The picture above features my mom and dad - Marvin and Rona Bivens. If you are ever in New Orleans, you have to take your parents or your sweetheart to Clancy's Restaurant. They serve generous portions of sauteed lump crabmeat and beef tenderloin along with various creole dishes. Even at 65 years old, my dad still has to tease the waitress even at a five-star restaurant. "Excuse me, miss, how much is your chickory coffee?" The waitress told my dad that it was $1.50. "Um, and how much are your refills?" The waitress said, "Those are free, sir." - "Sounds good, miss, I'll just order some refills."

It is always like this when I take my parents somewhere and it goes on and on. When it was time to place our order my dad asks the waitress when they took the cod lips and squid burger off of the menu. My mom says, "Oy, Marv, stop that! I can't take you anywhere!" Then my dad plays it straight again - for awhile........ Ladies, if you want to know what I will look like 27 years from now - take a look at my dad. Life happens..........

My mom turned 65 last Friday, July 18th, so I made her a birthday cake and some of my relatives from Gulfport, Mississippi stopped by with their homemade dinner items and side dishes. The "potluck" birthday meal became a tradition after Hurricane Katrina. My parents were both 62 when that happened and they had to start all over again at their age with a home insurance settlement and a FEMA trailer.

My dad and I had our annual "fishing day" down in Grand Isle, LA - something we have done together for 20 years. We sat on his boat and fished for flounders and speckled trout, swapped stories and lies and tried as we could to make up for lost time. Although my dad and I totally disagree about religion and politics, we do share one common bond. During most of the 1970s and early 1980s, my dad was a union steward for the Teamsters Local #270 when he used to be a truck driver. I was surprised to learn about how much my dad knew about the downsizing of the Postal Circus considering that he has never worked for them. He advised me to find a partner or an investor to open up my own bakery and quit the Postal Service when I could. My dad told me that I was getting cemented in the wrong place for a career. Afterwards he said, "Your mom wants to know when you are ever getting married?"

Stop it dad! You sound like a Jewish mother!

I am reflecting on all of these childhood memories I suppose because I am writing about my parents. I remember one time when I went fishing with my dad when we netted seven flounders that day. My dad picked two of them out so that I could clean and cook the fish before we went back home. My dad grabbed the larger flounder for himself. I said, "Dad! I cooked the fish and I am hungry!" My dad said, "What would you have done son?" I told him, being a thoughtful person - I would have taken the smaller one.  - "Well then this fish is for you Mark" and my dad put the smaller fish on my plate.

Sometimes dads CAN be Jewish mothers. But I am back home now and the reality of going back to work tomorrow has finally settled in and it sucks. No more free time for relaxing and going back to do steward work for the APWU is like two wolves and a sheep deciding what's for dinner. Sometimes we can be outnumbered.

I'll be ready to go back to work and put in an honest days work while wearing my shop steward hat. Like my dad once told me, "The basic law for management is you or I, not both you and I."

I'm just carrying on a family tradition.