I don’t know where you are these days. Whether it’s a place like heaven with perpetual ESPN, legalized gambling, and really good golf, or if sometimes you hover over each of our houses, checking in, making sure we don’t need walking-around-money or an airline ticket to London.
(By the way, I could use both, though I’d rather go to Bangkok and take my partner along, if you don’t mind.)
Yeah, I have a partner. Your oldest daughter has turned out to epitomize lipstick lesbian. I’m the crazy neighbor with two white dogs—the one who drives a pick-up truck and has a house full of books and art that I myself have made.
In fact, I was literally crazy for a good long while. Guess I got it from Aunt Pearl, whose eccentricity was manifest in citrus. God, I wish you had been around during those days. I was sick and so, so poor. I suppose you wouldn’t have stood for the poverty part. I suppose you’d have seen that I owned a car, that I had something other than popcorn and pretzels to eat.
I really miss you, Daddy. It’s kind of crazy how much.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing a book about you—wanting to bring you back—to make you real again—a part of here, a part of now. I want folks to know that you were more than just some guy wanted by the FBI. I want people to know what a kind and caring dad you were—how incredibly much you gave—how you made happiness happen.
And maybe that’s what I loved most about you—the fact that you were funny, the fact that you transformed the most mundane of Monday mornings into Sunday celebration special—that when Christmas came around you were Superman in a Santa suit, Robin Hood in elf couture.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. I don’t know if you can hear me—if you can even read this letter. I don’t know what it’s like up there, or what you do all day, if they have Brooks Brothers or Vera Wang wings. I don’t know if they have bookies in heaven.
I only know I miss you. I only know I love you. (And I hope my book will make you happy.)
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
Will you see your Father on Sunday?
(If you are new to my blog, you might like to know that I am writing a memoir about growing up in an organized crime family. To read chapter 1, click here.)