Today my Dad, if he had lived long enough, would have turned 90. Im afraid it wasnt in the cards, he died at age 66, but in thinking about him this morning, Im feeling grateful all the same. He was a sweet, mild-mannered, somewhat introverted and industrious man who never stopped doing for his wife and six kids. He seemed to thrive on it. He grew up very poor and for a time was homeless. As a little kid during the Depression, he stole apples and depending on his appetite, he either ate or sold them. He joined the Navy and went to Normandy and after returning home to New York City, like so many young couples back in the 1950s, he and my Mom left the city for Long Islands suburbs to raise a family. As a kid, he often worked part-time jobs in the evening on top of his long day job of repairing subway train engines in Coney Island. On weekends (his spare time!) he built anything and everything by hand... dormers, driveways, patios, garden beds, fences, additions to our small home and then his masterpiece,the playhouse, a miniature version of our house (shown here) in the backyard for his kids to play in, complete with casement windows, an attic and a combination porch/sandbox. Needless to say, the playhouse was a hit and quite popular with all the neighborhood kids, but heres the thing... I never once heard my Dad complain! Seriously. As difficult as his life was, and it truly was, he always felt lucky to have so much, including my Mom, who he adored till the end. I once heard him say, referring to his life, I landed in a cream puff. That phrase kind of explains him, we were the lucky ones, too. Heres to you, Dad. And he took photographs of everything!
Posted on: Mon, 03 Nov 2014 13:41:16 +0000
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