Happy Birthday Dad

The other day, on my way to work, Pandora played "Leader of the Band" by Dan Fogelberg.  The song always reminds me of my father even though he was not a band leader.  There is a line "he gave to me a gift I know I never can repay"  I started crying (I'm crying now as well).  I can never make it through that song without crying.  The last line before the chorus "Papa I don't think I said 'I love you' near enough" has me sobbing. It's funny how certain songs will do that to you.

Today would have been my father Robert Myers' 96th birthday.  He was born in Chester PA and always loved the place. I read now that Chester is one of the most dangerous cities in America, but for my father it was a kind of heaven; a farming community filled with cousins , aunts and Uncles and his grandfather  who taught him to swear in Gaelic. His parents split up when he was young and he lived with his father until he was killed in a household accident ( well not really a household accident.  It was Prohibition and the pot of tar they had on the stove to seal the barrels to store the hooch exploded on him.  Nasty horrible way to die in my opinion).   He moved around between Aunts and Uncles, staying with his favorite Uncle Jim until his mother came to claim him and his brother. He didn't want to go but she took him anyway and he lived with his mother and stepfather in New York.  He had three other siblings and he loved them all.  He never quite got over the death at 17 of his brother Junie, whose heart had been damaged by , I think, rheumatic fever.  He had quite a few adventures and told great stories that made you laugh.   I kind of get that from him .  I think I tell some funny stories myself.  I got his "cooking gene"  He was a professional cook and supported us by working in a variety of "houses" or "stores"  He met my mother at the pool at the St George Hotel in Brooklyn, where his first encounter with her was to push her into the pool.  She couldn't swim.  He went in after her.  The rest as they say , is history ( well MY history anyway!)

I miss him every freaking day and wish I could talk with him just one more time.  I "talk" to him in the kitchen when I leave a knife in the sink for more than a few seconds ( a HUGE mistake in his book and I try NEVER to do that)  I hope he is still proud of me.  When I was getting an award in City Council a few years before he died, the Councilman asked if he were proud of me.   He held his hands out to indicate a size and said "I've been proud of her since she was this big"  I think he's pleased as punch at his great-grandson Bobby, who seems to have inherited his charm.  He could charm the birds out of the trees. Bob ( I call him little Bob) looks like my father when he laughs.  He also has his ears, but that's another story.

So Happy Birthday, Dad.  I miss you.  We will share a beer in Heaven one of these days.