Ain't just your kiss, K I S S that I miss...

Iz channels Gene Simmons from Kiss after consuming a blueberry slurpie in Cape May, NJ. :-)

A Father's Love Frequently Goes Unnoticed...

Happy Father's Day to...

Jeff...adoring and loving Dad to the nth degree...always there for your girls.
TomS...a wonderful guy and a truly devoted Dad and a total Mr. Mom to boot!
TomB...wonderful dad...when I was at work, I always loved hearing you on the phone with Kim and the girls...the way you spoke to them...and how you always told them how much you loved them.
GilF...wonderful husband, Dad, and grandfather...and you were always so wonderful to me at work...I often thought that if I had to choose a father right then and there, well, I would chose you...plus, I loved the purple and the blue shirts. :-)
DaveB...a wonderful and patient Dad...and Iz can't wait 'til you and Kim get that pony. :-)
Charlie...dedicated and devoted Dad...you have gone the extra mile and then some.
Georgie...k, you're not a Dad, but you would have been a great one. And lastly, a Happy Father's Day to my Dad...wherever he is. Here is my Dad playing saxophone in his polka band...first Dude on the left, k? :-)

He only played sax every now and then.
He was a clarinet player primarily.
About 5 years before he died, my brother got him a sax at a pawn shop...a beautiful Buescher sax.
It now belongs to Brenda's hubby, Steve.
BTW: Steve is an INCREDIBLE sax player.

Anyway, here's what I read at my Dad's funeral.
He died of colon cancer in October 2000.
Sorry, Nancy! A tad bit sad again. :-)
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When Anne, my Dad's girlfriend, and I began to compose my Dad's obituary, we were vehement about getting every fact and bit of information about my father's life. Our brainstorming session went something like the following:

I said, "He was a radio operator in the Air Force during the Korean War."

Anne added, "He was a consultant for Scott's Standard Postage Stamp Catalogue for many years."

I stated, "When he was in college, he supported himself by playing clarinet and saxophone in Polka bands.

Anne said proudly, "He was a noted philatelist and a nationally recognized authority on U.S. postal stationary."

After we had all the facts down on paper, I read aloud the three paragraphs we had composed. And then Anne sighed. And I knew what her sigh said, because I felt the very same in my heart.

She said, "Can't we just say...well, can't we just say somewhere in there about what a great guy he was?"

I think we both realized how hard it was to try and recreate one who was so vibrant and alive in three paragraphs or less.

And, I guess more than anything, I want to say just that my Dad was a great guy. And, I think that above all, even though my Dad has died, we all have our fond memories of him. I wanted to share with you one of my fondest and earliest memories of my Dad.

I was probably in grade school, and sometimes when he ran an errand, he'd announce that he was going on a "special trip", and he'd take one of us with us. On one such special trip, I got to accompany him.

He started up his eggplant Mustang, and I dashed for the front seat totally excited that the front seat was mine and not up for grabs with my brother or sister.

I settled into the black bucket seat, and we backed out of the driveway. As we drove, I found it hard to contain myself; I was in a constant state of wondering...what was the final destination of our special trip?

And, on a particular trip, I heard a very muffled but distinct meowing coming from somewhere in car.

I said, "Dad, did you hear that?"

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "What?"

I said, "Didn't you hear a cat meowing?"

He said, "Quiet. Let me listen."

I sat there silently, which of course had always been a stretch for me, and there it was again...that muffled meow, which sounded not unlike our family cat at the time, K.C., which was short for Kitty-Cat.

My Dad said, "Oh that! You know what, I think K.C. got in the glove compartment and is stuck there!"

To which I replied, "Oh, no, Dad! We've got to get her out. She is stuck!"

And then there was the meow again and again. As I got more keyed up, I noticed that the meow became more audible until I realized that it wasn't coming from the glove compartment but from my Dad in the seat next to me!

My Dad, like my mother, was a fair, kind, and loving person. He was intelligent and a quick study.

I remember I once asked my Mom how my Dad knew so much about postal stationary, and she said, "Your father can take a book about something, read it in a night, and the next day he knows all about it."

Unfortunately, my Dad never read a cookbook because his culinary repertoire included only hot dogs and baked beans or macaroni and cheese with sausages; however, when I come to think of it, we all looked forward to those nights…a welcome break from my Mom's crock pot cookery days of the 70s.

My Dad was creative, imaginative, and a very good artist. I guess my favorites were his homemade cards, which he usually adorned with a picture of his cat. A sure sign I took that I wasn't adopted.

As a father, my Dad was not overly intrusive in our lives. He did not tell us what to do, where to go, or how to be; which I think really gave us all a very strong sense of independence. However, you always knew he was there if you needed him.

To explain my Dad's fatherly ways to me, I remember my Mom giving me an Erma Bombeck article she had cut out of the paper, which I have saved all these years. It was titled, "A Father's Love Frequently Goes Unnoticed".

I remember being a Senior in high school and coming home from a track meet in which I didn't do my best, and I was just dying to tell my tale of track and field woe to my Mom when she came home from work.

However, when I came home, my Dad was outside on the porch, and he asked how I did. I hesitated, and then I poured my heart out to him. He said, "Jean, you can't do well all the time...as long as you tried hard", and then he handed me a can of beer, which I gladly drank, and we sat on the porch and talked until my mother came home.

My Dad was an incredibly strong person and a very practical person. His big concern with his chemotherapy was not that he'd lose his hair but was when he could have his next vodka martini.

He lovingly cared for my mother when she was ill, and my Dad took his own illness in stride, even when bad news got worse. He was relentless to the end, trying to go to the bathroom himself, answering the phone, controlling the TV, and worrying about all of us.

My Dad was very generous, and one of the best experiences of the last year, was when my Dad helped me buy my first house. The wonderful part was not so much the house, but the way in which my relationship with my Dad became closer. He was very supportive and involved.

He called me daily whether it was to see if I changed my mind again about whether I wanted the Broadmeadow or Pleasant Street house, or to talk about life in general; he complaining about something in Nantucket (damn tourists!) or me complaining about a coughed up furball on the rug, or sometimes he just would leave his signature message from his cat on my answering machine, which would go something like this..."Meow, meow, meow, hello, Jean, this is Benny, meow, meow!" I knew then that I was definitely not adopted!

I know we will all miss my father greatly; he is truly irreplaceable.

As Julie, Jack, and I rallied around my Dad in the last months to help him go to doctor's appointments, visit him, and in the end, care for him, I was strangely consoled as I watched my siblings and myself.

My parents are now both gone, but they truly do live on in the three of us.

In Jack, I see a pragmatic wisdom, and in Julie, as she rubbed my Dad's head and talked so gently to him, a nurturing compassion that would have made my mother so proud, and in myself, I find a responsible ebullience. We are all my parents, and while I know we will miss them greatly, their spirits live on in us.

And when I'm alone in my house, I'm consoled by the fact that my Dad was here with me, not in the house, but in my life, and I remember not that he was tall, a good tennis player, a philatelist, a gardener, or played in a Polka band. I just remember what a great guy he was.