“What are you doing? No, really, what are you doing?” My dad asked.
It was 1971. As the summer sun bounced off the silver row boat, I watched my dad rowing and I admired my surroundings in Central Park, joggers, horse-drawn carts, old men playing chess and bocce ball, boys playing basketball, baseball and softball teams facing friendly rivals and best of all, a dog swam right up to the side of the boat. I reached out to pet the little canine. Suddenly my dad grabbed me and said, “What are you doing?” I explained impatiently I was going to pet the little dog. “No Mandy, that”s a sewer rat,” he said, as he shook his head from side-to-side. We had several moments that mirrored that one.
1975: “Look dad, I found the biggest jellyfish ever,” I squealed with joy. As I was leaning over to touch it, the Westhampton Beach lifeguard ran toward us yelling, “No, back up.” A Portuguese Man-O-War washed up onto the shore. That hadn”t happened there in more than 50 years.
My childish curiosity was reckless. My dad was patient. He didn”t raise his voice or talk down to me. There was never an “I told you so.”
We didn”t sit down for sessions of father-to-daughter advice. I learned from each conversation we”ve had over the years. He dispensed sage bits of knowledge in my everyday life. He taught by example.
1976: After a show at Lincoln Center, me, my dad and my brother Steve went to the Beef and Brew across the street for dinner. Lucky for us, Sammy Davis Jr. was also eating there. “Let”s go get his autograph,” Steve said with stars in his eyes.” I was ready to dash from my chair, when my dad grabbed my jacket, “No, let him have dinner in peace. He”s allowed to have a life, too.” I”d like to say we listened, but we didn”t. We orchestrated a joint run to the restrooms instead. Sammy Davis Jr. was a very nice man. As my dad apologized for our actions, he laughed and said it was just fine. We endured a silent dinner, the air thick with parental disappointment. Ouch. My dad taught me that silence is sometimes more powerful than words.
Before I was 15 years old, I attended Yankees, Mets, Jets, Giants, Nets and Knicks games. I saw the greats boxing at Madison Square Garden, watched the Radio City Rockettes and Alvin Ailey dancers. I saw Broadway shows, Simon and Garfunkel, the Beach Boys and Shakespeare in Central Park. I understood impressionism after attending an exhibit of Claude Monet. I understood abstract art observing Joan Miro, Picasso and Alexander Calder. I attended operas, ballets and multitudes of cultural events.
My dad bought my first Blondie, Billy Joel and Electric Light Orchestra albums for me.
Fast forward to adulthood.
1996: Nicole, Miranda and I headed to New York to see family. On the way to the Bronx to visit my grandparents, I asked my dad if he told them I was divorcing. “No, I don”t like to speak for anyone but myself,” he said. My dad taught me that gossip is unnecessary and unkind. He also taught me to speak for myself at all times.
2000: The volunteer tour guide at the Metropolitan Opera House mastered snobbery. When we exited, my dad laughed and said they need to fire that volunteer. During the taxi ride home the cab driver, a student of the sciences, asked advice and had an engaging conversation with my father, who gave him his full attention. My dad taught me to honor intelligence and education over wealth and to treat people genuinely and with respect. I learned that by watching him.
2010: I talk to my dad every Sunday. He is the best man I know. He”s brilliant and has a great sense of humor. I want to give him a gift for Father”s Day, one that parallels the gifts he”s given me, but there isn”t one fabulous enough. It”s a little early, but happy Father”s Day dad.
Here”s to hoping your dad is as great a person in your life as my dad is in mine.
“I look at my dad. He was 20 when he started having a family and he was always the coolest dad. He did everything for his kids and he never made us feel like he was pressured. I know that it must be a great feeling to be a guy like that.” ? Adam Sandler
Mandy Feder is the Record-Bee news editor. She can be reached at mandyfeder@yahoo.com or 263-5636 Ext. 32.
