A letter to Jake on his father’s 60th Birthday

1. 
   

December 17, 2022

Dear Jake,

A theme started way back when your father and I were young enough that he could not pronounce my name correctly. “Tasrin” was my name to him. More like “Look Out, Tasrin is Coming!” was my name. He was skinny and I was chubby. He was thoughtful and I was a terror. He’d carefully stack blocks. I’d enthusiastically knock them down. Never malicious. I loved my brother. I also never, ever perceived “Look Out, It’s Tasrin” as a negative. All in a day’s fun and games as children.

I'm sure if it broke his heart, I would have felt equally sorry. But he was always so patient and kind.

Another time, a few years later, during a summer while still living in Long Island, Grandma took us to one of the local beaches. Fleets Cove, I think. Your dad will probably say it was Crescent Beach if I’m wrong. Anyway, the first time we were old enough to go to the snack bar without Grandma’s supervision, we both purchased the same candy bar. “Now Katherine, you like to eat yours fast. And I like to eat mine more slowly. So just remember, when you’re done, you can’t have any of mine.” He made perfect, logical sense, and I of course agreed. Until mine was all gone and I stared at his savory candy bar.

He of course shared some with me.

In our Long Island neighborhood, it was a good thing your dad was so smart. Being skinny was not an asset when confronted with the neighborhood bully, Martin Gagliano. Your dad used his brains, telling Martin some kind of elaborate consequence to his behavior, that sent him home crying.

In college, I had a boyfriend who was also great friends with your dad. On a long weekend break, we were all in Connecticut. The boyfriend was a little on the “Look Out, It’s Tasrin” kind of guy. Playful. Never malicious. But a bit mischievous. The three of us went apple picking on a beautiful sunny fall day. Picture-perfect day in nature with my beloved boyfriend and favorite (shhhh!) brother. We had scattered a bit, picking our apples. I could hear your dad in the near distance humming, “Don’t sit under the apple tree, with anybody else but…” WHAM! And then loud laughter from another direction. He threw an apple at and hit your dad! Humming immediately ceased! I have always remembered that as hilarious. Probably only because your dad saw the tender and terror contrast and accentuated the humor.

Of course, your dad’s sense of humor, timing, and storytelling are his obvious talents. Timing isn’t just for a good story or laugh, though. He has a deep sense of knowing when it’s time.

A few days before Uncle Malcolm died, your dad told Aunt Rosemary they had to drive up to Maine sooner than later, to see Malcolm. When Aunt Rosemary suggested they plan to go a week from then, his reply was, “No, this weekend.” They drove eight hours on a Friday afternoon. Arrived very late that night. Stayed in a hotel in town. And drove to my house in the morning. They stayed a few hours and drove back early that afternoon. No one knew Saturday evening would be Malcolm’s last day. It was a sunny, December day. Cold outside, but light and warm inside. Peaceful. Malcolm’s baby granddaughter came over with her mom. She was six months old and adorable. She arrived a little fussy. But not in your dad’s arms. For some reason, she calmed right down. Your dad told me even though being there was important, there was a lot of nothing to do, and a little awkward. So holding Chloe was his newfound purpose. He was delighted to hold her. With all the patience and kindness and wisdom he was born with, he peacefully held new life. As Malcolm peacefully was ending his. I will never remember that day without remembering that.

Happy 60th Birthday to your Dad, from his Tasrin,

Aunt Katherine