other market in the area is closed and shuttered. Howard left us recently, and now no doubt tends the celestial wine cellars (do they have cellars in Paradise? If they do, I’m sure that Howard is now in charge of keeping the wine shelves well stocked.) All of these blessings help provide some solace to me in an era when the nation I spent the better years of my life serving my country in both war and in peace is cursed by having the presidency in the destructive hands of an incompetent egomaniac. There I said it. Somebody had to. Of course, this too shall pass, but I have to wonder which of my grievous sins condemned me to this fate so late in my life. Moreover, what in Heaven’s name did every other loyal American, who didn’t follow the media off the cliff by voting for this man, deserve? Black Americans richly deserved having one of their number elected to the presidency, but they didn’t deserve being cursed by having this half-Black Kenyan-sired and probably foreign born quasi-Socialist serving as president. Anyway, hopefully I am, as my Irish ancestors would say, “not long for this world.” And when I’m gone, keep my soul in your prayers. I’m sure going to need ‘em.


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Philip V. Brennan -- Bio and Archives

Monday, Jan. 6, 2014:
Former columnist, Marine Corps hero, and Washington insider Phil Brennan passed away on Monday. He was 87 years old.

Born in New York City, Brennan served with the Marines during World War II before tackling a series of jobs in the nation’s capital, beginning with a campaign to win statehood for Alaska. —More…</em>


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