Daddy’s Girl

I don’t’ really see myself as a “daddy’s girl” but I sure do love my dad, and yes, he spoils me.

In some ways he’s typical of his generation, distant but close. Born in Poland in 1922, he lived through the horrors of WWII, lost his entire family and amazingly rebuilt a life in France, then the U.S. Both he and my mother worked in garment factories in New Jersey, then their own lumber and hardware store in South Central, L.A.; immigrants dedicated to giving their children everything they didn’t have.

And in many ways he’s not typical: a Holocaust survivor with a wicked (and unedited) sense of humor and a passion for film, music and theatre, which I happily share. To say he’s a “character” is an understatement. Some of my favorite memories are around age seven when we would walk up to Hollywood Blvd—on a rare Sunday when he wasn’t working—and see a matinee, just the two of us. Although we never went to a father/daughter picnic and he probably missed all but one of my dance/drama performances, I still feel like he was there for me.

My brother came up with the brilliant idea to give our father a computer for his 80th birthday. So, now six years later, Ralphie (as I like to call him) reads the newspaper online in five different languages, and although he can’t type, he forwards me (sometimes multiple times) so-bad-they’re-good senior citizen jokes, panoramic slideshows and the occasional baby animal-adorned “love you” poem.

I’ve been fortunate to have men in my family that are steady-as-they-go, real mensches: human beings with morals and values that have helped shape my own. There’s my brother Claude, a prince among princes. Then there are the boyfriends and ex-husband—not all gems, but a colorful mix of unique individuals: kind, smart and funny ones among them. Men don’t “complete” me, but when the fit is right, they surely complement me, and boy oh boy do I appreciate those evolved male friends who inhabit my life.

When shopping for a Father’s Day card, I never have an easy time of it; I pass on the golfer, fly fisherman, beer-drinker versions. I gravitate towards the humorous ones: dad with empty pants’ pockets or “When I think of all those years you provided a roof over my head, why did I ever move out?” I like to keep Ralphie au courant. I bought him his first pair of bellbottoms in the ‘70s and sneakers in the ‘80s. This year, I’m sending him a mouse pad using a photo I took and a cool peace sign T-shirt.

In these waning years he’s not only embraced the computer, but dealt with prostate cancer, aging body parts and has picked himself up from some scary falls resulting in his first-ever “gym” regimen. I gotta give props to my pops. The ol’ dog keeps learning new tricks and teaching this bitch how to survive against the odds.

Subject: “Getting Old in Florida”

A man was telling his neighbor in Sun City Center, ‘I just bought a new hearing aid. It cost me four thousand dollars, but it’s state of the art. It’s perfect.’

‘Really,’ answered the neighbor. ‘What kind is it?’

‘Twelve-thirty.’