Well, Sunday is Father's Day. It is also my Dad's 94th birthday. He always lost out. He'd get one combined card. "Happy Birthday and Happy Father's Day, Dad!"
He is still going strong, healthy, with his mind just as sharp as ever. He still has a full head of hair. His vision and his hearing aren't what they were, but I don't mind yelling into the phone. Although I think it scared the cab driver one night when I answered the cell phone and started yelling to Dad..."HI DAD, HOW ARE YOU!!!"
Anyway, he has always been there for us. He's quiet and steady. He has taken care of my youngest brother on his own for all these years. I love you, Dad.
He still lives in the house he and Mom bought back in 1954. He never saw the need to move. Why would anyone need more than one house, after all?
He is a member of The Greatest Generation. He was a prisoner of war in World War II for 28 months, captured in North Africa, until he escaped, but when he told us about it when we were kids, he made it sound like a big adventure - "The Great Escape". We grew up on these stories. Some kids heard nursery rhymes, we heard war stories. Dad never wanted to visit Europe. He said he already saw it - from the boxcar when he was taken to the POW camp in Germany.
He owned a small drycleaning store and worked six days a week, every week. I don't remember that he ever missed work because he was sick. Ever. He said that there were no sick days when you owned your own business. On Friday nights he'd come home with an extra large cheese pizza for the family. Those were the days when Catholics weren't allowed to eat meat on Friday. On Sunday nights we'd gather in front of the TV to watch Wonderful World of Disney. Dad would get the Ritz crackers and peanut butter and we would feast on this special treat. Sometimes if he was feeling particularly frisky, he would do push ups or sit ups for us.
For a special Sunday family outing, we'd go to Post Arrow in the Bronx and have burgers or hot dogs and play arcade games. This was way before video games. We were shooting a row of ducks in a shooting gallery game. Thought we were pretty cool.
When I grew up and had children of my own, he and my Mom would visit us almost every Sunday. We had a pool and Dad was right in there with the kids, diving off the board, teaching them to dive and swim and playing around in the pool with them.
I always knew that he was special.
I love you, Dad. Happy Birthday and Happy Father's Day!
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Sounds a lot like my dad. A wonderful, kind, giving man in my eyes. I also remember Sunday drives to a little pond with fish somewhere in CT.
I remember just about two months before Amy died when she was still eating a little, one Sunday night she said “i’m in the mood for a piece of carrot cake. I said i’ll go get it for you. “she said where will you find carrot cake sunday night at 8 o’clock??” i said “leave it up to me, i’ll find a piece somewhere” well i went to about four grocery stores and none of them had any carrot cake. I finally found this deli that was opened late. I went in and said “do you have any carrot cake?” the lady said “we have one slice left”. I said “i’ll take it”. Amy said it was the best piece of cake she ever tasted and ate the whole thing. It was one of those really big slices too. Then i remember she said “you’re just like your dad”. That’s something he would have done without hesitating. She said “whether it was running out to pick up pizza or just jumping up to get someone a napkin. Dad would stop what he was doing and go out, or drive them some where or try to get whatever they were craving”. That was one of the greatest compliment she could have paid me. To say “you’re just like your dad”. She really loved him – and he loved her. Happy Birthday and Fathers Day, Dad. I love you. Amy taught him it was ok to say “I love you”. He say’s it to me often now.
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