Dear Dad,
I don’t know what was going on in my mind — perhaps it was the fact that at 59, somewhere in my psyche brewed the fact that you’d died at that age—who knows? What is clear though, is that in April of ‘09 I crafted a “bucket list” and that the time and change of five more years have altered not only my perspective but my priorities.
So here’s my List, Dad, in the order I’d penned it …upon further review…
1 Drive around Lander Circle clockwise against traffic.
(Well, not all my priorities shifted. How great would it be if Hal could film it. My kids would roll their eyes but I’d smile and someday in some far off town like New York or Chicago their kids would smile too, just seeing my face. It takes so little and really—is it asking so much?
2 Give a college commencement address.
Still to be done. I’d tell them it’s all about passion. You were gone by then Dad, but what I told my kids (that asked) is that it didn’t matter what they did in life as long as they did it with passion. Oh, and I’d also give a “shout out” to Coach Wooden. “Don’t let making a living prevent you from making a life,” he would urge. Bingo.
3 Be a greeter at “Corky & Lenny’s.
Yes, I’ve given this perhaps too much thought. And Yes, it stays on the list. My office has moved and so Sunday works best. This too would also optimize opportunities to see old friends perhaps in for a weekend.
4. Rejoin Park Synagogue.
Actually, Pop, I did this. Did you know they email death notices?
5 Get an apology from Dick.
Off the list. Look: I know; you know; and The Man Upstairs knows If the putz doesn’t get it, does it really matter? Yeah, Dad, I get that you adored Ralph and that Estelle sang at my Bar Mitzvah—but isn’t this (as you would say Dad), “addition by subtraction”.
I say: Off the list.
6 Hang out with a blonde that wears one of those baseball caps where her ponytail sticks out through the hole in the back. (Soft pink, if possible).
Now here’s a line item I thought would survive. Wrong again. So I came to dinner at Marv Baskin’s daughter’s house a few years ago and for all practical purposes never left. Haven’t thought about the blonde or the baseball cap or the ponytail since then, Dad—although I must say, Carrie does look better in a hat.
Off the list!
7 Hold a grandchild.
By the balls, Dad— the world by the balls! I’ve swum with Max, danced with Lucy and sung with Eli. Kissed Hailey’s forehead, I have…and dreamed of Matthew. To be continued….
8 Sing along at a Bar Mitzvah, arms around each other,? with my three kids and their spouses, as the music blares out “That’s What Friends Are For.”
I let it go, Dad. No more picturing hand-holding, smiles or “Kumbaya”. I’m all in. For my sake.
My Bucket List is for ME, Dad, not for them. I’m living the present and the future is theirs. It will be or it won’t. And not in my time, but His.
God’s given me everything I’ve needed, Dad, most of what I’ve wanted.
I’m contented.
And happy.
And have no reason to add to the list.
‘Miss you.
Here is a philosophical question: if someone writes a blog that elicits zero comments, is that still considered a blog?