Happy Fathers' Day

My Memory of Dad June 7, 2014 & June 20, 2015

It takes all kinds of Dads to make the world go around and keep kids happy. There are stern Dads, thoughtless Dads, lenient ones and above all there are mostly loving Dads. I had a loving Dad, a lenient one who was always ready to help me with art homework, spelling lists or math. He left the rest to Mom. He was lenient to a point.
Shortly before I married, I had the temerity to climb into his lap one day; I needed a favor. He was a big man and I was a small person. Physically sitting on Dad’s lap posed no problem and he loved it. That is he loved it until I verbalized the favor. As soon as he heard what I wanted his lap disappeared and I hit the floor, astonished. My astonishment did not match his hurt. How dare I ask him for something that way: I was buttering him up, he knew it and was offended. It took months before he gave in and provided me with a railroad pass to visit my beloved!
He and I had an Easter Sunday routine, a date we looked forward to. Every year on Easter Sunday, as our neighbors and friends dressed up for church or for parading on the avenue, he and I would don our oldest clothes. (Easter is not a Jewish holiday.) Then, looking like a homeless pair, we went down to the boardwalk at the beach and took a long walk. We did lots of talking. Subjects in my early years were about taking care of myself. “Take care of your hands, a lady should have nice hands, always wear gloves!” Then as I grew and was making college plans, “Be sure you take a worthwhile course of study so that if you need to, you can have a job and earn your way.” He did not worry about me; I don’t think he did. Frequently he gave me his own point of view, I always listened, sometimes, I heeded his advice.
When Dad died in 1957, I remember sadly seeing him lying in peaceful sleep, I looked at his hands. He had beautiful strong hands. I pictured then and do now what those hands did for me: they taught me to hold a tennis racquet; they held me close when I needed a hug. His hands taught me to draw a straight line, to hang on to him when we crossed the street. His hands held many doors and showed me how to go first. Those hands never hurt me; they caught me when I first jumped from the side of the pool, taught me to swim. They always helped me on with my coat and took it from my shoulders when we returned home. In the early years, his hands pushed me in my carriage and straightened the covers; later they were not too big to push my doll carriage and help me cross the street.
As Father's Day approaches tomorrow. I continue to focus on Dad with more thoughts...he has been gone for fifty-eight years; that does not seem possible. He is as vivid today in my head and heart as he was when he took me for a walk, to a movie or simply kept me company as I walked to religious school on Sunday morning. He and I were very good friends. He was a big man, a six foot two giant to my five foot two. I never thought about that then. I only knew that he was helpful when I needed a straight line, an explanation regarding geometry or a book from the top shelf. Mother was in charge of the rest, especially my comfort in the kitchen. Dad taught me about exercise and the outdoors.
On pretty spring-like Sunday afternoons, he and I would sit in the backyard sunshine, he with the New York Times puzzle and I with my homework. We helped each other, occasionally I could find the right word for his puzzle and he was always eager to answer my school-book questions. He was a so-so student in school, but he kept at it and received an electrical engineer’s degree from Columbia University in 1905. When 40 years later I received my Master’s in Social Work from the same school, we celebrated! I do not know which of us wore our pride more ostentatiously.
When he stood next to me, under the chuppa and literally handed me over to my Erv, I felt his ambivalence, the mixture of sadness and joy. He was breathing with difficulty, trying keep his mind in control of his heart. My own mind was torn with worry and excitement: would Dad make it through the ceremony, how soon could Erv and I comfortably take off and run? Twelve years later Dad took a deep breath and left this land of the living. Packed in those years before he died there was much joy to share: grandchildren to enjoy, successful adult children to provide nachas (joy/pride) to satisfy even my undemanding Dad. He preceded Mother in death by two months, just as they had planned. God heard them and approved their wishes. Their example and dedication to one another provided the role model that kept my marriage alive and well for more than 63 years.
Dad, you continue to live in my heart, Jeff and Erv are keeping you and Mother company. Every time I pick up a ruler, I think of you, Every time I play tennis (now on the Wii), I remember those first lessons, and whenever, I wash my hands and use lotion or pull on gloves, I remember your words, “a lady takes care of her hands”.

Thanks and Happy Father’s Day, Dad!