Dad.
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Being that it is Father’s Day…
The Forever Kid’s thoughts go to my wonderful late Dad, Bill.
If you’re a dad…Happy Father’s Day!
If you’re lucky enough to have a dad who is still alive…enjoy him today.
If your dad has passed… take a moment to recall the good times.
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My dad was Lou Gehrig.
Not actually.
But that’s the way I always imagined him.
(At least, the Gary Cooper version).
Strong, handsome, modest, a quiet leader...
always knowing how to do the right thing.
My Dad was my hero.
My champion.
My role model.
He was the very definition of a “good man”…
principled, kind, giving, strong, affectionate, successful.
He made everyone around him feel good.
Back in the Bronx, his workers at University Linoleum Mart
always used to say...
“Thank God for Bill”
declaring that he was one-of-a-kind.
His nickname with everyone in the family was…
"The Sweetest Man”.
Truth is, in my entire life…
I never met anyone who didn’t like my Dad.
People always thought he was the strong, silent type…
but in truth that was only because…
with my amazingly vivacious mom around…
it was tough for him to get a word in.
But my Dad wasn’t quiet by any stretch of the imagination.
He loved telling jokes…often dirty ones.
And he loved to sing.
His tape-recorded duet with my Mom singing “Da Do Ron Ron”
is a classic.
And then there was Pirates of Penzance.
For years, over and over again...
he’d tell me how he starred in his 6th grade play ...
and even on my visits to him when he was in his 90’s…
he was still was able to sing all the complex Gilbert & Sullivan lyrics.
And once, in his last few years, when he wasn’t really himself…
I brought him a collection of CD’s with songs from the ‘30’s and ‘40’s …
and when I played it…
he lit up…
and knew every single word of every song.
He was a really “fun dad”.
From his jokes…
to his “special appearances”, joining me and my friends in our stickball games....
to all the Playboy magazines hidden under his bed…
to his creation of the character, General Firestone…
who, every Sunday,
would make comically exaggerated “military inspections”
of my sister and my rooms.
And on every New Year’s Eve, for some reason...
my sister and Mom would dress up as “princesses”...
and my Dad and I dressed as cowboys…
(For years I thought that’s what everybody in the world did).
There were unforgettable family vacations.
Touring New England.
Even a visit to Florida.
But his favorite (and mine)...
was our yearly Summer getaway to Long Beach Island on the Jersey Shore.
We’d rent a small house, just blocks from the beach…
and usually rotate a series of “special guests”,
bringing along...
my grandparents, aunts and uncles, my parents’ best friends...
(along with their cute daughter!)...
and my sister and I got to invite our best friends.
It was all about…
playing on beach,
fishing,
miniature golf,
seafood shacks,
drive-in movies.
Lots of wonderful stuff…of a much simpler time.
My Dad totally loved my mom every day since he first met her.
She was 13. He was 17.
They had the best marriage I’ve ever seen or heard of.
They were best friends, affectionate lovers, co-workers, true partners.
They were never afraid to show their affection for each other
in front of their children.
Oh, trust me…
there was lots of yelling…
but lots more laughing.
They were simply the perfect complement for each other..
After my Dad passed…
I had the precious opportunity to spend a few days with my sister Ellen...
going through all the stuff in Dad’s Fort Lauderdale house.
And there was LOTS of stuff! My parents were hoarders.
The best thing was discovering all the incredible love letters between my Dad and Mom.
I mean, I always knew how much they loved each other…
but when I read some of the letters my Dad wrote…
I was blown away!
They were so beautifully written and more romantic than any movie script.
From high school to the army all the way through their lives…
for every occasion, every year.
Dad was an incredibly hard worker…
working harder than I ever did.
Starting from a tiny storefront...
he, (along with my Mom), built up one of the biggest floor covering stores in The Bronx...
University Linoleum Mart.
Linoleum, tiles, carpeting, window shades, Venetian blinds.
The two of them worked day and night…
and somehow always made true quality time for our family.
Three anecdotes that illustrate who my Dad was:
Rainout
My Dad gave me my passion for The Yankees.
He loved them as I did.
In fact, once during his last few years,
when he really wasn’t talking all that much...
and I called to ask how he was feeling…
he responded
“Very bad”.
Worried, I asked him,
“What’s wrong??"
He answered…
"Did you see that game last night. They were terrible!”
As a kid, I loved watching the Yankees on TV with him.
Crawling up against him on the couch.
Learning the game.
Celebrating our victories.
One day he came home from “the store”...
with news that sent my heart soaring!
He got tickets for just me and him to go to Yankee Stadium
to see Yanks vs. Red Sox!!!
I was over the moon!
I was going to see the Yankees at the Stadium…
WITH MY DAD!!
The days just couldn't fly by fast enough.
Finally gameday arrived!
My Dad actually left the store early so we could watch batting practice!!
We got on the Jerome-Woodlawn subway and rode the six stops to 161st street.
We entered the Stadium through the gate in right field.
And there was the field.
The most beautiful sight in the universe.
