It’s hard getting to the age when you realize that any visit with your parents could be the last. I try not to think about it (much) and just make the most of the time, asking lots of questions, and hearing all the old stories that I never want to forget. Here’s to all the best dads of the world.❤️
My dad was a war hero (WWII POW) but the thing he cherished was being Dad. When I was “flying up” from Brownies to Girl Scouts, he left his blue collar job early and hitched 12 miles to be at the ceremony. That is when I knew everything I needed to know about men and love.
Australian Father’s Day isn’t until September but my goodness this resonated with me.
My grandparents are in their 80s and while I was lucky enough to grow up with them, they live hours away and with three young children and a full time job, I don’t see them nearly as often as I like. My maternal grandparents are 3.5hrs/over 300km away and my paternal grandfather is 5hrs/450km away. As hard as we try, finding the time to visit is a challenge, and so often I feel guilty.
This week just gone my girl and I took a road trip up to the border, for her to skate in her second competition for the year, and on our way back down the coast we extended our trip (instead of doing the 850km trip home in a day like we’d planned to), to spend a night at the farm with my grandfather and a night at the beach with my maternal grandparents. I’ll be forever grateful for the memories we’ve made this week, despite the guilt I feel about the boys not being there. When my grandmother passed I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye- despite saying goodbye so many times before- and even though I’ve lived half my life without her by my side, it still makes my heart ache.
I am so, so lucky to have my dad close by. He’s there for every moment- he watches the girl skate, he plays trains with my big boy, he launches my littlest into the air like he weighs nothing just to hear him laugh. He’s there for zoo trips and sleepovers and ice cream dates even though I said they don’t need more ice cream, and every school event ever. He’s there carting me too and from appointments when I need a ride, and for as long as he lives he’ll be our biggest fans. When I was younger I definitely took him and my mum for granted, but the reality is that I won’t have them forever.
I love the way you talk about your dad, and the relationship you describe. My own dad died when I was 16. He was older; I was born when he was 58. But when he died at 74 it thrust me into adulthood in a way I was wholly unprepared for. My dad had been depressed for much (perhaps all) of my life, something I didn't understand or even identify for many, many years. He loved me, but he didn't have much to give emotionally after a life full of tragedy and struggles with alcohol. My mom was also emotionally unavailable and quickly entered a relationship that was hard to be around. Once I left for college, I rarely came home. There was an older woman who was a kind of mentor to me, but never any men, no father figures to take my father's place. I have always felt like a bemused spectator to those kinds of relationships, at once admiring and envying them, yet finding them foreign and a little strange. Now, at age 52, married for 27 years, a mom for 21, I have moments when I wish so profoundly for a parent, to be someone's child, for there to be someone who sees me as I do my own children - with complete devotion and a desire to be supportive and comforting. My mother is lost to dementia, though she was never very present to begin with. I am now in a parental role to her. The father I admire and celebrate on Father's Day is my husband, a bright, big-hearted, funny man who I know, despite my lack of experience in these matters, is the best dad imaginable. Our relationship as a couple and as a family is a source of great support and joy. But I wonder at this time of year, both Father's Day and my dad's birthday, what it would have been like to not have to steer my own ship quite so young, to have the comfort of being someone's cherished daughter into my adult years, to know that there was someone who felt a responsibility to take care of me in a parental way, a safety net, a permanent home. A few weeks ago on Mother's Day my son and daughter gave me a greeting card. Written underneath the printed message, was a note: "Mom, Thanks for always having our backs." I think I will always get teary when I think of that note. I tells me I have managed to give them what I didn't have. I'm a little old for a father figure in my life now, but I still hold out hope for more mentors, people to read what I write, and offer feedback, root for me as a creative entity. You describe such a beautiful give and take, creatively and emotionally in your descriptions of your father and Jack Hirshman. I'm choosing to believe it's never too late to find those kinds of people and make them part of your life. Thanks for the inspiration.
First, I was moved by your evocation of Jack Hirschman in your tribute to your father. Jack had just that spring urged the formation of a cultural committee to put on a conference of cultural workers in the fall of 2021, he was deeply involved in its planning, and had brought a number of poets and other artists into the development of that conference. He wrote what became the "keynote" opening of the conference. Otherwise, his spirit and poetry infused the conference. One other note: you and I "may" have met briefly when you were quite young when Jack came to visit in Santa Monica. We had a number of readings the Midnight Special Bookstore for Jack and others, and I remember a party that I believe Margie Ghiz had for Jack and friends, including Russ, Doug McClure, perhaps Dean Stockwell. Whether or not that happened, it's good to connect now. Let me know when you are in Chicago!
