The Valley Viewpoint

To those born between 1952 and 1979 —

We are the bridge between two eras.

The last to grow up before everything went digital—

and the first to step into that new world, wide-eyed and unprepared.

At our high school, the class of ’76 had more in common with the graduates of the 1950s

than we ever did with the classes that came out in the ’90s.

We wore uniforms. We stood when teachers entered the room.

We learned respect, mostly the hard way.

And we learned responsibility—long before we understood what it meant.

We were the kids who played outside until the streetlights buzzed on.

We shouted names from the sidewalk, not a phone.

We scraped our knees on pavement and came home bleeding—with no one suing anybody.

We ran errands with crumpled grocery lists and came back with exact change.

We spun records, made mixtapes, danced with Walkmans.

We marveled at CDs, then DVDs, then the idea that music could just… disappear into the cloud.

We blew into Nintendo cartridges and felt like hackers.

We rewound VHS tapes with chewed fingernails and patience.

We remember houses that cost $18,000.

Our parents bought them.

We’re still not sure how.

We were raised on The Flintstones, Bonanza, Ultraman, Combat! and G.I. Joe.

We fell asleep to the hum of radios, not podcasts.

Saturday mornings were for cartoons, cereal, and jingles we still hum under our breath.

We rode bikes with no helmets.

Cars with no seatbelts.

Beaches with no sunscreen.

And somehow—we survived.

We drank soda from glass bottles, dropped food on the floor,

dusted it off, and ate it anyway.

We shared soda, sandwiches, secrets—

and the occasional bout of lice.

Vinegar solved it.

We took road trips with no screens, no playlists, no WiFi.

Just static-filled radio, endless rounds of “I Spy,”

and siblings poking each other across the backseat.

We carried backpacks that weighed more than our book reports.

We memorized phone numbers, used payphones,

and rewound tapes with a pencil—because that’s what you did.

No smartphones. No TikTok. No 5G.

But we had marbles, jump rope, freeze tag,

and truth or dare whispered beneath the stars.

Friendship wasn’t filtered or posted.

It was earned—through bruises, loyalty, and laughter.

We weren’t avatars or handles.

We were the quiet one, the fast one, the one who always got a laugh.

And somehow, we all belonged.

We didn’t learn from TED Talks.

We learned by trying, failing, and getting back up.

We remember the world before it sped up.

And we held on tight as it did.

❤️ We survived it all—with grit, with soul, with heart.

And no—we wouldn’t trade it.

Here’s to us—

to those who lived before and after.

To the ones who still remember.

To the lucky ones.

“You cited what?”

A trial court in Georgia, just issued a ruling based on hallucinated A.I. case law—complete with fake citations, zero verification, and no pushback until the case hit the appeals court.

It gets worse: on appeal, both parties cited 12 more non-existent cases. This isn’t just a glitch. It’s a systemic failure.

No safeguards. No checks. No balance. Just fabricated precedent shaping real-world outcomes.

Legal professionals—judges, attorneys, ops leaders: Are we witnessing a breakdown in the rule of law, or sleepwalking into a future where legal reasoning is outsourced to black-box models?

This is a leadership crisis. If we don’t assert control now, we risk letting machines invent the law—and that’s not justice.

Back when summers were loud, streets were ours,

and joy cost about fifty cents,

there was Tina’s—the around-the-block candy store on 83rd.

You’d walk in with a pocketful of change—sticky from melted candy—and head straight for the wire bin near the register.

No need to ask. No need to explain.

There it was, waiting for you: the Spaldeen.

Pink.

Rubber.

Perfect.

Not just a ball—the ball.

The one that knew every crack in the sidewalk,

every brick on the schoolyard wall,

every stoop that could launch it into orbit.

Kids were allowed outside—no phones, no tracking apps—

just a simple rule: be home by lunch.

And with that kind of freedom, the block was your universe.

You’d bounce it once outside—pop!—and suddenly the block lit up.

Kids came running.

Games erupted.

Handball. Slapball. Stoopball. Punchball.

