Remembering the two buses and two subways my Dad would take me on to get to Shea Stadium hours before batting practice so I could catch site of my favorite Mets Tom Seaver and Bud Harrelson as they drove into the parking area.
Remembering attending Broadway plays and listening to and discussing the soundtracks of our favorites forever.
Remembering his unbelievably funny stories about bizarre things that happened to him, usually prefaced by, “This could only have happened to me…” The broken toilet at work, stepping on a baby and “It’s a man with a cane, Watson” were priceless.
Rolling on the floor quite literally overcome with laughter, while watching Get Smart together.
Playing volleyball at the pool. Thinking he was the smartest man alive when he predicted the outcome of the Prisoner TV series we adored watching together while shaking our heads in disbelief at my mother, who thought it was the most confusing, boring show she had ever seen.
Writing his own rendition of “Twas the Night Before Christmas” that still puts me in stitches and a series of jokes he wrote for me when a neighborhood mother had insulted me.
Reading books and discussing them. He was one of the most widely read persons I ever have known. Our favorite: all of the Sherlock Holmes.
He only said the words, “I love you” once that I recall. Two other times, he let me know, once by telling me the thoughts expressed in a Broadway song were his for me, and another by expressing how he felt when he learned I had been injured in a car accident.
He wasn’t an overly expressive guy, but he gave me the gifts of time, laughter and indulgence whenever he could.
Fathers are so important to helping us establish our self worth at an early age. Thankful mine took his job seriously despite the fact that he wasn’t much more than a kid himself when he had me. Much of who I am today is because of him.