After he got out of the Navy, he met my Mom -- they got married -- and shortly after that, I came along.  He got a job with Pan American Airlines, and worked there until they went under.  He finished out the rest of his working days with Delta. 

My Dad didn't have the warmest of relationships with his own father.  My grandfather was -- um, complicated. 

My Dad wanted to make sure the chasm that existed between him and his Dad . . . would never exist between us. And it never did. 

He worked the night shift for many years -- and that left us with lots of time to spend together.  There's one day I remember real well -- like it was a year or two ago.  I must have been 8 or 9 years old -- and I was just starting to play in little league and I was having trouble hitting and pretty down about it.  He got home from work around 7:30, just as I was getting dressed for school -- and he kept me home that day.  And, instead, we went up to the ballfield in Forest Park -- and we just played ball together.  It was a simple thing -- but just the two of us by ourselves that day -- I can remember it really well 36 or 37 years later. 

There's so much that my Dad gave me -- and one of them was a love and appreciation for art.  We were at the Museum of Modern Art and we were looking at Van Gogh's "Starry Night" -- and he was absolutely floored by it.  Awed, would be a good description.  He'd always loved this painting -- and the Don McLean song called "Vincent" (from the American Pie album) that he loved.  But seeing it in a book was nothing like seeing it in person.

To be honest -- I was a dumb 11-year old kid and didn't see the big deal.  He explained it to me in a way I can remember, almost word for word, years later.

"Son," he said to me. "Take a good look at this, and remember it.

Years and years from now, you might visit some museum, and see this painting. Who knows, maybe you'll have a son of your own by then. I'll probably be long gone.

But, look at this painting, and imagine all of the people over the years -- the Presidents and the Popes, the rich people and the poor people, all of whom have looked at this exact canvas and seen this exact painting.

Years from now you'll sit down and look at this painting and remember that this is the exact same painting we looked at.  Together. 

It's a piece of history, and it's something we shared together, and we'll share together again, years from now when you look at it again. Even though I'm not here.  It'll be like you're visiting me"

And though I was a dumb kid -- what he said really clicked with me.  And that was a bond we shared -- a love of art and all forms of creativity -- whether it be a painting, a good book, a poem -- whatever.  He was a good painter himself -- he used oil almost exclusively.  Below are two of my favorites of his -- the ship is a real large painting.  I need to get a new frame for it. 

He had giant hands, my Dad -- but they were able to create some real beautiful things on a small scale.  He built lots of models -- mostly sailing ships.  He always used to build a Christmas Village for under the tree -- and each year he'd tweak it a little -- add to it, repair a fence, repaint a house, etc.  The last few Christmases, he didn't have the energy -- so the village sat in a closet.  For Christmas 2007, I took it out and gave it the touch-up work he usually did.  Now, for many years going forward, it'll be something we continue to collaborate on.  Together.

And spending time together -- that was something that was real important to him.  Whether it be at home, or on the ballfield.  We talked a lot.  We talked baseball, politics, movies, books, history -- we talked all the time. 

He was involved in the little league for many years.  He designed the boosters that the kids had to sell -- and he had me pose for the drawing (see below).  I hit right-handed -- but he wanted the batter in the booster to be left-handed and so, I had to pose as a lefty.  Anyway, to this day, you may see the booster here and there in Woodhaven -- most notably, in the doorway of Pop's Restaurant.  Next time you go into Pop's take a look -- and you'll see another of our collaborations :-)

The last few years of his life, he spent a lot of time in our backyard.  He liked watering the flowers, and cutting bushes -- sometimes I think he just liked to play with the hose :-)  One day, while we were working in the back yard, the young boy next door handed us a sickly kitten that he'd found.  We brought it inside the house -- and as he was holding it, trying to figure out what to do with it, he looked to my Mom and said -- in a voice that may have come from that 5-year old sitting at the top of this page -- "Can we keep her?"

Well, I guess you know the answer to that.  Her name was Lily -- and he adored her.  I love the picture below -- and even though you can't see his face, I think this picture below captures the essence of my Dad better than any other.  As I said before he had such giant hands -- and yet they were so gentle and caring.

I tried my hand at painting a few years ago -- and using the picture of him with the hose as a starting point, came up with a painting of him in his favorite spot -- our backyard.  He was always my biggest supporter, my greatest fan, and my best friend -- and the feeling was entirely mutual.

His last few months were rough and uncomfortable for him -- he was unable to eat or even have a drink of water.  But though we knew it was driving him crazy -- he never complained.  And once we'd reached the point of no return -- the doctor quietly gave us the okay to give him whatever he wanted.  So I brought him his favorite.  Ice Cold Root Beer.  Try to imagine the sensation that after nearly 6 months of dying for a simple drink of water being able to sit up and drink Ice Cold Root Beer.  He looked like he'd died and gone to heaven.  And shortly after that, July 1st 2005, he did. 

Here we were, saying goodbye to each other -- for what we both knew was the last time -- but we didn't want to talk about it.  Instead, we talked about baseball.  And I said goodnight to him that night as I had every other night since he'd been hospitalized -- a kiss on the forehead, a wink . . . "See you tomorrow!"  

When we got the call, I was so relieved for him.  He was, at last, free.  And while I like to think that he's watching over me -- I prefer to think that he's over in NYC, watching over "Starry Night."  I really need to visit him soon :-)