We Are All The Same Inside - The Blog

Today would have been Dad's 80th birthday. There's a familiar ache, the kind that comes with that absence. But don't make me start belting out Luther Vandross' "Dance With My Father," that song is so heavy with the weight of a changing relationship. But instead, a different kind of melody plays inside, a melody born from my Italian heritage - superstition. It goes like this: whenever I see a pineapple, it's a sign from a departed loved one, letting you know they're watching over you. It might sound SO silly, but lately, pineapples seem to be popping up everywhere – a vibrant patten on tablecloth at downtown Manhattan restaurant, a street vendor selling fruit, even a quirky phone case. Each time, a warmth spreads through me, a silent "Hey there, 'Moth (his nickname for me) from the other side". The truth is, our relationship wasn't always sunshine, lollipops and pineapples. It took him a while to understand my path, and courage on part just to walk it. But in the twilight of his life, there was a shift. We talked, we listened, and a bridge of acceptance was built. He came to see the man I was becoming, the man I was always meant to be. So, Dad, wherever you are, this one's for you. Every spiky pineapple I see is a reminder that you're no longer physical, is woven into the fabric of who I am. Happy (would-have-been) #star80th birthday. And hey, I wish you could have seen my #star80 Diana Ross A Celebration of 80 Gowns, Dolls & Years Christmas tree last year.