The card will come in the mail first, followed by a phone call on Sunday.
And while for the third year now it will be a long distance Fathers Day, I’m not sure I’m getting used to it. There was a promotion for our son, a big one at that. But there was a catch, a big one also — relocation to corporate headquarters in New York state.
As much as my wife Marge and I hated to see the kids leave (and as all parents know, no matter their age or status in life, they will always be known as “our kids”) we understood. And again, as parents, we were proud that our son has done well, just as our parents, long ago, were proud of us.
He is a good son. In every word that “good” can be defined. And we are blessed for it.
And when I dwell on hopes, aspirations and wishes, my memory drifts back to many years ago when I sat Shiva with my neighbors. For those not familiar, sitting Shiva is a Jewish tradition of mourning following the funeral of a family member. And since the center of Jewish life is the home that is where Shiva is usually held. It is considered a great “mitzvah” (literally translated as “good deed”) of kindness to pay a home visit to the mourners.
Across from me sat an old gentleman. As we got to talking about children he pulled three pictures out of his wallet — two boys and a girl. None of them looked older than 10.
“Here’s my grandson the orthodontist,” he pointed. “And here’s my other grandson the college professor. And there’s my granddaughter the heart surgeon.”
To this day I hope that he was as blessed as I am.