Dad

​Where does the time go?

Today marks eight years since my beloved father passed away at the age of 101. It seems as if it's only been a couple of years. I still remember the phone call I was able to make only the day before he died. An employee at the assisted living facility he lived in picked up the phone's receiver and gently put it next to one of his ears. He was too weak to speak, but his heavy breathing let me know he was trying to.

I told my Dad how much I loved him. That he was a "wonderful" father. Hardworking, kindhearted, and very easygoing. He was the "go to" person for advice. Everyone who met my Dad, liked him. He had an aura that drew people to him.

My father and his business partner, Nat, were like bright lights of kindness and generosity as they operated their modest hardware store on Melrose Avenue in the Bronx. Back in the sixties and seventies, Melrose Avenue was like a war zone. Crime, heroin, gangs, and excruciating poverty was a way of life for many.

My Dad and his partner gave customers a lot of breaks and discounts. The community loved them. I know that when they finally decided to close the store and retire, the residents of that impoverished area of New York City felt the loss, and it was not only because their store was closing its doors. The neighborhood was losing two friends. Nat and my Dad truly loved those people.

I miss my father. He was one of a kind. All the pain, shame, and grief I put him through, yet his love for me never diminished. Not many children could say that about their dads.

"I love you, Dad!"

D.B.