Ps118:24

I do not speak easily or often about my Dad. But the events of yesterday compel me to do so now.

Last week was a brutal work week. One for which I reserve the phrase, "a real grinderoo." Several very important meetings in Austin, Tx., a speech, a powerpoint presentation, and a few court imposed deadlines conspired to keep me from my bed either early or often. This week's schedule, while a bit more manageable, would present its own challenges. If I were to "get it all done," and still have time to attend my 12 year old son's two fall ball baseball games, I would have to employ razor precision in managing my time.

There is a saying amongst my people. In Yiddish, it is pronounced "Mentsh trakht, Got lakht." The english translation is: "people make plans and G-d laughs." It is sometimes referred to as: "People propose. G-d disposes." That was no more true than it was yesterday morning. I had my entire day lined out for me. Choreographed from minute to minute, hour to hour, and I was ready to tackle it all. After I dropped my son off at school at exactly 8:16 a.m., I proceeded to purchase my new legal assistant's new ergonomic desk chair. After lightening my wallet at Office Depot (but not for the last time that morning, as I would soon find out), I pointed my vehicle at my office, which was mere miles away.

"Not so fast, Fat Boy," life seemed to say. As I got within a mile or so of my office, I noticed a strange sound coming from the back of my minivan. It was as though a giant metal bucket filled the trunk of my car, and it was filled with lots of little clanky, grindy pieces of twisted metal, banging and twisting up against each other. It was particularly noticeable when my vehicle slowed from 30 down to zero. I pulled over in the parking lot of a (thankfully closed) California Pizza Kitchen (it WAS only 8:45 a.m.) and looked all around and under my car. Nothing. I pulled out my trusty cell phone and called the good folks at Master Auto Care. J.T. answered the phone and asked what was going on.

I described my imaginary bucket, its contents, and the circumstances under which I was hearing it. Now, I have known J.T. for many years, and he is no alarmist. But he was this time. "Do you think you can drive it in here safely, or should we send a tow truck?" Using my best macho swagger (which was pretty ridiculous since we were speaking on the telephone), I replied, "I got this... does it sound like anything serious?" "Could be. We'll see you in a few minutes." I steered back onto West Gray, pointed north on Waugh (which turns into Yale, but for the life of me, I've never actually noticed where this magical transformation takes place), and, minutes later, turned left into the lot at MAC. After being treated to several minutes of some telenovela on Univision in the MAC waiting room (yeah, right, just admit the chair was comfortable and you were dozing in and out while the actors droned on in spanish), J.T. asked me to come with him. I knew that couldn't be good. When it is $50 news, J.T. just tells me. When the news is about to make a bigger dent in my wallet, he has to SHOW me.

My old girl (142,500 miles and still rolling through me paying for three full sets of college in the past 5 1/2 years), was up on the lift. I looked at her underside like some amateur gynecologist who would immediately know what was wrong even without being told. As my eyes scanned her soft belly from side to side, I realized I didn't have a clue what was wrong. J.T. focused my attention on what I knew from shop class in high school was a shock absorber. "I'm guessing it isn't supposed to be cracked like that?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Nope. And its busted clean through. You're lucky it didn't snap clean off at highway speed." "How much?" Probably around $1,100."

Now, I'm not the biggest Guy guy, but even I know that $1,100 for a pair of shock absorbers is a lot. "For shock absorbers?"
"No, for shock absorbers, rear brakes, rear rotors, and your transmission gasket, which is beginning to leak oil." Now over the years, I had emerged unscathed from MAC enough times without paying anything at all to know that J.T. was not merely trying to make his entire day's sales on me because he had to. I also knew that $1,100 was a lot of money, and that the repair would keep me out of the office for a while. I was starting to feel like John McClain at the start of Die Hard 3 (The one with the bomber in New York, the dump trucks, the gold, Yankee Stadium, and Samuel T. Jackson telling the cop "If you have to shoot me, then shoot me, but I HAVE to answer this telephone.") "I have a very bad headache." Minutes later, realizing that I simultaneously had to use the bathroom and was hungry, I found myself in a McDonalds a few blocks from MAC. I took care of business in THAT order and proceeded to mope into my egg mcmuffin without cheese and filet of fish without tartar sauce or cheese, adding ketchup and pickles. I was bound and determined to get through my unplanned wait until my wife picked me up and took me to the office without TOTALLY wrecking my calorie day. $1,100. Critical hours lost from an otherwise very busy day. $1,100. Stuck in a Mickey D's. Having to (shudder) use the public bathroom there. For umm... you know. It had the makings of a really memorable pity party.

And then it happened. I glanced out the big front windows of Mickey D's, looking to the bright, blue, clear sky hovering over Yale Street outside. The beautiful fall weather was absolutely RUINING my party. As I looked to the clear, humidity-less fall sky, I was instantly transported back 38 years to Queens, New York. On a day similar to yesterday, thirteen year old me stood beside my now long deceased father and watched as he looked to the crisp autumn sky, took a deep breath, patted his chest with both hands, smiled, and said, "Zeh hayom awsaw Ado-shem negilah, vinismecha bo." My training in Hebrew school and Sunday school had not been wasted. I immediately recognized Psalm 188, verse 24. "This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." I thought it odd that he would say that given our circumstances. Living in a federally funded housing project. Having to look hard to find two nickels to rub together to support his six kids. It couldn't have been easy.

I have to hand it to my father. No matter the circumstance, he always managed to find a bright side. Instinctively, I knew what he would say if he were sitting there with me at Mickey D's yesterday morning. "Sonny boy, it could always be worse. The shock absorber could have snapped on the highway between Austin and Houston last week at 75 mph. You could have been killed. Zeh hayom awsay Ado-shem negilah, vinismecha bo." And, of course, he would be right. For three reasons. One, he was. Two, he was my Dad. Three, how can you not listen to your Spirit Dad who manages to find you in a McDonalds in a sketchy neighborhood when you really should be at your office getting ready for trial in the middle of a work morning.

His words comforted me. I knew what he would do if he were there physically. My eyes scanned the "restaurant's dining room" (to use both phrases very loosely). Within seconds, my eyes spotted an older guy (thankfully, at my age, there are still a few "older guys" around when you need them) who appeared to be having a worse morning than I was. As he stood looking up at the menu board, I could tell he was mentally tallying the prices to see what he could afford, or not afford, to eat. I slid a $10 bill out of my pocket, showed it to him, and asked, "is it ok if I get breakfast?" He smiled and thanked me, taking the folded bill from my hand. I quickly turned around to go back to my seat, not wanting him to see the tears that were forming at the corner of my eyes. Here I was, *****ing and moaning to myself about an $1,100 car repair that I was in a position to be able to pay when this guy woke up yesterday morning and wasn't sure how he was going to pay for something to eat that day. Here I was, glum because I was "stuck" in a fast food restaurant waiting area instead of being grateful for the fact that the shock absorber did not snap at highway speed and cause me to wreck. My mental clouds immediately dissapated as my mood began to match the azure sky outside. My father was right. "Zeh hayom awsaw Ado-shem negilah, vinismecha bo." "This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

I tell this story because several people commented yesterday that I had a great attitude in the face of a less than spectacular day. It is important that they know that I got that great attitude from a great man. My dad. I miss you Dad.