Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother." --Edgar Allan Poe

Doctors had mom leaving us more than ten years ago, even on days when her lungs and legs wanted to quit, her heart was too strong to give up as if she was staying here for her family. As if her work wasn't done.

After they were married back in 1957, my Dad had Mom’s full attention for nearly three whole years, after I was born, the party was over, she was a mother, and a great mother she was, for the rest of her life. It didn't matter how old Suzi and I were, she took so much pride in saying, "You'll always be my babies." When Jenna and Nikki came around, it doubled the joy she had. Whenever she’d write a card she’d sign with “My Love, My Life.” It’s what she devoted the better part of her life to, her children, her Grandchildren and with all the love she had left, her husband.

She mistakenly thought she walked in my father shadow, she said she always felt invisible when she was with my Dad, but she couldn't have been more wrong. She never understood that she simply possessed traits my father did not. Moms nurturing and encouragement complimented my dad’s business acumen. Dad’s seriousness was complimented by mom’s spirit and charm.  That charm and art of persuasion was never more apparent than one night in Boston when by some miracle, she successfully convinced my straight-laced and, yes, a little boring father to take the stage dressed as the Queen of England in front of more than 2000 people at a Dame Edna show. Mom, showing her support right by his side dressed as Prince Charles.

She was a hopeless romantic and a philosopher, telling me at the end of our many phone calls, (along with her classic, “Getting old ain’t for wimps,”)  imploring me to “do something good for someone today.” We were always at our best when we were together. She'd watch quietly as my sister and I would giggle and laugh telling each other jokes and making up outrageous scenarios. She'd clutch her chest and say, "My heart is so full."

She was much more than a mother to Suzi and I. Much more than a grandmother to Jenna and Nikki. She was a friend, an advisor, a cheerleader, a sister, an aunt, a daughter. For over fifty years, a beloved wife. She was a woman of contradictions. She was an amazing cook, but her favorite meal were chicken livers, she has an amazing sense of humor, but could never remember the punchline of a joke. She felt at home in sweatpants but when she’d dress up for a night out, Dad would call her by her alter ego, Stella Stunning. And she was.

She touched so many people throughout her life and would always talk about random acts of kindness. Whether it was engaging someone in conversation, complimenting them on their appearance or giving candy to a toll collector, she was always trying to brighten peoples days. In return, people were drawn to her kindheartedness. My friends adored her as if she was family. Before one of my many trips to Albany, my friend Andy asked to pass along to mom, “Let her know from all us “boys” that she raised us well and we’re all better men for having had her in our life.  The little time we spent with her made huge impressions.“ Two days before my mom passed away, my friend Doug asked me to read a note to her. At her bedside touching her smooth scalp that was once the home to beautiful flowing auburn hair, I read the note seated between my sister and my Aunt Elaine:

Dear Mrs. Karp,

I’m guessing Bob is with you now and I’m hoping he can read this note to you. He’s shared with us that you’re coming to the end of a long journey, and so beginning what I believe is a new one. I remember reading a Kahlil Gibran passage years ago that parents are the bows and their children the arrows that they send out into the world. I’m forever grateful that, with my friend Bob, you shot so straight, so strong, and so well. Your son has been a devoted  friend to me and so many others all these years. Having known you and Mr. Karp, I have no doubt it was in large part your love that has made him the big-hearted man he is. I have such warm memories of your visits to Morristown and the couple of trips I made with Bob to Albany. I feel blessed to have shared that time with you. Watching you and Bob together has always made me smile - it's been so touching to see the depth of his devotion to you. Thank you for what you’ve brought to my own life with your compassion, sense of humor, and thoughtfulness over the years. I pray that in this time with your family and friends that you experience feelings of love, peace and fullness, and that, when it is your time to move on, that a place beyond our human imagination welcomes you with open arms.

With much love and admiration,

Doug Crouse

One day when Mom and I went for chemo, she noticed a young patient coming in for her treatment and complimented her on the beautiful down vest she was wearing. They chatted awhile and the woman said "you should really go to Talbots they're on sale." A few hours later, at the end of my moms treatment, we were leaving when a woman came out holding that same jacket in her hand. She said, "my friend would really like you to have this." After profusely thanking the woman and offering to pay so she could buy a new one, she just said, “I know how much you liked the jacket, all I want is a hug.”

