As everyone knows, I've had a fair share of problems with my family. And as everyone knows, with the supplied distance provided by Madison, I have grown to really appreciate my family - to love them in fact. It feels great.

My father grew up, as he would have us and guests believe, poor in Beunos Aires, Argentina. I remember he lived in an apartment upstairs of the family owned and operated Hardware stoor where he worked as a child. I imagine him to have been a type of social outcast, itnerested in bettering the future lives of his family by succeeding in school. Comforted only by the sounds of a radio, he says, he earned a free education in the public school system, graduating top 500 in the country to be allowed to go to medical school. In between the frequent conflicts with his gym teacher's dog, my father "worked his ass off" in school, ignoring his friends who frequently ditched school to see movies or such. Loneliness must have been present but somehow, my father continued onto medical school where he was inspired by the bowtie wearing "classy" nephrologists. After graduating, he moved to Georgia, away from his loving parents and sisters, to buy a Pontiac T-Bird (it was black and white) and be a resident or complete his studying I don't remember. Again alone and out of place, my father grew dissatisfied and moved to Brooklyn where he worked at Coney Island hospital. But still unsatisfied by life there, my Father became a Zionist.

Arriving in Beer-Sheva (in Israel) in what my mom calls a Horse Drawn Carriage, my father felt accepted and began working there. He met my lovely young mother and soon they moved to New York in persuit of a higher paying job. Married, they had us - my brother, me, and my sister.

I think it is safe to assume that as my mother reminds me, my father did everything for us. He worked so hard in his life to provide for his family. And despite conflicts, misunderstandings, fights, whatever, I owe him more than I will ever be able to repay him.

My father's mother passed away today. Sadly, I doubt I will be able to make it to New York while my father morns. I want to confort him. I want him to know that I spent have the day worrying about him. I once heard that when a parent dies, the world stops. I hope my father knows that the world hasn't stopped and we (my family) love him and appreciate him.

In Loving Memory of My Father's Mother