Soda Jerk

You had a wide variety of unusual jobs as a kid, and a student, to help put yourself through school.

The most creative was that you and your buddy, whose name I can't recall, used to take his little boat out and go fishing (but frustratingly,  I can't remember what you were actually looking for - lobsters? clams? mussels? flounder?); you would go all night, and you would sell your catch to some local restaurants for quite a lot of money at the time. Then you would sleepily head off to high school, or your next gig.

You had so many jobs I can't keep them all straight, but some of the other ones I remember most are:

- Caddy at Glen Head Country Club: you were such a skinny kid you could hardly lift a bag of clubs...

- Vet assistant at what is now The Animal Inn in Glen Cove. I am pretty sure you cleaned piss and shit all day.

- A plumber, at many of the fancy estates in the area. I wish you had had an iPhone and an instagram account!

- And my personal favorite, a soda jerk. Someone who waited on cars at a fast food restaurant where you parked, and someone (a soda jerk) waited on you. Some name! We loved to hear about that as kids, and for a long time I was convinced you were wearing roller skates, too, but I think that's just a desired embellishment.

When you and Mom came to dinner in Sea Cliff in November, for your anniversary and her birthday, we took a ride around the area and you pointed out many of these places to me - including the former location of the establishment where you were a soda jerk, which has been knocked down.

You always worked so hard - as an adult, too - and I often think of you when I hear radio articles about trying to teach "grit" and "perseverance" in school. You had those qualities in spades, more than anyone I know.

It makes me happy that in my new life in Sea Cliff, I am passing by practically daily places where you had a history. Your old town, where you met Mom, the vet office, the country club, and so on. Not to mention, I drive by your old high school to get to the gym, and I drive by St. Patrick's, where you and mom got married, frequently. It is a beautiful church, and sometime soon I will stop in so I can see it.

It was a month on Friday, Dad, the 23rd, which used to be my lucky number. Not sure about that now, although maybe there is some type of coded message that I have yet to identify in that. I listened to Tchaikovsky's piano concerto, and I wept too.

But I guess when I want to feel closer to you I can stop by the Animal Inn? Poor Buster doesn't know what's coming.

All my love to you Dad. I miss you so much.
Megan