No gear, no coaches, no rules you couldn’t bend.

The Spaldeen went under cars, over fences, into backyards you weren’t supposed to enter.

It disappeared down sewer grates—may it rest in peace.

Sometimes it split right in half from too much love.

But that was okay.

Because Tina’s always had another.

And you always had enough change if you skipped the second soda.

It wasn’t just a ball.

It was your ticket to the game.

To the crew.

To the long summer afternoon that never seemed to end.

The Spaldeen didn’t bounce.

It boomed.

And if you were lucky,

it took your childhood with it—

high, fast, and free.

I’ve learned the hard way—there comes a point when holding things together just isn’t worth it.

Meryl Streep once said, “Let things fall apart—stop exhausting yourself trying to hold them together.” She was right. Some things aren’t meant to last. Some people were never meant to stay. And forcing what’s already breaking only ends up breaking you.

Let people be upset. Let them misunderstand. Let them judge. Their reactions are not your responsibility. You don’t owe explanations to people committed to twisting your truth.

And when someone shows you who they are—believe them. Stop justifying, excusing, or hoping they’ll become who they promised to be. Watch what they do, not what they say. Patterns don’t lie.

And when you see bullshit—call it out.
Stop shrinking to keep others comfortable. Stop letting people hide behind titles, egos, or power. That includes bosses, leaders, institutions—anyone who forgets that leadership is a responsibility, not a shield from accountability. If you have a platform, a skill, a voice—you have an obligation to use it. Not just for yourself, but for those who can’t.

I’ve been silent before. I’ve carried the weight of unspoken truths, hoping things would just work themselves out. But silence doesn’t fix anything. It just eats you alive from the inside.

There is more ahead—more love, more clarity, more peace. But only if you’re brave enough to make space for it.

So ask yourself:
What are you still afraid to say out loud?
What are you clinging to that’s already let go of you?
What truth are you sitting on because it makes others uncomfortable?

Say it.
Let it go.
Call it like it is.
And step into who you’re actually meant to be.

I keep this photo in my office. It’s a reminder of what real suffering looks like.

Her name was Czesława Kwoka—a 14-year-old Catholic girl from Poland, deported to Auschwitz with her mother during the Nazi occupation.

Shortly after they arrived, a guard beat her in the face for not understanding orders in German. Then, this photo was taken. She was murdered weeks later.

The camp photographer, a fellow prisoner named Wilhelm Brasse, defied orders and secretly preserved her image.

“Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess—except one thing: your freedom to choose how you respond”.
—Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

I hope people who are struggling right now see this—and remember that even in the darkest moments, we can still choose compassion, dignity, and courage.

May her face never be forgotten.

My high school has, recently, published a number of photos of its newly admitted class of 2028 and I’ve enjoyed seeing these pictures. It’s been 51 years since I first entered Xavier. I see myself in these newly admitted ‘brothers’. Proud, happy, a bit scared; all on display. These young men have no way of knowing what their future will be, just as I didn’t know when I first stepped into Xavier. They have no way of knowing that they are beginning on their search of finding Heaven. What do I mean? I guess what I’m saying is that I believe in Heaven on Earth, and I believe it’s found anywhere you seek it. I first found it with many of my friendships that began with fellow Xavier High School classmates that have now stood the test of time. There’s not a lot you can hide from someone who knows you since you’re 13 years old! Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, lemme tell you. Those are big years. Everybody always thinks of it as a time of adolescence—just getting through to the real part of your life—but it’s more than that. Sometimes your whole life happens in those years, and the rest of your life it’s just the same story playing out with different characters. I could die tomorrow and have lived the main ups and downs of life experienced with those guys. Pain. Loss. Love. Gratitude. And what we all so fondly refer to as wisdom. That’s Heaven. I found Heaven with some of the Jesuit teachers I had. The teachers of my life saved my life and sent me out prepared for whatever life I was meant to lead. Like everyone else, I had some bad ones and mediocre ones, but I never had one that I thought was holding me back because of idleness or thoughtlessness. They spent their lives with the likes of me. They lit a path for me and one that I followed with joy.
So, lads enjoy your own search, recognize that you will never regret going to Xavier and keep marching Class of 2028!

