My Father's Son

 My hero in life, my Dad, had a mischievous streak. After he retired, at 60, it increased -- probably due to his active mind needing things to occupy itself.

One of my favorite tales was the Publix Rye Bread Incident of 1980. He went with my Mom to the Delray Publix, and she sent him over to the bakery counter to get bread. There was a line, and it consisted of several very cranky old Jews complaining about having to wait so long.

My Dad was always flummoxed by that attitude. These people were retired, with no real place to be, other than maybe cards or golf or mah jong, or the early bird specials at the restaurants. What was their rush?

So he sidled up to one loud complainer, and said, in a low voice, "The reason the line is so long is that today they're giving away free rye breads, but clearly they're running out." My Dad said this knowing, of course, that rye bread was the true staple of our fellow Ashkenazim, and the thought that there might be free samples denied was, as they say, a shonda.

Sure enough, the old man became livid with Publix, and started spreading the false rumor my Dad concocted. Within moments, there arose a cry more desperate than anything we've been hearing lately from the BLM people before they loot stores. "We VANT OUR FREE BREAD!!!!"

Close to a riot ensued. The Bakery manager had to stand up on the counter, and announce: "Remain calm. There is NO free rye bread! There is plenty of bread for sale. Please be patient."

My mother wheeled her cart over and saw what was happening. She lightly scolded my father. When I heard the story, it made my month back at UM.

Well -- fast forward 4 decades. The other day I posted a photo on FaceBook (tm) of a neighbor's lawn, filled with plastic orange and black flamingos. There was a sign "You have been flocked by the Palmetto Middle PTSA." Apparently, as a fundraiser, you can pay to have a group come by during the night and plant these ornaments on a neighbor's lawn. I thought it was a lovely, nice thing, and so shared it on my page.

I have a neighbor and FB (tm) friend I'll call Roberta, since that's her name. We used to live West of the Falls, and our daughters went to school together. She has two -- lovely girls, both young lawyers now. Years ago, she announced that she was leaving her long time husband, a CPA. I said to Wifey immediately -- she's gay -- she has a woman.

Wifey scoffed. How absurd. Turns out I was dead on, and now she and her older wife, another lovely lady, bought a house in our 'hood.

Roberta is VERY liberal, sometimes to the point of espousing lefty causes that I find silly. And sure enough, last night she asked if my photo of the orange and black birds was taken in our 'hood. I replied it was, and directed her to the house.

She responded "How awful. They must have dyed those poor birds." It took me a moment, and then it sank in. She thought the plastic flamingos were real, and victims of animal cruelty.

My Dad kicked in. I responded that they weren't died, but came from a "special farm" down in the Redlands which specialized in breeding various colored flamingos, for people to buy and have pecking around their lawns for holiday festivity. I said they had green and red ones for Xmas, and were working on a new strain of red, white, and blue ones for July 4.  Roberta replied that was interesting.

Norman chimed in, too, and talked about how the former owner of Hialeah Park, a made guy, demanded even pinker flamingos, and that's where the mystical Redlands farm started.

Well -- I'm mean but not cruel, and I private messaged Roberta telling her the flamingos were plastic -- and not to call PETA about it. She appreciated I cut short the prank on FB.

Oy. What times we live in. People are still planning to vote for Trump, even though there is zero rational reason to do so. But last night reminds us that even my fellow Leftys are easily led astray sometimes, too.

And for me, the spirit of my beloved, late Dad is very much alive in his wise ass son.