Me And My Father At 60
I’m turning 60 tomorrow. October 7, 1954 was the date on the calendar when I was born. It was a very different world. It was my father’s world.
He was a fascinating person; he lived every moment of his 61 years. He was so smart he could speak, read and write five languages fluently… French (his native tongue), English, Russian, German and Italian. And since he knew all the right languages, he was pretty handy for the war effort (WWII) as a member of the OSS (predecessor to the CIA). He played as a back-up violin for the New York Philharmonic and was a professional photographer. His story is so interesting, it would take more than this post to give him his due, but most important to me — he was also a great dad.
I only had him for 13 years; he died in 1968. If you do the math, he was a pretty old dad by any standard; he had 5 kids after age 45! But at age 47, he found a lump behind his ear and was diagnosed with cancer. At this point in his life — the night before he turned 60 — his thoughts were very different than mine are tonight. Two people, so connected, turning the same age at the same point in their lives; as they say, ‘what were they thinking?’
Knowing my father, the night before he turned 60, on December 28th, 1966, he sat in his black Ford to think. It was the only place, I would guess, that he could find any peace. He, like me, wondered where his life went, he was likely sad about unfulfilled dreams and possibly, regrets. He thought about survival and the bleak outlook of his health, and he thought about his children. But I imagine he also thought about all the wonderful times, the thrilling events he experienced and all the people who walked through the doors of his life. He knew his life was coming to an end, and indeed it did 18 months later. His life was so different from mine at this point, I wish I could sit next to him to chat.
For me, ironically, I am thinking about my father, and what could have been. I wonder what he would have thought about the internet, digital photography, my wife, my children. Of course, had he lived, I never would have met my wife, or had the children I have, so it’s a strange thought that he never would have met them anyway… but a whole other set of people, some who will never exist. I think about what I could have done differently, maybe partied less, focused more, been better with money. On the last night of my 50s, I also wonder how much road I have ahead of me. Do I have 18 months? 18 days? 18 years? If life were split into quarters, and everyone lives to 80, then tomorrow starts the 4th quarter. 20 years. 1,000 weeks. What will I do with that time if I’m lucky enough to have it?
They say you only live once. I’m not sure I believe that, but I do know every moment counts. For me and my father, I can say with certainty that we have both lived a fantastic life with rich experiences, lots of love, wonderful memories and a deep appreciation for this thing we call life. So happy birthday to me, and my father, and to all those who pass this threshold. Look back at the fond memories, and look forward to what is tomorrow.