Ulvade, Texas. A city that now takes it place along side Parkland, Buffalo, Columbine, Sante Fe, Newtown and many others. 19 kids…19. Innocent lives lost and families that will forever be altered. 19 kids. All at an age where their biggest concern should be fractions, the end of the school year, little league,cub scouts, girl scouts and all the other things a 10 year old thinks about. 19 kids….The debate has begun. Guns….take them away. This would never have happened if it wasn’t for guns. Would it be that simple. We live in an culture soaked in grapic, often sadistic, violence. Older folks find themselves stunned by what a desensitized youth finds routine, often amusing. It’s not just movies. Young men sit for hours pulling video-game triggers, mowing down human beings en masse without pain or consequence. And we profess shock when a small cadre of unstable, deeply deranged, dangerously isolated young men go out and enact the overlearned narrative.
19 kids….
I’m saddened and incredibly angry…19 kids..

From the Urban Dictionary:
Eddie’s are extremely nice guys, are incredibly attractive for not only physical appearance but also their great sense of humor, they thrive on making others laugh and are very intelligent however having such a laid back attitude is their down fall.

Surrounded by friends, an Eddie is a one in a million.

Eddie Kowalski

Most divorced dads I have known over the years have had weekends and one night a week with their kid(s), at best. Sometimes every other weekend. And it’s no slight on how each custody agreement comes together. There are a million factors that play an important role in this decision. No judgment.
The judgment is what comes from the societal expectations of the single father.
I remember, when my daughter was little, taking her out to dinner, or to a movie, or to the zoo. Almost every time we were out someone would say something very nice to me.
It’s nice to see a dad out with his kid.
Your daughter is so well behaved. You are doing such a good job as a father.
These are not things anyone would have said to a mother out with her kids. Because that is the expectation. That the mother can handle it and the father is some kind of hero for taking his kids to dinner.
Maybe it’s changing, but 30 years ago I was always patted on the back when I was out with my daughter.
•For just being a father who loves his kid
•For knowing how to braid a pony tail.
•For figuring out how to navigate a public bathroom situation.
•For carrying her in my arms.
•For going down the slide at the playground and being an active participant in playing.
These are the reduced expectations of a single father.
I was just doing what a parent should do.
I’ve heard “Mr. Mom” many times in my life. I have always found it offensive.
This is where the gender stereotype of parenting lives. In the words “mother” and “father” and society’s definitions of these words. In same sex couples, some try to figure out who is the mother and who is the father instead of reveling in the co-parenting.
Mr. Mom is an oxymoron of course. An impossibility based on the definition of mother.
But what if I was a nurturer? Did that make me more of a Mr. Mom?
I was just being a parent. A loving one.
I am not a researcher. I am not a psychologist. I was just a single father who never wanted anything more in life than to be a father. I don’t expect any pats on the back for feeling that way.
We never know the love of a parent till we become parents ourselves.
So, before we all get on the ‘Let’s throw under the bus all divorced Dads’ lets take a step back and recognize that Dads, oftentimes,have a hand in raising and supporting their children. Let’s celebrate both parents for raising their children. And let’s celebrate parents who can put aside the hurt and anger that their divorce caused and come together to raise their children.

It’s graduation season again. The ceremonies seem to get more elaborate and there seem to be more and more of them. Pre-school. Primary-school. Middle-school. High-school. Under-grad. Grad-school. Everyone gets a ceremony. These days it’s all virtual as well. It’s like spring-training for wedding season–lots of wobbly-high heels and clip-on ties. I must confess, I’m a bit fatigued by the long procession of ceremonies, the endless awards given and received, the sashes upon sashes and stoles upon stoles. I think we’re approaching a precarious place in our culture when the old pomp and circumstance doesn’t require any real or remarkable circumstance in order to pomp.