She loved making her prizewinning cheesecakes, if my co-workers knew I was heading up to Albany for the weekend, some would make subtle recommendations if my Mom was so inclined, somehow, more than not, I'd head south with my favorite, Pina Colada.. I didn’t dare come back to the Daily Record newsroom empty-handed. She loved kaleidoscopes, NYT crossword puzzles, Jeopardy, her Chrysler LeBaron, every Spring counting the day till the first day when it was warm enough to put the top on the convertible down. Maybe her true love was Syracuse basketball. The last weekend I came home happened to coincide with March Madness. The first words I said when I came to saw her were, “Mom, Did you know Syracuse beat Indiana?” To which she gave me a huge smile.

My favorite phone-calls would usually would start with absolutely no preamble. . ."52 across, 14 letters, Where we gonna rock on down to… as per Eddie Grant 1983?" She loved her crossword puzzles and I loved music trivia. My daily phone calls to her could be anything from the meal I happened to be cooking to going on and on about my latest adventure. I would send her elaborate e-mails from my travels, whether a vacation or a road race, getting very emotional and telling her how she was always with me, inspiring me. Two of my most vivid and beautiful memories of Mom are strangely spaced nearly 50 years apart. But somehow with crystal clear I remember walking through Washington Park as a very young preschooler-collecting ginkgo leaves on the ground. And ever since that day, whenever Id see the distinctive leaf which are scattered throughout Morristown, I would smile and think about my Mom and a mothers love for her child. The other was our first dance at my wedding, the song needed to be perfect but in the end it was an easy choice, “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. In between, Ill be forever blessed because of the time I had, the lessons I learned and the love I’ll carry for the rest of my life.

In the end, when her communication became more difficult, the last words my mother spoke to me, she had no problem expressing, "I Love You. I Love You. I Love You."

Thinking of you mom, this weekend, and every day.

I Love You. I Love You. I Love You

I can still remember their names. Kenny, Peter, Louis, Dan and many others who weren't even considered my 'friends.' As far as bullying is concerned, very little has changed over the past 35 years when I myself was a victim of the same kind of senseless, despicable behavior. I remember very clearly, one day in seventh grade English, being picked up off my feet by two of my classmates. Through their laughs they said how funny it was going to see me fly as they carried me towards an open second floor window. Kicking my legs to no avail, I never once thought they would actually follow through with their 'joke' but it was still no comfort after I was dropped onto the floor, I quickly ran into the coat room so none of my classmates would see me crying. My humiliation, was only made worse by a caring female friend who came in to ask if I was alright. After her kind act, the best thanks I could muster through my tears was, "just leave me alone."

There were muggings by nameless, faceless creeps who traveled in packs almost on a daily basis. Their taking of our lunch money almost became a cliche. Hiding behind a giant delivery van as we'd walk towards Hackett Junior High. Three or more would jump out and the biggest of the group would step up and say, "Got a dime?" This was our queue to empty our pockets. Growing up, with all the amazing lessons I learned from my loving mother and father, what reason would they have to think that self defense would be one of the lessons they should have taught. Why would they. We were a good family in a good home, they had raised two good children.

Throughout my youth, I thought all kids were separated into two categories, the tough kids and the weaklings. I never thought to ask them what their motivations were. I just knew my role was the latter. I would head back to my good home after being spat on or thrown around by my winter jacket into a mailbox feeling ashamed, trying my best not to let anyone know how much I hurt. I was skinny, innocent, red-headed and pimply faced, an easy target mainly because I only saw kindness in people. Violence and bad behavior was beyond my understanding. Though I would never ask, "why me?" Many time, even as an adult, I've never stopped asking why?

I 'came out' to my mother recently, she, looking extremely distressed asked the question so many parents ask, "Why didn't you tell us?" My only response was that there was nothing anyone could do. Keeping some of the truth from her, in all honestly, it never would have occurred to me to share that humiliation. I thought and still think, how lucky I was, no matter how bad the humiliation, I would always come home to a loving home with two loving parents. A safe haven where I would always feel protected. The next morning, I would do what I always did, get up, go to school and deal with whatever was to be.

