My Dad’s 90th Birthday
Nov. 17, 2010—
I like to think I do my better writing in the twilight.
The pace becomes slower, the voices are softer and the mystery of the dark sheds light on all kinds of possibilties. I bet that’s why my Dad stays up until midnight. He watches “The Late Show with David Letterman” before retreating to his computer room. There, he checks out the latest online sales for his grandson Jude and Googles medical remedies for my Mom.
My Dad turns 90 today.
That’s big news. I’ve known only one person over 90 and that was Studs Terkel. At tonight’s dinner I will again ask my Dad to what he has attributed his long life. He will lean back, smile and likely say, “Stay cool.” And then he will begin to devour that big juicy steak he’s been talking about all week. At age 90, my Dad thinks he can do anything he pleases. And he’s right.
Maybe he is playing online poker all night.
I ordered a birthday cake from Roeser’s Bakery in the Humboldt Park neighborhood of Chicago, not far from where my Dad grew up. Roeser’s turns 100 next year. My Dad’s diabetic. But John Roeser is laying on the fudge.
My Dad has framed the big picture for me. The corners are hand carved with dignity, love, humor and grace.
I have only seen him blow up once (or maybe twice), but once for sure during my senior year of high school when roughly 150 horny teenagers were standing room only during a Thanksgiving weekend party in my parent’s Naperville ranch house. We recruited Naperville Central football players to charge a $5 cover for guys (girls admitted free), Ibach was playing the Allman Brothers on my Dad’s stereo and people were dropping cigarette butts in my parent’s orange sofa.
Yes, he was pissed.
We’ll probably touch on that tonight, but there will be more important topics. What to get Jude for Christmas. We will toast to the serious health scares he pulled through in June. Do you want to know what love is? My Dad was on his back in intensive care and hooked up with a pasta-type serving of tubes, wires and cords. I wheeled my Mom in from a rehabilitation center next door to the hospital.
She extended her right hand. Like a ripple in a warm wave, my Dad’s shakey left hand caressed her hand. My Dad has taught me the value of a few words and those of us who witnessed this were silently moved by this instinctive gesture.
There will be talk of a spring garage sale for the stuff in his basement that defines a mind that has been active for 90 years. I continue to be amazed with rows of vinyl from the movie scores that have been his escape. There’s files of post cards of some places he has seen, places he hoped to see and sights he never wanted to witness.
He was in the U.S. Army, 106th Infantry Division from March, 1943- January 1946 and was awarded four battle stars on his service ribbon including the Battle of the Bulge. I found one yellowed typewritten letter sent to Chicago on May 2, 1945:
“The news today of Adolf’s passing was, of, course, welcomed….We had a little company party last night. They had fried chicken, chocolate cake, and some confiscated wine. Plenty of everything and yours truly had about three hunks of chicken and a couple of pieces of cake. The wine was German made and is plenty powerful, so all I had was enough to wash the food down. The division band furnished all the music and it wasn’t bad at all. The Germans no doubt thought we were celebrating the death of
the fuhrer, but actually we didn’t know about it today…..”
Yes, we’re proud.
My brother and I have been revisiting his basement collection of hardcover books about
Chicago. He was born in Logan Square, he came up through the Stockyards and worked for Swift & Company in the Loop. I can’t walk around Chicago without thinking of him. I am a product of his city.
There’s a book of my own that I keep bedside during uncertain times. They are dispatches from Tao. The other night I meditated about aging. I’m was thinking of the emotional rewards in my Dad’s life which I may never enjoy.
But this Tao stuff says adjustment is the key. I know many of you do not have a parent in their ’90s. Or 80s. Or even ’60s, and I wonder if you ever can adjust to that loss.
The end of the passage says, “The secret of Tao is to know how to pass into old age gracefully. Yes, I know. But may I not still reflect on the poignancy of it all?
“To be fully human is to know resignation.”
At age 90, my Dad has showed me that.
Bring on the steak, the wine and the chocolate cake with a frosted mountain top that climbs to the stars. This is one night that will never end.
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