The above is Dusie dusting off a poppyseed bagel at my father's grave. Yes, when we go to the cemetery we bring food, something small like a bagel or a cookie, or a little coffee to pour on the grave. We seem to be a little unusual. All the other graves have trees or plants or flags or stuffed animals. We talked about what we would bring to Daddy to dress up the grave and came up with a list of things he might like: a mini roulette wheel, a craps table, a pair of dice (loaded), a copy of the Racing Form. Really, why should we try to be what we're not?
I'm hitting the races at Monmouth Park next weekend for Father's Day. My dad tried to get me interested in horse racing and betting when I was young, but even the smartest 8 year old is to young to understand multi-variable system analysis and develop an analytical process to judge horseflesh. But he would let me pick horses and place bets for me, although my lack of success lead to my not getting the gambling bug. Another bullet dodged.
I miss him a lot these days. I miss how I could get angry and yell at him. He also had a temper, and could be flat out nuts sometimes, but he did always love us.
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