BUT…
instead of it being bathed in the golden sunset…
it was grey…
and covered with clouds…
and it was…(gasp)…drizzling.
As we made our way to our seats…
my Dad slipped one of the ushers a $5 bill,
which moved us up to the Box Seats
(Yeah, you used to be able to do that!?)
The usher dried off our seats
(Yeah, they used to do that too!).
But instead of watching Mickey and Yogi take BP…
we were looking at a dark, foreboding tarp covering the infield.
The drizzle became rain.
The rain became hard rain.
We moved from our box seats to seek cover under the overhang.
And then…
the saddest words I ever heard in my young life:
“Ladies and Gentleman, we regret to inform you that…
tonight’s game has been cancelled”.
I felt my body sink.
Teardrops blended with raindrops.
I looked up at my Dad and...
with the hope of innocence and the shaky voice of a crushed little boy…
I suggested...
“Maybe they’ll change their mind”.
My Dad with love and understanding…
and equal disappointment…
put his arm around me and said softly,
“I don’t think so”.
My tears now rivaled the fall of the rain…
”Yeah, but maybe… Can we wait? Please!”
And then my Dad responded in the way that only my Dad would…
“Sure”.
We sat there.
In the rain.
Me and my Dad.
10 minutes. 15 minutes. 20 minutes.
Finally an usher came by and told us we had to leave.
My Dad took my hand…
and we walked out of Yankee Stadium together.
We stopped for hot dogs and knishes.
And I think, somehow, I actually laughed at one of my dad’s jokes.
The Drive
I went to college at a small school in Michigan…Oakland University.
I loved being there.
But it was pretty far from The Bronx..
(In more ways than distance).
After one summer at home…
September came and it was time to return to O.U.
I was going to make the 9-hour drive,
(in my new ’68 Camaro),
with my best friend David.
At the last minute…
good ol’ Dave decided he would fly.
I would be hitting the road alone.
My Mom, being a Mom,
began stressing about her 18 year-old “little boy”
driving 9 hours alone in a shiny new Camaro Rally Sport convertible
I tried to convince her that I’d be fine.
I wouldn’t drive too fast.
And I’d stop along the way.
But she knew me.
So she worried.
And then my Dad spoke up…
“I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun”.
Wait! What?!
My Dad was taking off from work…
to drive from The Bronx to Rochester, Michigan with me??
And then what???
“You can leave me at the airport”.
So that’s what we did.
Me and Dad.
Road trip.
9 hours, non-stop.
I don’t really remember what we talked about.
But I do remember that he was right there sitting next to me.
And while I was in the midst of proving my independence…
I was really glad he was there.
I drove him to the airport.
We hugged.
And he headed to the flight back to NY.
I headed to college.
In a Dark Room
One of the last memories I had of my Dad…
came on a visit to see him at his beloved Ft. Lauderdale house.
He wasn’t in good shape.
He was hardly himself.
The three days were mainly spent with me trying to tell him things about my current life …
and reminding him of our better days from the past.
But mostly it was half-watching mindless TV together…
and me watching his nurses care for him.
I hated seeing my hero like that
Soon, it was time for me to leave.
I didn’t know when…or even if…I would see him again.
He was lying down in his bedroom when I went to say goodbye.
I lied down next to my Dad…
on the bed…
in the dark room…
and I told him how much I loved him.
And then he spoke a line that tells you who he was.
A line that (as a wannabe writer) I wish I could have written.
He said…
“Robert, do you know the reason I don’t want to die?
Because I know it will make you sad”.
He was right.
My dad passed away in 2012.
Very often when one passes away...
people talk about them in ways that almost make them seem
that they were better than they actually were when they were alive.
Not so the case with my Dad.
He was ever bit that good.
My Dad had a really good life.
It was a simple life.
But he was supremely happy with it
If you’ll indulge me…
One final thing I'd like to share...
In my family we were NOT ALLOWED to buy cards for each other…
we had to make them.
(I believe that was the start of my advertising career).
I recently found a Father’s Day “card” that I wrote for my Dad:
“THINGS I LEARNED FROM MY FATHER.”
The love of the game.
Patience.
How to make a Venetian blind...(by poking him in the eyes!)
Family vacations are the best vacations.
The right grip on a stickball bat.
You don’t have to be the best…but you have to be the best you can be.
Louie Prima songs.
How to figure out Square yards.
The importance of being nice to everybody.
Lots of dirty jokes.
The words to Pirates of Penzance.
How to remain calm under pressure
How to put a worm on a hook.
That I am actually part English (Life lie)
How to make a “popping sound” with your finger and cheek.
Hard work.
What marriage is supposed to be like.
That it’s not how loud you speak...it’s what you say.
It’s O.K. for men to cry.
What being a father really means.
My Dad often told me that he wanted a big party for his 100th birthday.
I said “DEFINITELY!”
He added…
“Of course I’m probably not going be there.”
You are here Dad… every day.
Happy Father’s Day.
Would love to hear about your amazing Dads.
