We never really celebrated Father’s Day, perhaps, because, as the saying goes, every day was something akin to Father’s Day. My Dad was both a simple and extraordinary man who enjoyed a good meal, a great ball game, and being with his family. He was happiest when we were all home in our small upper west side apartment, doing whatever together.
There wasn’t a Sunday morning that passed when I didn’t wake up to the warm fresh smells of H&H bagels and fresh Zabar’s stacked up on the kitchen table. Although it was barely 9 am, my dad had already been to the City Athletic Club for a workout, a steam, and then back uptown to purchase the raw materials for breakfast.
When I was nine years old, my parents told me it would be fun if I made them breakfast in bed every Sunday. I was such a geek, I didn't know they were pulling a Tom Sawyer on me.