1979

 So my friend Eric, actually the older brother of my friend Mark from LI, is a very active FaceBook 9tm) poster. He's an Architecture Professor at Farmingdale College, mostly retired, and living in the Levittown house his parents owned. He has the downstairs; his sister Laura and her husband and slow to launch daughter have the upstairs.

This am, Eric posted one of a series of "What Happened In..." and the year was 1979. That was a turning point year for me, as I turned 18, graduated high school, and moved to Miami, the tropical place I still call home. Turns out a lot of world stuff also happened in '79 -- the Iran Hostage Crisis, gas shortages, crazy inflation, and the zenith and decline of Disco music.

Also, the CD rom was invented, and the Sony Walkman came out, presaging an era of most of us focused on our own electronic worlds than the one around us. Also, disparate cultural icons died in 1979: Sid Vicious and John Wayne. Wayne's movies, some of them, were better.

Since Eric is still on LI, his posts bring me back to that place, and maybe my most precious memory of that year was in March. Earlier, I needed a warmer winter coat than the one I had, and a few of the kids with a bit of money were buying down parkas. My Dad took me to Sears, when they had them on sale, and I picked one out -- I seem to remember it cost about $75 -- not a small amount then. They also had one in his size, and I said we ought to get matching ones, but in classic Dad style, he picked out another one in the same color but with polyester filling -- half the price.

That was my Dad. His kids got the best -- for him -- ok was fine. But we left the store with warm coats, and a few weeks later, on a Sunday, a day bloomed that was bitter cold but with brilliant sunshine. Dad suggested maybe we go take a walk on the Jones Beach Boardwalk, and get lunch afterwards in the restaurant, which was there before Trump messed things up and they took it away.

So we drove down and parked in the lot near the iconic water tower, and we walked. And walked. And walked. We talked about coming days, and how proud he was that I was going to college -- something never in the cards for him as he worked 3 jobs after WW II to support my Mom and sisters. He always was more impressed by education than money -- and his son was going to be the first in the family to get a 4 year college degree.

We talked about women, and he gave me his sage advice: marry someone pleasant. My Mom Sunny surely was, and he loved her greatly. He knew so many shrill people -- and those were to be avoided as marriage material. He gave no advice about background, or religion -- just marry pleasant.

We ended up back at the restaurant, and had sandwiches and hot chocolate. I felt like I was a man with the greatest man in my life. We walked to the car, with a setting sun and even colder temperatures, and as we waited for the heater to kick in, he said "Well, in a few months we won't be worried about freezing anymore." He looked forward to South Florida.

Just over three years later, he'd die in my arms in a barber shop. A year after that, I would meet Wifey, who was to become my life partner and give me the greatest gifts of all: my Ds. And she's eccentric, and we're, like most couples, sometimes at odds, especially after decades together. But she is indeed pleasant, and when we spend our easy times together, I know Dad would have approved.

Dad was about to turn 60 on the day of that lovely memory -- my age now. Some of my friends like to say that our generation, and all Boomers, are somehow much younger old people than our parents were. Wifey has friends who point out that their mothers had "old lady hairstyles and clothes."

I don't know. This am I have my semi annual checkup with Dr. Puig -- my urologist -- because of an enlarged prostate gland -- classic old man condition.

Just the other day I noted to Wifey that despite walking at least 7000 steps per day, and working with a trainer twice per week, stuff STILL hurts. My joints -- vague headaches that seem to come from neck pain. When I drop something, I debate whether it's really worth it to pick it up.

So much for being a much younger 60 year old than Dad was. But I sure hope I get more than the 63 years the Big Man allotted to him.

1979 was an important year. All of them are.