My father would have been 88 years old today. Happy Birthday Dad!
My father and I had a very, very close relationship. In the last 15 years of his life we talked regularly, every Sunday, minimum. We talked about everything – warts and all. When he passed three years ago, we left absolutely nothing on the table. Way to go, Dad! (He would get the humor.)
We had this unspoken rivalry. If one of us got the other laughing so hard he couldn’t speak, that was called a “gotcha!” It was a topper game we’d play in the back of our heads.
As an example, he was going in for an eye exam. He had some spots in his left eye. As we’re going over the “possibles” – best case, worst case – the conversation starts taking the dark humor route. He says, “I’ll know it’s bad news when they give me a walking stick.” I said, “or they give you a dog and a box of Milk Bones.” Boom, his end when silent. His wife, Eva, had to get on the phone and do a commercial break while my father is in the background laughing. He walks to the bathroom to blow his nose … walks all the way back, sits down in his recliner, gets back on the phone (still laughing) and I say, “Gotchaaaaa!” ….. Eva is back on the phone. That’s 2 “Gotcha”s in a row. We called that a “two-fer.”
He got me one time, I couldn’t speak for so long he thought the line went dead, so he hung up and called me back. I pick it up and hear “Gotcha.” Twofer.
I love you, Dad.
A Dad story.
I was probably about 13 years old. My older brother and I were playing pitcher-catcher in the backyard. I was catching.
My brother threw a rising fastball, it whizzed past me and sailed straight through both panes of our sliding glass doors. It couldn’t have been more dead center if we had measured it out with a laser ruler.
We didn’t have air conditioning in those days so we would leave the sliding glass doors open when it was warm. When the baseball came through the den it had to pass through BOTH panes of glass, leaving a near-perfect round hole.
My father came out of the den and yelled at us, “Goddamn it! How many times have I told you two not to pitch towards the house?!?” He went back inside and called the glass company.
The end. No fuss, no muss.
This is the father I knew, the father not under the influence of my mother.
One last thing, Dad … thank you so much for the Cub Scouts, Mets games, Islip Speedway, the BYA, midget football, parades, Coney Island, Statue of Liberty, The Whip ride … it was all you and it was great.