I keep telling Wifey I know I've become insufferable lately -- claiming to have come to all of these life affirming conclusions -- turning into the Mr. Know it All I always made fun of. Fortunately, the conclusions are that I really thought I WAS Mr. Know it All, but realize I know much less -- particularly about human nature, that most crucial study there is.
Anyway, my birthday dawned, and I put on a suit for only the second time this year -- the last was for my nephew of another brother Scott's wedding. This time Wifey and I drove to Beth David, the old synagogue in The Roads, for my friend Norman's Dad's funeral. The place holds special meaning for us. In 1960 new Israeli immigrants, my in laws, moved to that neighborhood, and my suegra brought 4 year old Wifey over to enroll her in the pre school. Being clueless of all things American, she had no idea that the school year was well under way, and they didn't accept latecomers.
Well, they made an exception, and Wifey began her journey as an American, coming home crying each day as all the other kids only spoke English and she only spoke Hebrew. She came around fast enough, and now, sadly, the Hebrew is mostly gone for her -- some of the Yiddish, which her parents also spoke, remains, though I may actually know more words since I'm such an old soul and think, often, like my parents did.
Years later -- 1992 in fact, our house in Kendall was mistroyed, as adorable D1 noted, by Hurricane Andrew, and we moved to Brickell, too far from the JCC D1 was to attend. Wifey took D1 to Beth David, and they reprised their kindness -- taking in the adorable Andrew refugee. I wrote a letter to the Board thanking them, for their understanding in both 1960 and 1992, and they published it.
Anyway, Max's service was beautiful and moving -- Norman spoke last and from the heart about this true angel on earth who was his Dad -- his many accomplishments, and lessons of love. After, we drove to Mt. Sinai, an old cemetery, and did the mitzvot of helping cover the grave with earth.
Not the way I wished to spend my birthday, but I wouldn't have dreamed of not paying proper respect to a great man -- I'll head over to shiva tonight at his condo at Gables Club --- I think Eric and Dana may come, too.
And then came the epiphany. Of the two funerals of friends' Dads, the men were VERY different. Bill was a wild man -- partied a LOT -- cursed a LOT (especially when his Eagles lost) and engaged in lots of activities Max maybe saw on films but no sooner would have done than drunk Drano, to use my old boss Ed's expression. There would never be a street named after Bill, as there is for Max, for his contributions to business in a growing area. Bill worked for years for his son.
Still, both men were greatly mourned -- Max by a very large family, and Bill by many friends and his only child and 2 grandkids. And so the epiphany is: if you give love to your family unconditionally, as both men did, and make them know how important they are to you, then that life was well lived, whether you were a saint or a sinner.
Barry met us at the cemetery, and planned to go to D1's house to see the boys, but first we had the business of lunch, and we met at Caracas Bakery in MiMo, which has, arguably, the best sandwiches in town. From there, on to D1, where I poured us some Ketel Oranjes, to toast Max and my birthday and Barry's upcoming 62nd, and spent precious hours with the energetic grandsons.
At 630, Barry left, and Jonathan had come by to toast with us, and the grown up members of the family went to The Palm, where, comically, Paul and Patricia had invited themselves. I said only family, and as Paul noted, they ARE.
The dinner was grand, and as Paul noted, much good natured fun was made of Wifey, who has learned to understand that it is her Ds' "language of love" to point out her many quirks (and there are many). The drive home was joyful, too, as some old anecdotes recalled by D2, who drove, prompted breathless laughter from the rest of us.
Beginning of my 65th year was now accomplished.
Yesterday D1 brought the boys over, and her old friend Macarena came by, too -- we hadn't seen her for over a decade, and we had another lovely day, as Bill Withers sang about.
So on to my next year, with a clear goal in mind: to make it to 65 and finally enjoy some of the Medicare benefits I've been paying for since I had my first taxes withheld in 1976 when I was 15! Bastards OWE me!
I know I'll probably wait until 70 to collect Social Security, but may opt to start at 67, my "full retirement" age. We'll see...
Oh yeah -- I also plan to keep the love coming for those who mean so much to me. Last night crazy Sheryl from Boston called -- to wish me happy birthday and follow up with whether I had contact with a recent widower friend about fixing them up. I had not. Her plans are to build an addition onto her house, and let her only partially launched son and his fiancee live in her main house. Would I ever do this, she asked? I reminded her that we were just 2 generations (in her case 3) from poor immigrants packing entire families into tenements in turn of the century (the LAST one) America -- so I COULD do it -- but --hell nah! I adore my Ds and their families, but enjoy the distance, moderate as it is.
As I noted -- part of being that insufferable aging dude.
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