Second, my own father died in 1966, when he was 76 and I was 23. In the last couple of years of his life, he was a shell of the person that I knew growing up. He quit working at 70 and, with my mother, moved to Los Angeles where I was going to college. They moved to be closer to me and to my sister and her three children, but it was a real shock to him to leave family behind in Connecticut. Family he would never see again, and I'm sure he understood that. I never asked my father about how he came to the United States from Zhitomir in Ukraine in 1906. I never asked him how he met my mother. He had a used bookstore for a couple of years at the beginning of the depression. I never asked him about that, nor did I ever ask him why, of all the books he could have saved from the bookstore when it closed, did he keep so many documenting the Soviet revolution of 1917. When I was in junior high school I had a science teacher who had a very arrogant attitude in class, actually heckled some of his students (me included). One day, when I came into class, the New York Times was displayed on the front counter (where he would demonstrate scientific experiments) showing pictures taken from the Soviet satellite "Sputnik." A fierce discussion ensued, in which the dominant theme was that it was Russian trick photography. At dinner that night I told my parents about the discussion and my father, who read the Daily Compass until that went out of business and thereafter the Herald Tribune, but wouldn't touch the NYT, told me that after the Russian revolution, "they" said that the Russians would never be able to run a country, after all, they can't even make watch. "Now" he said, "they'll never be able to say they can't make a watch again." I did ask him about the International Longshoreman's Association, the Senate anti racketeering hearings, and the counsel, Robert F Kennedy, for that Senate Committee led by Arkansas Senator McClellan. It seemed obvious they were crooks; there was even a movie ("On The Waterfront") that showed it. My father told me that they may be crooks, "but they're our crooks," and the committee was just using this to bust the labor movement. I was 14 at the time, probably the deepest conversation I ever had with him. But I never asked him how he made a living from the time his bookstore went out of business in 1932 and 1944, two years after I was born. There is a lot of "stuff" I never asked him; there is a lot I never asked my mother either, though she lived until 1983. There are many things that my sister and I talked about trying to tease out of our histories what we could to reconstruct the lives of our parents. Nothing we can talk about any more, as she died in 2008. And many loose ends remain.
I am gratified by your visits to your father. It warms my heart to see that effort which I know bears fruit for both of you.
When I was in high school and turned 16 and got a car I had four jobs- tutoring, babysitting, lifeguarding and I started a summer camp for 7 year olds. I was always living on the edge and my Dad would put a $20 bill in my glove compartment in case I ran low on funds and needed to buy gas. Then he’d check and see if I’d spent the $20 and replenish it if I had. He kept it up through my college and Med school years- and when I was five years into internships, residency, Chief Resident, and fellowship in NYC at St Vincent’s he’d fuss at me that paid for my girlfriend Amy to fly with me to CA for a wedding and then only had 28 cents in my bank account. I was always living on the edge. And I had a godfather who through those lean lean years in college and Med school every time I’d come home he’d give me $100 and he’d tell me it was the best investment he could ever make. Those kindnesses are never forgotten.
Your story is precious. My dad and I admire you and your dad as a power-father-daughter-duo! We also love singing together. Our song is "Two of Us" by The Beatles. He has always put me and my mom first. The same day lock-down started, he was diagnosed with cancer. It was our turn to take care of him. I was lucky to be home with them in California. We made silly music videos for my preschool students to watch at their homes with their people who love them. He is in remission now and living his best life! The last time he came to visit me in New York we got matching tattoos: the number 3 representing him, me, and my mom. Thank you for sharing and asking us to share. Many blessings to your families, Happy Father's Day!
I love this. ❤ I think about this a lot now. Watching my parents get older. I honestly cannot picture my life without them in it, but I know the reality. I have voiced a lot more of my appreciation for my parents over the last few years and make sure to soak in the time we spend together. They are at our house this weekend and we have been enjoying every minute!!
Thank you for sharing him with us all these years. And thanks for the Twin Peaks glasses pics. ❤️ Pass along my love and admiration, please, and Happy Father’s Day.
