PKS Reunion

I’m guessing 1988 or so. Judy, Sue, Kenny, and me. Mom and Dad were still alive then, although Dad seemed uncharacteristically frail and quiet at this reunion. All of us had been visiting them in Pine Knoll Shores, NC, a small town on the outer banks, where they lived. That whole area was land that Dad had managed to get the Roosevelt family to donate while he completed the legal work to get it incorporated into a town and then serve two terms as its first Mayor.

He hired the first police and fire personnel who all knew him well.

On that visit though, I realized how poor his health had become. A Harvard scholar and career attorney with his own successful Manhattan law firm, dad was a walking encyclopedia, and a limerick boss, but I had never seen any chinks in his armor before. Always a gentleman, strong, self-assured, we knew he had our backs and those of his friends and partners. Dad had never showed personal weakness, compassion, yes, but never weakness. I know he must have been mortified by the uncontrollable shaking in his hands. A good sport through it all, he posed for pictures as Mom directed him and stood up as long as he could.

Mother was his everything, the absolute love of his life. He would do whatever she asked, including having four children which he was a bit on the fence about until we were old enough for him to speak with us as adults. Then it was great.

Soon after this picture was taken, Dad started to sink into a nightmare of dementia and Alzheimer’s, passing away six years later. A cruel ending for a man who was all about the mind. To my knowledge, he had never thrown a ball or watched a football game, much preferring a NY Times crossword puzzle, a history book, or maybe a little Lawrence Welk bubble music with Mom, his little dog snoring in his lap.

All of that was lost to the disease.

Mother continued on after his death, a smart, healthy, artistic lady who had lived, and continued to live, a privileged life, for another 17 years. Much like June Cleaver, she wore dresses and a string of pearls, even when she worked in the garden.

I don’t think about my father very often. He and I mostly had a handshake relationship, unless we were trading bad limericks or agreeing that The Dick Van Dyke Show was worth watching because Mary Tyler Moore was on it. We both appreciated the fact that nobody did justice to Capri pants better than Laura Petrie.

These days, I often see my father in the mirror. When I can’t remember names, it worries me more than it probably should. I occasionally hold my hand straight out in front of me to assure myself that there is no sign of a quiver.

Carla and I frequently sit on the couch together and watch a show, my little dog snoring in my lap.

We record some of our favorites, but no Lawrence Welk reruns though, some things are best left in the past.