My wonderful father
I have been blessed to have a wonderful father, Morris.
He just turned 90 this year and is in good health. For his birthday, my daughters and I transcribed his hand-written memoir into a google doc. He wants to publish it–just for our family–and that was the next step. His writing is entertaining, and his life interesting. He’s a good storyteller, and it’s fascinating to read about his life as a child. Life was so different then. When I was 10 or 11, I loved talking to my dad. I’d tell him my ideas about the world and he would tell me that some great philosopher had that same idea. I don’t remember the details. But I remember feeling really heard and honored by those conversations.
The father of my children
I also want to honor the father of my children, my ex-husband and friend, Ken. He is and has been a great dad and wonderful to co-parent with. Our marriage certainly had its rough parts, but we work together well as parents. When one or both of our girls were living here in Chicago, we had dinner together at least once a week. We’ve celebrated almost all of our holidays together, too. And I think I can speak for both of us when I say that raising our daughters has been a gift beyond belief. I am grateful to Ken for being such a great dad and for being my friend.
My grandfathers
I’ve also been thinking a lot about my grandparents later–both grandmother and grandfathers. They all came to this country as immigrants from countries where their lives were threatened regularly because they were Jewish. They came from Russia, Austria, and Belarus. My mom’s dad never wanted to speak about his life in Belarus, which belonged to Russia and Poland at different times. But once I remember he showed us his passport or exit visa which had handwritten on it in Polish, I think, “Never come back.” He told us a little about the pogroms and about leaving their home in the city where they lived and living in the forest. He started a dry cleaning business with his father here in this country and built a life for his family. My mom and uncles all went to college.
I didn’t really know my Grandpa Bruck, my dad’s dad, very well. He died when I was just a few years old. I know he owned a series of businesses that didn’t do all that well. I loved when my Dad told me about being a soda jerk and his family’s business. Maybe it was just because I had never heard that term before and thought it was funny. But I liked picturing my dad as a teenager scooping ice cream and making shakes and sodas like in the old movies.
More about my Dad
My parents told me that he didn’t treat my grandmother very well. He was considerably older than her. She was just a teenager when my Dad was born. He died of a heart attack when he turned 70. My dad gave up his daily cocktail and smoking then and lost a bunch of weight. He never drank much, and he mostly smoked pipes and cigars. I loved his Meerschaum pipe and his hookah (which he used for tobacco). My brothers and I used to get to take turns blowing out the match, but we often couldn’t remember whose turn it was. We would argue about it until our dad would shake the match out himself, which always made us mad. Of course, now I understand, but I really didn’t understand then why he couldn’t just wait. We almost had it figured out!
One thing I learned from my Dad–every day is a gift
He told me that he expected to die at 70, like his father. He also said that every day since then has been a gift–that’s 20 years! It’s a gift for me, too.
The older I get, the more I appreciate my Dad. He’s a quiet man, most of the time. But he’s a deep thinker and has loved and cared for us. He is an artist as well as a writer. Dad–if you’re reading this, get to work on your illustrations so we can get your book published!
The sacrifices my Dad made for me and my brothers
I have come to appreciate the sacrifices that my Dad made for us to give us a good life. He put my brothers and me first. In his career as a psychologist at state hospitals and for the VA, he took care of many people. He was and is good a taking care of people, especially his family. He moved away from his home to give us a better life. That’s a story that I’m not ready to write about yet. But believe me when I say that leaving Detroit was a choice he made to take care of me, although I didn’t know it at the time.
I have learned that being a parent is the toughest job I’ve ever loved. And I learned all about love and care from both of my parents.
Thanks for all of that, Dad. I love you.
Thanks for teaching me that every day is a gift (even though I’m not 70 yet).
Happy Father’s Day to all of the dad’s. Thanks for all you do.
If you want to learn more about the origins of Father’s Day (I didn’t know anything about it’s history) check here. Did you know, for example, that although people began celebrating Father’s Day in the US around 1910, it didn’t become an official national holiday until 1972?
And thanks to all of you for stopping by.
xoxo
