IT'S A BIRD, IT'S A PLANE, IT'S...POP

MY dad, despite being born in a rough section of Brooklyn at the dawn of the depression, was the kindest, most even tempered human being I've ever known. And I've been all over this country and to a few pretty nifty foreign locales. I've met a lot of different folk but my dad will always sit firmly at the top of my list of “who I wanna be when I grow up.” Let me give you an example of the kind of person I observed as a young idiot trying to figure out life: My dad was a furniture salesman and a very good one. When he came home from WW11 he got a job at a stationary and office supplies store in Hartford,Ct. called Plimptons. He was there for more than a decade and after he had established himself as a top salesman, the store sold to Litton industries. Suddenly, dad was jobless with a family of 4 to support. He never changed his daily routine, though. He would wake up at 7am, shower, put on a shirt and tie and walk across the room to pick up the phone and “go to work.” He made looking for gainful employment his full time job. He did this for a few month until he realized that he had built quite a nice reputation with furniture manufacturers, so he decided to try and become an independent manufacturers rep which he parlayed into a nice business with showrooms in New York, Chicago, Hartford and Boston. It was during this time of rebuilding his life that he was shopping for a new suit at his favorite men's clothing store in Hartford. While he was looking at shirts, he spotted an old associate from Plimptons who had lost his job the same time as my dad but had not been as fortunate in the aftermath. He was still looking for work and wanted to dress appropriately. My dad was aware of his situation and saw him looking at a $100 sport coat. Somehow, my dad knew the guy only had $50 so, he pulled the salesman aside, slipped him two 20's and a 10 and said, “Tell him the coat costs $50” and then went back to looking at shirts. I tell this lovely story to show just what kind of man my dad was. This was not an isolated incident. This was how he treated everybody on a daily basis which became quite evident when too many people came to his retirement party. The room was filled to overflowing and the fire marshal had to be called. People liked him......a lot. I'm not sure anyone ever saw my dad lose his temper. For a guy who was brought up in tough surroundings, he was a lamb. For a guy who ate spaghetti with tomato sauce made from ketchup and hot water (a little more water if you wanted soup), he always understood the importance of keeping nourishing food on the table. He gave us a great life. Of course, I can say all of that now. I'm a grandfather and he's been gone for about 22 years but I didn't always know how I truly felt. That came with time. I was very rebellious and a pretty snotty and annoying teenager. On this particular Saturday, I was being my typical obnoxious self, bugging my mother for something I wanted and didn't need. She, of course, was trying to explain her reasoning when I mumbled something to the effect of, “Geez, why do you have to be such a bitch.” That was the first and only time I ever saw my dad fly. Fists balled up like Superman from the comic books, he took off from mid hallway and soared like an exquisite bird across my entire room, landing on top of me, accentuating each swing with a new word: “Don't.....you.......ever......call.....your.......mother.......that......again.” Chivalry was not dead that day but I was about as close as I'd ever been. My dad then walked into the other room, sat in front of the TV and put on the ball game, satisfied that he had let me know right from wrong in no uncertain terms. He was confident that the lesson I was taught that day would last me a lifetime. It did. I never called my mom (or any woman) a “bitch” again.....ever! And I never saw my dad fly again. But that day, I watched him glide with the grace of a swan. It was a lovely flight but the landing hurt like hell.