When someone passes away, everyone always says that they “lived a good life.” That expression has never been truer when I consider the life of my dad. My dad John had a zest for life that was palpable and contagious. I would have to describe him as extremely active --when he wasn’t conked out and snoring- because he was always knee-deep involved in something whether it was reading the paper at the kitchen table, folding drapes in the garage or “hitting some balls” at the school yard.
My dad could get more done in fifteen minutes than anyone I know. He was the original multi-tasker: he could do the laundry, while watching a tennis match, while talking to a customer on the phone, while mowing the lawn and putting down fertilizer- all while driving!!! Don’t get me wrong: He also knew how to blow a day doing nothing at all. That was his specialty.
My dad had an ability to make friends with strangers in a matter of minutes. With every handshake, with every friendly conversation, my dad acquired a new friend. So many that he’d put the most popular Facebook tally to shame. There were many things he loved to do, and he spent his days doing them. His work and family life revolved around his interests, hobbies and passions- not the other way around. Savoring what he enjoyed was paramount to him: a quick dip in the ocean, a long, lazy nap on the beach, a juicy steak on the BBQ. Horse races, OTB, poker games, slot machines, ice cream, coffee, Entenmann’s frosted cake, Louisiana Crunch; vacations to Montauk and Florida, walking Waggles,… tennis. Don’t even get me started with the years and years of tennis. I’m surprised he never bought night vision goggles so he could play in the pitch dark. From morning to night, John enjoyed every last bite, every last snooze, every last volley, every last drop.
My dad wasn’t exactly a morning person. Not an early riser, Daddy would be ready for work when he felt like it, which was why he didn’t work for anyone but himself. My mother used to complain, why don’t you make yourself a 9 o’clock appointment every day so you get started earlier? His reply? “Who the hell wants to get started earlier? What are you, nuts? Why don’t you mind your own business?” I am so much like my dad in so many ways- it amazes me. He was slow in the morning, and so am I. He sipped his first cup of coffee for what seemed like forever, while my mom practically chugged hers within seconds. Groggy in the a.m., my dad would leave for work multiple times. First without his keys, then without his wallet, then without his hat, then without his briefcase. Once he got rolling, he was good to go until about 6pm, unless of course he played “hooky,” cancelled all his appointments and met his family at the beach.
My dad worked in the dry cleaning business since the 60s and remained in the dry cleaning business until he retired. That may sound like nothing special to some people, but then you didn’t know my dad’s passion for cleaning. My dad viewed every stain as a new challenge- whether on a garment or on carpet or on any type of fabric- he was adamant about getting it out. He knew when stains needed to be dabbed or pinched or scrubbed or soaked.
And his penchant for cleaning didn’t stop there- he kept the cars sparkling clean, too. Inevitably throughout my teenage years, on a summer day you’d find my dad at some point wearing a dirty old visor, a white Hanes t-shirt and the shortest jean shorts anyone has ever seen on a man outside of the city. With the hose in his hand, and a bucket at his feet, he was washing the cars. The yellow Cordoba, the Cadillac, the white van, the Eagle Premier. And I will never forget the mortification only a teenage girl can know, when on the afternoon of my senior prom, he rinsed the limousine in front of all my friends. “Close the doors,” he said to the limo driver. “I’ll hose you down.” Thanks dad. What would prom night have been with a lackluster limo?
When he wasn’t washing our clothes or the cars, he was probably folding drapes. I know this because he often forced my brother and me to help him. On any given school night, when my priorities included doing homework, watching Growing Pains, or just talking on the phone, my adolescent evenings were often interrupted by my dad’s request to help him fold. Not only was it tedious and unrewarding to fold drapes, but it inevitably came with a dose of ridicule because no one could ever do it right. Only a select few know the joys of helping John fold. “Grab the corners! Back up! Hold it taut. Jesus Christ!”
Speaking of help. Let me see, did dad ever help us with our homework? He certainly tried. I remember one evening he came home brimming with pride that he’d bought me a bunch of Cliff Notes for some of the books I’d be reading in school that year. One time he even showed interest in a poem I’d written for class. He said, “Remember that poem you wrote for English? Go get it.” I flew down the hall to my room, found the paper and rushed back to the kitchen. “Here it is!” I shouted. “Good- give it to your brother to retype. He needs a poem for English tomorrow, but he has a lacrosse game tonight.”
Act like you’re 11 at the movies tonight so we get the children’s rate. I was 17.
Park across the street from the beach and walk so you don’t have to pay for a spot.
Tennis. My dad may as well have had a tennis court in his yard because he played almost every single day. He got up earlier for tennis than he ever did for work. He even brought his own push-broom to the Elmont tennis courts to mop up the rain puddles so he could play once the rain stopped. If we ever had an event to attend, like a wedding or a party or something, Daddy would stay at the courts playing tennis, leaving himself fifteen minutes to shower, dress, put gas in the car and get a card. Thankfully none of my father’s habits drove my mother crazy. That was a joke- they all drove her crazy!
My mother. My God, did my dad love my mother. It is the love I grew up embraced by. It is the love that made my childhood perfect. It is the love that my family is built on. It is the love that was truly beautiful when it was young and only thrived as the years rolled by. My father’s love for my mother set the bar for all of my relationships, and I know it set the bar for my brother’s as well.
Ultimately if you knew my father, you knew he loved to have fun, he loved to laugh, and he loved people. Black, white, short, tall, fat, skinny, he loved them all. The phrase my dad probably uttered the most in his life (aside from Jesus Christ) was “I ran into my friend so and so today.” Sometimes I knew the name he mentioned, sometimes I didn’t. The point is- everyone was his friend. I used to call him the Mayor of Elmont. A friendly mayor with a smile on his face and his hand always extended.
If you ever sat in the car with my dad, you got nauseous. If you ever had him over for a holiday, he definitely slept on your couch. And if you really know my dad, you probably have your own stories about him that make you say, "That's John." So try to remember John doing all the things that made him a unique individual; watch an entire show standing up, because that’s John. Fix something in your house using nothing but a coat hanger and a stapler. Wait until the very last minute before getting ready for an appointment. If you have dinner plans at a restaurant at 7, have a snack at the house at 6, because you never know how long it will take to get a table. Don’t act your age, say hello to strangers, be the best dressed person in the room, and for God’s sake- go hose down your car.
