I won’t be blogging or doing a column this week, kids (unless something major happens like me suddenly finding out who A-Rod is). You see, my beloved dad has passed on and I’m in a daze, not only from the loss but from looking at the open casket every night. Let me tell you about him:
He was a gentle, soft spoken guy who was not bothered by anything (as opposed to mom, who’s pretty much worried by everything). Dad grew up in the depression, was beaten by nuns, and spent WWII in a foxhole, so his response to any crisis after that was, “Who cares? We’ll get through it.” A vibrant mind, dad had to drop out of school to help his father at the bakery, growing up at a time when it was all about survival, not pampering one’s inner fantasy life. But he passed his GED much later and devoted much of his life to words and numbers–he loved puzzles, card games, chess, and even doing taxes! To me, he was the smartest man in the world.
And he loved singing, dancing, and–not surprisingly–nightlife. At my gala birthday events, he’d gamely mingle with the downtown kids and even flirt with a trannie or two, blissfully unaware that they had penises.
But dad’s biggest message of all, said whenever we’d watch performers on TV: “Michael, all you need is nerve!” That motto got me far–especially since dad backed me in my plan to go to an Ivy league school, kicking in money and his wholehearted support. As a result, I got to live all my dreams and achieve things he was never allowed to do. Thank you, dad. I love you!
PS: I should explain that Dad recently broke his back and was sent into the same hospital I recently bitched about in a five-part series. By the next week, he was dead. But that’s a whole other series.