Memories of my dad on what would have been his 100th birthday

December 31, 1924. That was the day my grandmother gave birth to her youngest child—my father. Tuesday would have been his one-hundredth birthday. I spent a large part of his birthday thinking about him—what he did and what he has missed.

My first thought was he would be spending much of his day either having visits from his family or talking to them on the phone. My dad was big on family—and not just his immediates. He loved and was loved by his cousins. I’ve had more than a few cousins tell me he was their best friend. And then they’ll tell me a story about him—usually one I’ve heard multiple times. Sometimes it gets old but it always reminds me of how beloved he was—and how much he is missed.

Talking about being missed—the ones who truly missed out were his grandchildren. My dad only had the opportunity to meet one of his eight grandkids—and that was for less than three years. Sad—damn sad! Tuesday morning, I texted both of my daughters about his birthday. My text stated how much he would have loved both of them. Man, he would have spoiled those girls. I’ve always been sad that I never had the chance to see that. I’m sure my siblings feel the same way.

Talking about siblings, yesterday was my sister’s birthday—a New Year’s Day baby. My dad’s joke was “My birthday is today, but yours isn’t until next year.” Oy! I’m shaking my head as I write that, but if he were still here, he would have brought that one out.

Usually, the funny, quirky stories in my family are about my mother, but my dad had his moments, too. With me and him, it usually seemed to occur when he was trying to set me up with women.

The summer before I left for college, I was working at his car lot washing cars. One afternoon this girl, about my age, came out to where I was working. When I asked if she needed her car washed, she said no and that the guys inside the building told her that she should talk to the kid washing cars—you look like might be a good pair together. Then she told me she liked girls and we both laughed.

I went inside the building to ask what that was about. My dad’s partner said, “We thought it would be a good idea to get you laid before going to college.” I then had a long explanation with them about how and why they picked the wrong girl.

But my dad didn’t give up—not even close.

A few years later, I was again working for him during a summer break. One day, on the way to work, we stopped at a car dealership where one of his closest friends in the car industry worked. After the two buds were done schmoozing, my dad gave me an invoice and a check. He said, “Go to the cashier’s office and give this to the pretty girl behind the counter. She’s expecting you.”

Surprisingly she was expecting me. Surprisingly, she was extremely pretty. And surprisingly we hit it off. A five-minute conversation led to going out that night, which led to not coming home until the next morning. I remember hearing my Dad talking to his friend—soon to be a former friend—and the voices kept getting louder. Sorry, Dad—not sorry.

Later that summer, we were going to a concert. She came to my parent’s home to pick me up. Before we left, she stopped to talk to my father, “Mr. Moore, I’m truly sorry that we caused the rift between you and my dad.” My dad smiled and responded, “It’s okay. I have plenty of other friends.” Oh yeah, that he did.

While my father’s friendship may have come to an end, I saw that pretty young girl off and on for many years. Her brother is one of my closest friends. Thanks, Dad—really.

One thing I do wonder about is how he would react to the current political climate in this country. Actually, I don’t have to wonder. I know how he would feel. This was a man who stood on the sidewalk in protest as George Lincoln Rockwell and the American Nazi Party marched past his business. That should tell you all you need to know, but here’s a bit more:

My parents were solid Democrats. I remember watching the Kennedy-Nixon election results with them in 1960, when I was only eight years old. When Nixon was awarded a state, I yelled “FUCK!” My dad just started laughing—although in his head, he was also yelling “FUCK!!”

I was with him a decade later when Nixon gave his resignation speech. I started cheering when Dick said he was officially leaving office the next day. He shooshed me so he could hear, but he did it with a smile on his face.

Now if he felt this way about Nixon, you can imagine what he would have thought about Donald Trump. Damn, he’ll probably be rolling over in his grave on Inauguration Day—for the second time. Hey Dad—I won’t be watching either.

My father packed a lot of living into a short time. I say short because he died in April of 1982 at only fifty-seven years old. I’ve thought about him a lot in the four decades that he’s been gone. Yesterday, I went to visit my daughter, son-in-law and their children—my dad’s grand and great-grandchildren. I thought of my father for a moment as the kids were opening their Hanukkah presents. He would have loved to have seen that. All of it is a part of his legacy. And at 100 years old, it’s still living on long after he’s gone.