(re: Lazer Lou’s 4/8/22 column) As I read anything, my mind races forward; it’s something I can't rein in. Lou, as I was reading your recent column regarding your father, I was already composing a letter to the editor (I do this in my mind all the time but rarely mail them). How could your father be the best of all time when my father was that guy? As I read on and you related the loss of your Dad, I slowed down. Irish, German, Italian, they all shared the same experiences now shared by people from other parts of the world. My father came here a year after your father, was born and spent his whole life between the Bronx and eventually, Rockaway.
Death is to be expected. But even knowing that, when my Dad passed away in 1989 at 82 years, I grieved. I still grieve. Right after my father passed, my mother asked me what time it was. I responded, "after midnight" and she breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that by passing after midnight on July 31, it was as if my Mom had her husband for another month, so that in hindsight, my father passed in August not July and thus lived longer.
We play these things in our heads. As I was reading your article, I thought with tongue in cheek how I would respond to your idea of your father being the best. He was the best, as was mine. I have a nice uniform that I will probably be buried in but my only request to my wife is that the tee shirt that I wear under that uniform is the one that my kids gave me years ago, the one that says in crayon "world's best Dad.”
I'm sure your father was the best and I mourn his loss along with you.
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