My own lively father seems timeless, grousing that his next high school reunion is going to “suck” because “these old people don’t want to dance and cut up any more”. But he is 78, and recently had his first heart attack, so this deeply resonates. Every goodbye is “see you later, Dad”, and a secret true “good-bye”—bide with God.
This is a simple, beautiful tribute to your dad.... and you as a loving daughter.
I am very close to both my my mom and dad. They were in their early 20’s when they had me and my brother and they gave us a loving home. They respected our opinions and let us help choose vacation plans even when we were younger. They’ll be celebrating their 60th anniversary this year.
My dad was a high school science teacher and science department head for about 40 years. He’s a naturalist at heart and taught us the names of trees, flowers and marine life. He loves birds and has instilled that love in my elder daughter and I.
He often worked a couple of evening jobs teaching at our local community college and he did landscaping for our landlord for several years. A cute story: one day he was mowing a lawn across from an elementary school. One of the children stopped to speak to him. The boy said, “Ya know, mister, you could get a much better job if you went back to school.” My dad was gracious and smiled, chuckling inside. He has a PhD in Marine Biology!
My dad has been one of my biggest fans as long as I can remember (and I one of his). I’m so grateful to have landed in my family.
Thanks for giving me the chance to share! Best to you, Amber!!
Treasure these moments--my dad has been gone for 18 years and mother for over 29. One lasting memory I have of my dad, and one which now makes me smile: My dad was the king of “dad jokes”. He would wait until we were all in the car (so, no way to escape, you see), and then he would barrage us with a never ending stream of dad jokes. My sisters and I would be clawing at the windows within minutes.
Tragically, I inherited this gene and take insane delight in inflicting this same punishment on my children, to the point where my youngest daughter, who was then about eight years old, told me one day, after a particularly bad pun, “Of all the dad jokes on the planet, yours are the daddest!”
I’m not quite sure what she meant, but I’m fairly confident that it wasn’t a compliment. 😬😳
It’s hard getting to the age when you realize that any visit with your parents could be the last. I try not to think about it (much) and just make the most of the time, asking lots of questions, and hearing all the old stories that I never want to forget. Here’s to all the best dads of the world.❤️
My dad was a war hero (WWII POW) but the thing he cherished was being Dad. When I was “flying up” from Brownies to Girl Scouts, he left his blue collar job early and hitched 12 miles to be at the ceremony. That is when I knew everything I needed to know about men and love.
Australian Father’s Day isn’t until September but my goodness this resonated with me.
My grandparents are in their 80s and while I was lucky enough to grow up with them, they live hours away and with three young children and a full time job, I don’t see them nearly as often as I like. My maternal grandparents are 3.5hrs/over 300km away and my paternal grandfather is 5hrs/450km away. As hard as we try, finding the time to visit is a challenge, and so often I feel guilty.
This week just gone my girl and I took a road trip up to the border, for her to skate in her second competition for the year, and on our way back down the coast we extended our trip (instead of doing the 850km trip home in a day like we’d planned to), to spend a night at the farm with my grandfather and a night at the beach with my maternal grandparents. I’ll be forever grateful for the memories we’ve made this week, despite the guilt I feel about the boys not being there. When my grandmother passed I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye- despite saying goodbye so many times before- and even though I’ve lived half my life without her by my side, it still makes my heart ache.
I am so, so lucky to have my dad close by. He’s there for every moment- he watches the girl skate, he plays trains with my big boy, he launches my littlest into the air like he weighs nothing just to hear him laugh. He’s there for zoo trips and sleepovers and ice cream dates even though I said they don’t need more ice cream, and every school event ever. He’s there carting me too and from appointments when I need a ride, and for as long as he lives he’ll be our biggest fans. When I was younger I definitely took him and my mum for granted, but the reality is that I won’t have them forever.
Such beautiful writing. Thank you
Russ has a beautiful voice. A very true piece of yours today. Thank you Amber.
Thank you tosh ❤️
Dr. Jacoby!! Love his character in Twin Peaks, especially in The Return. So good.
