Saturday, May 23, 2015


     On this Memorial Day week-end, five years after losing my WWII veteran, my beloved Dad, I look at our sunroom, our memorial to him. We added this room with part of the inheritance he left me. It is appropriate that it has windows looking over the golf course, as that was his favorite place to be. 

     My dad loved golf. The man shot the same score within two or three strokes for the last 20 years of his life. Straight down the fairway with max 2 putts. He always had to gamble with his buddies--something called jingles that I never understood nor wanted to. He wanted me to love golf like he did. I did not. He told me that after my first husband and I joined a country club that I should be club pro. Right. It was all I could do not to sob from hole to hole as I whiffed and kept counting to 12 or 13 strokes. I did learn to enjoy it, but compete-nope. Not my thing. It was one of his passions, though, and when I think of golf, I always think of him grinning when he added up his score.

     My Dad was a musician. He played mostly by ear all the old standards. I learned them too, and I also play by ear. He was happy that I earned money as a cocktail pianist during my years as a single mom. For my Dad, anything worth doing was worth earning money. He would have been very proud of the one-woman show I just performed in front of over 100 people. I am sure he would have asked, however, “Did you get paid for that?” He never understood doing things for pleasure or just because. I loved him anyway.

     My Dad served in the JAG unit of the Army during WWII even though he was not an attorney. I never figured out how that happened, but it did. He was stationed in Belgium and France. Rather strange that I ended up marrying an attorney and teaching French. Hmm. 

     My Dad leaves a legacy of music, perseverance and silly. He was talented, driven and a true character. I have kept all of this alive and will pass it on to my daughters and their children. It’s already fun to see his sparkle in each of them at different times. He only knew them briefly, but his face lit up when he saw them as it did when he and I played the piano side by side and harmonized our favorite song, “Until We Meet Again.”

I will meet him again one day. Until then, I honor him by remembering all he taught me and all the good he represented.