To Mom and Dad
By: Robey Nejame
Tags: Values, Support, Life Lessons, Memories, Family

So I was walking back from the park today along the South West Corridor after hanging out with Iliana and Liz after Porchfest, and I was trying to figure out what I was going to do while walking back. I texted my friend Scott, who I definitely need to talk history with soon. I texted Ciana, who I have a wicked cool conversation with at any time, cause thats how we do. I texted Mackenzie, to catch up and ask about her sister’s wedding (I know you crushed your toast, I want to know how much you crushed your toast). Then I stopped for a second, and called my mom. I had a feeling that she would be propped up on the couch, watching the Sox with my dad nearby, most likely folding laundry, talking about the bullpen or cheering on Raffy or Bogey for a certain play. I haven’t talked on the phone with my parents for a bit (we text quite often, mostly with Big Lebowski references), and I knew I wanted to catch up with them. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I got home after getting off the phone with them, but the second I started humming, “Tell Me Why” by Neil Young to myself like I have been all day, I knew what I wanted to do.

This is a blog post for my mom and dad, two of the most important people to me in the whole freakin universe. I could still be writing three weeks from now about how they have impacted my life, all the memories, the lessons, the stories, the good times, the bad times, the “you really can’t make this stuff up” times, but I realize that would take a long time for you all to read, so I am going to try to be as concise as possible. That being said, this blog post won’t even come close to how important my parents are to me. Thank you mom and dad for being who you are to me, and know that this post is just a fraction of all that I have rattling around between my ears and what I want to say. Honestly, I’ll probably write another post farther down the line about you guys, but until then, here’s what I got.

So a quick intro to my parents, they are Julie Kling and Mark NeJame, both attorney’s at law with their own law firm (NeJame and Kling Law Offices). Just my mom and dad, and we proudly call it a family law firm (as in, our clients are like part of our family). Any time I am home they have me come in and sign as a witness when my mom needs me to for wills, and I sometimes help my dad out at the office with some filing, so I have on my LinkedIn that I work for them. My dad, originally from Waterbury, CT grew up in Lenox Mass, 100% Lebanese, went to Middlebury College, is a little taller than me, and any time we go to the beach he wears cargo/khaki shorts with high sox (yes, sox, not socks, sox. Yes I am intentionally spelling socks, sox) and sneakers. So basically picture me in 30 years, absolutely rocking the Dad life. My mom, from Laconia, NH, a little bit shorter than me, 1/2 Danish and 1/2 Anglo-Saxon (I have a feeling I am going to be corrected on this), went to Smith College. She was told by her high school guidance counselor that Smith was a bit too much of a stretch for her, and that she should just stay local for college. My mom went ahead and applied to Smith, got in (that class being the lowest acceptance rate for Smith to date), and showed the guidance counselor the acceptance letter. They met in one of their first classes at Suffolk University in Boston in Law School, and ended up dating. One of their traditions was to go down to the Esplanade on a Friday night with a six pack and a bag of Doritos. They got married on September 8th, 1984. On January 19th, 1993 my brother was born, and on October 8th, 1996, I was born, completing the human part of our family (the non-human parts are an ever changing cast of cats, a dog, and at times fish, including several named Bob).

Some of the memories:

A running joke my mom and I have is, “You owe me $50” if we ever do something for the other. It could be jumping on a conversation grenade, it could be telling someone my parents aren’t home when they just want a night off from everything, it definitely was when I forgot my belt for a high school baseball game that my mom drove out to Dalton to give to me (almost took out the color guard in the parking lot). This stemmed from when I was a pretty little kid, and my Uncle Jim had just bought, or was buying a plane, or buying parts for his plane. It had something to do with a plane, okay folks? So my mom asked if she could borrow $100 from my bank account and she would pay me back. Now this time in my life, $100 was A LOT of money to me. I begrudgingly said yes, as long as my mom promised to pay me back. Well, she put $50 into my account a few weeks later, and said that she would put the next $50 in soon. To be perfectly honest, she most likely did put the other $50 in and told me and I promptly forgot, but in my memory, weeks to months went by, with no additional $50 going into my account. Finally, remind you I’m like 5 or 6 or something, I worked up the courage to say to my mom, “You owe me $50!” completely out of the blue. I was certain that she had not paid me back and I was furious. For months after, I still would have my shorts in a bunch about it, but over time it became a joke for us, and to this day we throw it back and forth to each other.

I gotta say, I am surprised my dad’s left hand isn’t permanently bruised and that he did not need to get Tommy John surgery from the amount of pitching and catching he did for my brother and I. As you all know I played baseball from when I started walking through high school, and my dad would make an effort whenever possible to get me down to the field with a bucket of balls, either practicing my circle change, trying to hit my dad’s slightly erratic pitching (I seem to recall there was a game that my dad almost hit me and I took two steps out of the box towards my dad cause I thought he was trying to hit me, it was completely an accident), or any number of drills to help me become a better ball player. There was a fair share of grinning from ear to ear, melt downs, and everything in between, but I could not name a single time that my dad said no when I asked to have a catch with him. I wouldn’t be half the ball player I am today without him (and yes you too mom, throwing me underhand in the backyard), and without my parents my love of baseball would not run as deep as it does.

