My father was the rock of our family. Even though he was a talented businessman, he never stopped trying to do more, be more and extend his capacities.
He was always looking to create the next opportunity, always looking for the next step up.
We were all so proud of him. His drive and determination rubbed off on his children.
He never got the chance to retire, because he died young. But his zest for life throughout his short time on earth was to work hard and play hard. He pampered himself every other year with a new car, custom-made Italian suits and owned a Patek Philippe watch. His idea of casual was a cashmere sweater. He found pleasure in entertaining and being with his family. Although if anyone were to ask my mother she would say his greatest excitement came from work and achievement. He cultivated a love of music- in particular dance, and a love of all things Italian and spoke it fluently. He also liked the spring and summer which for him meant swimming, fishing, baseball and his male bonding time included playing poker while drinking Hennessy Cognac. Although he was not the type to come to Las Vegas, he would have preferred Monte Carlo.
There was something in him that was young and fun. But all of that is now behind him. His entire future collapsed when he got ill and he was sick for a very long time.
After he died, I realized that I wish I would have spent more time with him — time, something I had all but taken for granted because I was young.
Time.
Why hadn’t I gone fishing with him more than a handful of times, and why didn’t I go to visit him more often? I always thought I would have plenty of time.
Even so, there was nowhere near enough time.
Time is suppose to blur the hurt but it
can't blur memories. I remember him whenever I do something that is
resourceful, or when I challenge the authorities and win or when my
mind conjures up something creative and ingenious that hasn't been
done before. At those times, I tell myself I am his daughter. When I
watch my brother speak directly and firmly without raising his voice
to get his message across and others acquiesce, I see my father.
When I watch my one nephew determined to win his rowing race while
others slump from exhaustion, I see my father. And when my younger
nephew says something witty beyond his years and all the girls circle
around him, I also see my father.
No I didn't have enough time with him,
but his spirit lives on, within me and around me.
What about you, do you remember your
Dad on Father's Day or throughout the year? Would you like to share a
story?
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