I love the way you talk about your dad, and the relationship you describe. My own dad died when I was 16. He was older; I was born when he was 58. But when he died at 74 it thrust me into adulthood in a way I was wholly unprepared for. My dad had been depressed for much (perhaps all) of my life, something I didn't understand or even identify for many, many years. He loved me, but he didn't have much to give emotionally after a life full of tragedy and struggles with alcohol. My mom was also emotionally unavailable and quickly entered a relationship that was hard to be around. Once I left for college, I rarely came home. There was an older woman who was a kind of mentor to me, but never any men, no father figures to take my father's place. I have always felt like a bemused spectator to those kinds of relationships, at once admiring and envying them, yet finding them foreign and a little strange. Now, at age 52, married for 27 years, a mom for 21, I have moments when I wish so profoundly for a parent, to be someone's child, for there to be someone who sees me as I do my own children - with complete devotion and a desire to be supportive and comforting. My mother is lost to dementia, though she was never very present to begin with. I am now in a parental role to her. The father I admire and celebrate on Father's Day is my husband, a bright, big-hearted, funny man who I know, despite my lack of experience in these matters, is the best dad imaginable. Our relationship as a couple and as a family is a source of great support and joy. But I wonder at this time of year, both Father's Day and my dad's birthday, what it would have been like to not have to steer my own ship quite so young, to have the comfort of being someone's cherished daughter into my adult years, to know that there was someone who felt a responsibility to take care of me in a parental way, a safety net, a permanent home. A few weeks ago on Mother's Day my son and daughter gave me a greeting card. Written underneath the printed message, was a note: "Mom, Thanks for always having our backs." I think I will always get teary when I think of that note. I tells me I have managed to give them what I didn't have. I'm a little old for a father figure in my life now, but I still hold out hope for more mentors, people to read what I write, and offer feedback, root for me as a creative entity. You describe such a beautiful give and take, creatively and emotionally in your descriptions of your father and Jack Hirshman. I'm choosing to believe it's never too late to find those kinds of people and make them part of your life. Thanks for the inspiration.
First, I was moved by your evocation of Jack Hirschman in your tribute to your father. Jack had just that spring urged the formation of a cultural committee to put on a conference of cultural workers in the fall of 2021, he was deeply involved in its planning, and had brought a number of poets and other artists into the development of that conference. He wrote what became the "keynote" opening of the conference. Otherwise, his spirit and poetry infused the conference. One other note: you and I "may" have met briefly when you were quite young when Jack came to visit in Santa Monica. We had a number of readings the Midnight Special Bookstore for Jack and others, and I remember a party that I believe Margie Ghiz had for Jack and friends, including Russ, Doug McClure, perhaps Dean Stockwell. Whether or not that happened, it's good to connect now. Let me know when you are in Chicago!
Second, my own father died in 1966, when he was 76 and I was 23. In the last couple of years of his life, he was a shell of the person that I knew growing up. He quit working at 70 and, with my mother, moved to Los Angeles where I was going to college. They moved to be closer to me and to my sister and her three children, but it was a real shock to him to leave family behind in Connecticut. Family he would never see again, and I'm sure he understood that. I never asked my father about how he came to the United States from Zhitomir in Ukraine in 1906. I never asked him how he met my mother. He had a used bookstore for a couple of years at the beginning of the depression. I never asked him about that, nor did I ever ask him why, of all the books he could have saved from the bookstore when it closed, did he keep so many documenting the Soviet revolution of 1917. When I was in junior high school I had a science teacher who had a very arrogant attitude in class, actually heckled some of his students (me included). One day, when I came into class, the New York Times was displayed on the front counter (where he would demonstrate scientific experiments) showing pictures taken from the Soviet satellite "Sputnik." A fierce discussion ensued, in which the dominant theme was that it was Russian trick photography. At dinner that night I told my parents about the discussion and my father, who read the Daily Compass until that went out of business and thereafter the Herald Tribune, but wouldn't touch the NYT, told me that after the Russian revolution, "they" said that the Russians would never be able to run a country, after all, they can't even make watch. "Now" he said, "they'll never be able to say they can't make a watch again." I did ask him about the International Longshoreman's Association, the Senate anti racketeering hearings, and the counsel, Robert F Kennedy, for that Senate Committee led by Arkansas Senator McClellan. It seemed obvious they were crooks; there was even a movie ("On The Waterfront") that showed it. My father told me that they may be crooks, "but they're our crooks," and the committee was just using this to bust the labor movement. I was 14 at the time, probably the deepest conversation I ever had with him. But I never asked him how he made a living from the time his bookstore went out of business in 1932 and 1944, two years after I was born. There is a lot of "stuff" I never asked him; there is a lot I never asked my mother either, though she lived until 1983. There are many things that my sister and I talked about trying to tease out of our histories what we could to reconstruct the lives of our parents. Nothing we can talk about any more, as she died in 2008. And many loose ends remain.
