The Pride of a Daughter
I am so very proud of my family. Now, we may be crazy but I am still very proud of my whole family.
But this post is about my father. My father, my tatti, my abbasama, is a very special guy. He was always pretty slow to anger. Never hit us, rarely spanked us, and I was only grounded once… when I was 5… and I walked to the next-door neighbor’s house without telling them… and she couldn’t see me in the peephole because I was too little… I was “lost” for about 15 minutes.
All of my parents are extraordinary but my pops, he’s pretty incredible. His logic and gentle Aikedo way of raising my brother and I has shaped us into who we are today. He is grammatically stringent (like his father) but never mean. Patient to a fault and an incredible snuggler.
However, something happened recently that made my little girl emotions well up and pride spill out in my tears.
He sent me a pdf of his book to proof.
It is both awe and awww inspiring.
As I read the stories contained within his book, I was drawn back to times with my father. Special moments, dinner tables, synagogue events where the Ya’ir, the mythical rabbi (who I believe was my father in a previous fictional life), made appearances. His stories taught us the real meanings of holidays and observances. Of how they look to those on the outside looking in and those of us on the inside looking deeper. His lessons enabled me to teach and share our historical traditions with friends in ways that they could understand.
One of the most exciting parts of seeing my father’s stories in print is that I know I will be able to share this with my children and grandchildren, on and on, forever. All of our decedents will know of these stories. They will know of the gentle way of their great great grandfather… and that excites me. We have been researching our family tree and the lack of information makes me sad. I have been pushing my father to document his memories for years because I don’t want that to disappear. This book will be the manifestation of just one twig of our collective history. Reading his voice will always be something that I will have.
I owe a lot to my tatti, my dad. The lifelong supporter, the unabashed lovebug, the passionate and compassionate father who instilled in me a passion for alliteration and abhorrence at ending a sentence with a preposition.
SO stay posted. Keep checking back because I will post a link when the book is available. I hope you and yours will enjoy these stories as much as my brother and I did. And if you just can’t wait, get a taste of his writing here: