So today is Bastille Day. It's also my dear friend Mike's birthday -- he's up in North Carolina, and took Loni to see Journey and Def Leppard in ATL last night. He planned to stay at their vacation house for the month of July, but then his daughter in law dashed the plans by having a grandson. Loni misses the baby too much -- they're coming home to Miami this week.
Despite being born 4 days apart, in Queens and Miami, Mike and also have in common amazing fathers. Mine was a WW II veteran, Ed a post Korean War era veteran.
Ed was a great mentor and father figure to me, as well as to many of Mike's friends. Like my Dad, Ed died at 63 -- of cancer, instead of the heart attack that took my Dad.
I texted Mike today and said as much as we adored and loved our Dads, and followed their life paths as kick ass Dads -- maybe we ought to live longer than 63 -- especially since Mike is now and I will soon be...63. The Big Man decides.
July 14, 1982 was the worst day of my life, and I never cried or lost it at all. My job was to be strong for my Mom, who had lost her life's partner, and cried and lost it plenty enough for both of us.
I never "got over" my Dad's death. The Ds both texted me today, knowing full well this day of infamy in our family history. Both are sad they never met him -- but my oldest grandson bear's Dad's name.
I spoke so much about my Dad during their childhoods -- they feel they DO know him. And that gladdens me.
And, by coincidence, Wifey and I have an appointment at 11:30 with an undertaker, to buy some small amounts of Kendall real estate. Is it a coincidence? Rabbi Yossi would say it is not -- I picked this day to honor my Dad, even though he chose cremation and dispersal at sea.
Who knows? Maybe on our way home, Wifey and I will stop by Matheson Hammock, and talk to both Dad and Mom.
Man, those years fly by. I recall the Summer of 1982 in great detail. After a few days, I went back to my Summer job at Jordan Marsh, and then back to Coral Gables for senior year. I experienced chest pains, and got my first EKG -- at the suggestion of Bob Davidoff, family friend and neurologist. He suspected they were psychomatic, as they used to call it, and he was correct.
I then spent most of the year feeling detached. I would sit in class and feel I was looking down at myself and my classmates. Years later I learned this is a common psychological condition for post trauma people. Little by little, I "came to myself," as my Mother would have said.
I applied to law school -- just 2 -- UF and UM. I got into both right away, and actually was ready for an academic change -- Gainesville seemed like a cool place to study. But I knew my Mom still needed lots of help -- she had never paid a bill or balanced a checkbook, and so I took out loans for the private UM.
It's funny. My brother of another mother Eric had a grad school decision, too. He got into Yale! He asked me what I thought, even though we had plans to live together, along with Barry, a college senior. I said go to Yale -- what an honor!
Eric ended up NOT taking my advice, and stayed at UM with a scholarship. He grew closer to his girlfriend Dana, who became a third roommate for awhile, before her parents suggested maybe she spend weekends in her own dorm. But it worked out great -- they married and build a wonderful life together -- 3 grandkids, and a 4th on the way.
And Barry dipped on us, as the Millennials say, forcing Eric and I to find a different apartment than the 3 bedroom we were going to rent. And that led to me meeting Wifey -- so that worked out, too.
So today, I honor my late father. And I ask the Big Man to give me many more years than He gave him. I got lots of memories to make -- and lots to do!
I miss you Dad and love you eternally.
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