And yet, I’m not here just to rain on the parade. If you’re graduating or moving on in any way, then you’re surely, and understandably, thinking a lot about ‘what happens next.’ As you move through this transition I hope that you have a very nice ceremony, but even more, I hope that you don’t fail to have the actual experience of transition, of transformation. Don’t let the noise of celebration rob you of the real pain of leaving or the real hope of change. Know yourself beloved, know this to be reason enough for hope, and let yourself be amazed by whatever happens next. Also, please recognize that the friends that you have made and who are graduating with you now will, hopefully, remain in your life forever. Let me tell you, the friends that I graduated high school with way back in 1976 are still my friends and I look forward to speaking to them almost as much as I looked forward to seeing them back when I was asking them for their Geometry homework!

I hope you understand that what happens next has everything to do with what’s already happening. I hope you understand that who you will become has everything to do with who you already are. I hope you understand that the love you’ve known and the love you long for have their meeting place in you and — if you can make a place for both of them — you can remain in love, no matter what happens next.

Rumi suggests that we “sell our cleverness and buy bewilderment.” Best commencement speech ever…and at six words it would be the shortest too…win-win. Many like to tell you about what will happen next and many more hope to profit off of your curiosity and need. And yet, precious few are willing to affirm the amazement to be found in what already is, the beauty in your being who you already are. More than a seeker, become a lover. Sell your cleverness, buy bewilderment, and what happens next will, necessarily, amaze you.

Congratulations, class of 2022!

Stop showing up for people who have no interest in your presence. I know your instinct is to do everything to earn the appreciation of those around you, but it’s a boost that steals your time, energy, mental and physical health.

When you begin to fight for a life with joy, interest and commitment, not everyone will be ready to follow you in this place. This doesn’t mean you need to change what you are, it means you should let go of the people who aren’t ready to accompany you.

If you are excluded, insulted, forgotten or ignored by the people you give your time to, you don’t do yourself a favor by continuing to offer your energy and your life. The truth is that you are not for everyone and not everyone is for you.

That’s what makes it so special when you meet people who reciprocate love. You will know how precious you are.

The more time you spend trying to make yourself loved by someone who is unable to, the more time you waste depriving yourself of the possibility of this connection to someone else.

There are billions of people on this planet and many of them will meet with you at your level of interest and commitment.

The more you stay involved with people who use you as a pillow, a background option or a therapist for emotional healing, the longer you stay away from the community you want.

Maybe if you stop showing up, you won’t be wanted. Maybe if you stop trying, the relationship will end. Maybe if you stop texting your phone will stay dark for weeks. That doesn’t mean you ruined the relationship, it means the only thing holding it back was the energy that only you gave to keep it. This is not love, it’s attachment. It’s wanting to give a chance to those who don’t deserve it. You deserve so much, there are people who should not be in your life.

The most valuable thing you have in your life is your time and energy, and both are limited. When you give your time and energy, it will define your existence.

When you realize this, you begin to understand why you are so anxious when you spend time with people, in activities, places or situations that don’t suit you and shouldn’t be around you, your energy is stolen.

You will begin to realize that the most important thing you can do for yourself and for everyone around you is to protect your energy more fiercely than anything else. Make your life a safe haven, in which only ′′compatible′′ people are allowed.

You are not responsible for saving anyone. You are not responsible for convincing them to improve. It’s not your work to exist for people and give your life to them! If you feel bad, if you feel compelled, you will be the root of all your problems, fearing that they will not return the favours you have granted. It’s your only obligation to realize that you are the love of your destiny and accept the love you deserve.

Decide that you deserve true friendship, commitment, true and complete love with healthy and prosperous people. Then wait and see how much everything begins to change. Don’t waste time with people who are not worth it. Change will give you the love, the esteem, happiness and the protection you deserve.

This morning, WKIP’s Hudson Valley Live Show interviewed Rob Astorino, former Westchester County Executive and current Republican candidate for Governor.

https://clyp.it/xclnw1uv