Hey, Pops...

Hey, Pops.

First of all, I want to wish you a happy birthday. You would have been 85, and probably would have told everyone you were 60. And because of your verve, spirit, and the fact that you were in pretty good shape for an old guy, people would’ve bought it.

My father. 1936-2013.

Black don’t crack, right?

It’s been a hell of a year. Since your last birthday, the world is still a bit upside down. Yeah, we’re still in a pandemic. But hey, I got married. The wedding was small and quirky, but totally us. And while it wasn’t the huge party that we would have liked, it was still a good time. And Pops, the two of you would’ve gotten along pretty well. You would’ve liked her. She thinks that I’m handsome and that I look like you.

The Knicks got good again. I know, it’s a bit weird to think about that, but the team was a lot of fun to watch last year. Maybe not as much this year, but the season’s still young. The Yankees weren’t as much fun to watch, and I never thought I’d live to see the day when the Knicks were more compelling than the Yankees. I’m hoping that New York is Title Town this year, even though it seems a bit like a longshot.

I wish the same thing I always wish for, that we had more time. We wasted so much of it not in each other’s lives, and I feel like I doubly wasted that time on being angry with you. It seems a little stupid now. I do think about the time between your diagnosis and your passing, and I am glad that we decided to make the effort and speak more. I’m glad that I got to see you early in your battle and remember you as being strong and still full of life.

I like to think that I’m on the way to that “better life” you wanted for your kids. I’m not completely there yet—still trying to figure out how to get the writing stuff off the ground—but I’m getting closer. I also like to think that I’m evolving into a person you would have been proud to know, and not only because I’m your son. I learned lessons from you, Pops, both in who I want to be and who I don’t. I’m glad to have had them and happy to have used them. I guess I’m stable in my life, and whatever worry you had, whether you shared them with anyone or not, can be put to rest.

I miss you, Pops. In the last eight years, I’ve had plenty of time to ruminate on the relationship we had and the one we could have had. I am glad for what we did have and sorry for my part in what we didn’t. And while I admit envy with some of the relationships you have with my older siblings, the extended time they had with you, and the stories that they can tell that I can’t directly relate to, I should have done better on my end to build a better bond with you. The only way I can make amends is by doing better in the relationships I still have with friends and family.

The last thing I want to say on your birthday is thank you. A lot of what makes me someone I like comes from you, both in positive traits I might have inherited and the less-than-positive ones that I tried to learn from. I could never be who I am right now without that.

Anyway, I hope that you’re resting easy, that you’re keeping everyone laughing, and that whatever you’re doing, you’re still “swellin’ up di sides.” We’ll cross paths once again, I’m sure.