A bit off the top of mind here: I know my parents will get a lot of this, but I think all of you will also understand in your own way, and have a relatable ability to do so, there are so many flashes of memory and silly or funky things that I can think of. Being a kid and putting my hands over my ears, going “La La La I can’t hear you” (drove my mom insane), not being able to contain the fact that we bought my dad a tie for his birthday, trips up to the Village Green or the llama farm for ice cream, going to Fenway Park and being on the Green Line, dozens of holiday parades where I would scramble for candy, singing at the top of my lungs from my car seat as we drove back from Arcadia to “Sugar Mountain, Brown Sugar, Born to Run”, listening to Dar Williams at the Iron Horse, Robertos and Joe’s pizza while watching the Sox (I think you must be sensing a pattern of the Red Sox by this point), going to Magic Wings to see butterflies, Richardson’s and Peicharski’s (totally butchered that, pun intended), sayings like “hold your horses!” (“But mom I don’t have any horses!”), “Let’s hit the road!” (I would go punch the road), walking down to Coopers to get the paper, going to the Pines Theater for the concert that is there every year, we always brought a blanket… crap what is it called? It’ll come to me. Playing ball games at McDonald and LaRiviare (never did learn to spell that one).

Speaking of baseball, and other things I guess, it was a rare occasion indeed for my parents to miss a game of mine, or a school play, or band concert. I always knew they would be there, and I could always count on them cheering for me no matter what. My parents nailed it on the head to be supportive but not helicopter parents (THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). If I was down in the dumps about something, my dad would offer to take me out for ice cream or to get a turnover from Coopers. We might go see a movie together. I remember when my first “girlfriend” (this was 8th grade, we only dated for a week or something like that, and then she had to move back to North Carolina, so that kinda ended things) and I broke up and how I was wicked upset my parents made sure to be there for me, and really after any relationship or friendship fell through, or when anything bad ever happened they made sure to be there for me, even if it meant my parents had to work later into the day because of it. They also let me go to the store alone, or bike to school in fifth grade, a really nice balance of freedom as long as I generally speaking told them what I was up to. Any time I was sick I would wake up my dad, and he’d stay up with me until I went back to sleep. My dad read to me every night until I fell asleep, reading books like The Lord of the Rings, Little House on the Prairie, the sports books from that guy that I always forget the name of, but it was something like, “High Heat” and “Hoop Fever” or something like that. My dad would stop after there was a “vocab” word and make sure I learned what it meant, even though sometimes I tried to slip by and say I knew what it meant.

Also, freakin teaching moments. I am surprised it took this long for me to write this. My mom would have “teaching moments” where she would teach my brother or I something, it was fun facts but educational and boy did I hate them. Turns out, I do the same thing now, and a lot of what my mom taught me stuck (try as I might to not learn anything, especially over summer vacation). The manners my parents taught me like how to properly hold a fork, not using slang, especially the slang we made up (Wented, when I get a Mutter) or improper grammar, bite size (that one still alludes us, sorry mom), shaking hands, all of this has become essential and crucial to how I carry myself and act. My values and being a team player, being as out-going as I am. My mom knows half of Northampton (my hometown) and the other half knows her!

To close out, I want to say that I would not be the person I am today, nor where I am, without my parents. They knew I wanted to get into Northeastern more than anything in the world. I fell in love on that brutally cold day in February of my junior year of high school (thank you Kathryn Dromey, my guidance counselor for recommending me to go see Northeastern! Also, Ma, remember “Cadavers, not Cadivers,” and according to you the tour guide only talked about food), and I wanted more than anything to get into Northeastern. My parents recommended I ask a coach and a co-worker to send in a letter of recommendation, and when I got the acceptance letter, but not the financial aid package, my parents said the words I will never forget. “No matter what, we will make it work.” That really sums up my parents. They’ll do whatever it takes to help my brother and I, and as many people as they can to achieve what they set out to do, and hav e the best freakin lives they can have. To be friends as well as attorney’s for their clients. To be someone you can talk to for hours with about the Big Lebowski. To spend days tossing a ball with. To call up on a Sunday night cause you want to catch up. No matter what, my parents are there for me, and I couldn’t be more proud to call my mom, my mom, and my dad, my dad. I love you both to the moon and back. Ny all means I only touched on a tiny sliver of what you as my parents means to me, but I hope this gives you an idea of who you are to me.

Mom, Dad, “Take er easy, Dude”, I love you.