As a sophomore in high school, My dad and I went out and bought a weight set which was assembled down my basement. As I became more involved in weight training, martial arts and boxing, I met a group of bodybuilders at the Jewish Community Center in Albany who took me under their wing and helped find my potential. In my damaged mind, I wanted to become a giant, a monster, at my towering 5' 8" tall I wanted to be an intimidating force, ready for the next bully attack. I was never the kind of person who ever wanted to fight. I've always been much more of a pacifist using my sense of humor to get me out of situations. But, I waited with a perverted anticipation for the next bully, I was going to make him sorry for all the punishment and humiliation I was subjected to. But of course at their core, bullies are cowards and no sooner that I was able to stand up for myself, the bullies stopped showing interest in picking on me.

I overcame my past at a cafeteria lunch table. I was a senior a Albany High School where during lunch times, arm wrestling was the social networking of its time. Classmates would line up around tables one by one and take each other on. At the time, I was bench pressing close to 300 lbs, there were only a few in a school of 3000 that could beat me. One day there was a buzz in the cafeteria, there was a new kid at the tables. I recognized him immediately, it was Kenny, one of the two that had lifted me off the ground and scared me into thinking I was going out a window. I took my place in line and waited my turn. One by one, he took down his opponents, laughing smugly just the way I remembered him laughing a me. The only difference was that he had changed very little in the four years since I'd last seen him. I had put on 25 lbs of muscle and had been waiting for a chance at retribution for much longer. It was my turn, I stepped up, resting my elbow on the table, I looked into his eyes and first saw a wave of recognition, then contempt. He sat back in his chair a gave a huge belly laugh. "YOU, I KNOW I CAN BEAT!!"  It was over very quickly. I soon as I heard "GO," his hand was slammed backwards, making a loud thump onto the plastic lunch table. Looking into his eyes, I saw the only way I had ever known myself, in his eyes were insecurity, fright and humiliated. It wasn't the fear in his eyes that changed the perception I had of myself, it was a metamorphosis that I felt, I could fight back. Not literally with my fist but I would refuse to make myself a target. Without anyone getting physically harmed, I was empowered. A pacifists dream. At that moment I remembered something he said to me years ago during one of the moments of my biggest humiliation. He grabbed me by the bicep and started pulling me, this time, more out of fear than defiance, I pulled back hard and resisted, to which he said, "you'd probably be pretty strong if you werent so afraid." I wasn't afraid anymore. It was a turning point for me. Even with that one life changing victory, bad memories still linger. I often wake up in the middle of the night or am startled while Im awake. I still have flashbacks from my years of indignity. It's always there, deep down I know it will always be my constant silent companion which is why bullying must be stopped before it takes another life, through suicide or even a life's worth of internal torment.

I cried when I saw the face of a 15-year-old Morristown High School freshman who recently killed himself. Most likely his friends said because of a few intolerant children, bullies who tormented him only because they could. This young man had so many friends, such a good family. Why didn't he tell someone, why couldn't he just....exactly. That's just what bullies count on, shame and silence.

Perhaps this post could motivate someone to stand up for themselves, perhaps tell someone, maybe even motivate a bully to see how pointless and destructive the choices they are making. When every day seems like a never-ended cycle of abuse, it's impossible for someone who is being bullied to look ahead one week let alone thirty years. But please, please, please step into my shoes. If you had told a 15-year-old Bob Karp that 35 years from now, you'd be living the life of your dreams, traveling the world with your soul mate and loving life with beautiful friends and a great career, I would have called you crazy. Though the memories still linger, time passes, wounds heal, bullies go their way, the bullied generally go the opposite direction. My message isn't to fight back but to stand up. If every one of us all stood up and refused to accept this kind of behavior it would disappear. I'd appeal to anyone reading this, parents, teachers, administrators and most of all, children...stand up and lets stop this nonsense. A childhood is a precious gift. And no one has the right to take that gift or tarnish it because of intolerance.

NYU students Corey Angelus and Christina Borchers listen to music early Sunday morning in Zuccotti Park during the Occupy Wall Street Protests in downtown New York City.

Parsippany Hills quarterback Tyler Simms passes vs Roxbury High School on Saturday afternoon, a game played during an October snow storm that dumped over a foot of snow on the area and knocked out power to thousands of households and businesses.

He who puts out his hand to stop the wheel of history will have his fingers crushed. --Lech Walesa

October 5, 2001, I had the honor of photographing Lech Walesa as he talked to students at Delbarton about his fight against Communism in Poland. It was one of the only times in my career I felt starstruck.