I am gratified by your visits to your father. It warms my heart to see that effort which I know bears fruit for both of you.
When I was in high school and turned 16 and got a car I had four jobs- tutoring, babysitting, lifeguarding and I started a summer camp for 7 year olds. I was always living on the edge and my Dad would put a $20 bill in my glove compartment in case I ran low on funds and needed to buy gas. Then he’d check and see if I’d spent the $20 and replenish it if I had. He kept it up through my college and Med school years- and when I was five years into internships, residency, Chief Resident, and fellowship in NYC at St Vincent’s he’d fuss at me that paid for my girlfriend Amy to fly with me to CA for a wedding and then only had 28 cents in my bank account. I was always living on the edge. And I had a godfather who through those lean lean years in college and Med school every time I’d come home he’d give me $100 and he’d tell me it was the best investment he could ever make. Those kindnesses are never forgotten.
Your story is precious. My dad and I admire you and your dad as a power-father-daughter-duo! We also love singing together. Our song is "Two of Us" by The Beatles. He has always put me and my mom first. The same day lock-down started, he was diagnosed with cancer. It was our turn to take care of him. I was lucky to be home with them in California. We made silly music videos for my preschool students to watch at their homes with their people who love them. He is in remission now and living his best life! The last time he came to visit me in New York we got matching tattoos: the number 3 representing him, me, and my mom. Thank you for sharing and asking us to share. Many blessings to your families, Happy Father's Day!
I love this. ❤ I think about this a lot now. Watching my parents get older. I honestly cannot picture my life without them in it, but I know the reality. I have voiced a lot more of my appreciation for my parents over the last few years and make sure to soak in the time we spend together. They are at our house this weekend and we have been enjoying every minute!!
Thank you for sharing him with us all these years. And thanks for the Twin Peaks glasses pics. ❤️ Pass along my love and admiration, please, and Happy Father’s Day.
My own lively father seems timeless, grousing that his next high school reunion is going to “suck” because “these old people don’t want to dance and cut up any more”. But he is 78, and recently had his first heart attack, so this deeply resonates. Every goodbye is “see you later, Dad”, and a secret true “good-bye”—bide with God.
This is a simple, beautiful tribute to your dad.... and you as a loving daughter.
I am very close to both my my mom and dad. They were in their early 20’s when they had me and my brother and they gave us a loving home. They respected our opinions and let us help choose vacation plans even when we were younger. They’ll be celebrating their 60th anniversary this year.
My dad was a high school science teacher and science department head for about 40 years. He’s a naturalist at heart and taught us the names of trees, flowers and marine life. He loves birds and has instilled that love in my elder daughter and I.
He often worked a couple of evening jobs teaching at our local community college and he did landscaping for our landlord for several years. A cute story: one day he was mowing a lawn across from an elementary school. One of the children stopped to speak to him. The boy said, “Ya know, mister, you could get a much better job if you went back to school.” My dad was gracious and smiled, chuckling inside. He has a PhD in Marine Biology!
My dad has been one of my biggest fans as long as I can remember (and I one of his). I’m so grateful to have landed in my family.
Thanks for giving me the chance to share! Best to you, Amber!!
Treasure these moments--my dad has been gone for 18 years and mother for over 29. One lasting memory I have of my dad, and one which now makes me smile: My dad was the king of “dad jokes”. He would wait until we were all in the car (so, no way to escape, you see), and then he would barrage us with a never ending stream of dad jokes. My sisters and I would be clawing at the windows within minutes.
Tragically, I inherited this gene and take insane delight in inflicting this same punishment on my children, to the point where my youngest daughter, who was then about eight years old, told me one day, after a particularly bad pun, “Of all the dad jokes on the planet, yours are the daddest!”
I’m not quite sure what she meant, but I’m fairly confident that it wasn’t a compliment. 😬😳
Your dad was my teenage crush and he still looks terrific. Give him a hug from me 🥂
Lovely.
And i LOVE the time you spent with him. Your words describe it so lusciously... WOW!!! And Russ def wears the glasses better....😂😂😂