I’m not sure about the date on this photo — my Dad served in Korea and he’s in uniform here. The signs are in English, so he must be flying outbound. It might be the early 50s, he’d have been maybe 21 years old at the time.
Forgotten, but Not Gone: I wrote this after seeing my Dad for the last time in December 2011. He died in December 2012. This is my first Father’s Day without him.
Waning Moon, Waikiki: Losing my Dad was… complicated. I did not go to the funeral.
A Eulogy for my Dad: My brother read this at my Dad’s service, I was so pleased when he asked if he could do so.
My favorite recent memory of my Dad is watching him dance at my little brother’s wedding. This was outside DC — the wedding attendees were a mix of DC white color wonks, the crunchy West Coast siblings, and wait, where did those dressed to the nines black friends come from? The Houston friends, maybe? I don’t remember.
But I do remember watching my Dad, every bit the picture of an old Jewish man by this time, in his dark suit and his yarmulke, dance with an absolute brick house of a black woman in stacked heels and cornrows with beads and it was a glorious thing to see indeed.
Pam, My dad was probably the same age as your own pop. I have a picture of him in uniform, he is controlling air traffic at an air field in Texas. Looking hopelessly young but remarkably capable. That’s how I remember him, too. I wish Western culture had a ritual for honoring our parents who have passed on to the other side It isn’t enough to put flowers on a grave or in an urn.
I agree, the western culture lacks a culture to honour their parents. In Kenya, the graves are right at the edge of your garden and not in a common grave yard. This way you feel they are looking out for your all the time.