I Miss My Dad
I'm not always successful in living up to his standards, but I try. The post I Miss My Dad appeared first on Above the Law.
April 8 has always been a day of mixed emotions.
On one side, it is my 18th sobriety anniversary. It’s also the birthday of my father, Norton (“Norty” as his friends called him). He would have been 99 today. He was of the greatest generation — a Navy Seabee in a construction battalion deployed to the Battle of Okinawa, then Korea. When he returned from the war, he was a manager at National Record Mart in downtown Pittsburgh.
He loved to tell us how he was so pissed at being recalled to service for Korea that the MPs almost had to drag him down to the induction depot in handcuffs. Beyond that, he never spoke much of his wartime experiences and the horrors he saw on Okinawa during a brutal battle that saw over 240,000 casualties == 12,000 of them American soldiers. My dad told us that the sheer number of dead led to the Seabees, despite not being combat soldiers, being given rifles.
Norty eventually settled in with his brother, Marty, running a trim shop in the Brookline area of Pittsburgh. They reupholstered car seats, installed convertible tops, and anything else that needed to be done by the local car dealerships on West Liberty Avenue’s’ “auto-row,” as well as a cash business from gang members, drug dealers and the like. Every summer, we would drive to the Catskills, also known as the “Jewish Rivera,” where we would stay in the heart of “Dirty Dancing” territory.
He married and raised his three boys, my older brother Mark, younger brother Jeff, and me, first in Scott Township, then Mount Lebanon, where he lived until coming to Dallas after my brother Mark bought the Dallas Mavericks. Then he retired and would cruise the world, sometimes with me in tow. A life he deserved after living his own for his three boys.
As it is my sobriety anniversary, one particular moment stands out on that score.
About a week after I hit my rock bottom, I went over to his apartment. He knew nothing about my struggles. I was ashamed and didn’t want him to know. I sat down next to him on his couch and bawled, finally unloading a lifetime of pain I had hidden from him. He cried, hugged me, and said, “Move in with me for as long as you need. We’ll get through this together.”
The last couple years of his life were brutal. Dementia took the essence of the dad that I knew. To show how much he was loved, even the great Dirk Nowitzki was at his funeral. Dirk called him, “Papa Cubes.”
I think about my dad daily and the lessons he taught, such as today will be as young as you will ever be. So live like it. I’m not always successful in living up to his standards, but I try. I hope he knows that. I miss him a lot.
Brian Cuban is an attorney, author, and advocate for mental health awareness and recovery. He has spoken at law firms, conferences, non-profit events, colleges, and universities across the United States and Canada. He also writes extensively on these subjects. His books, columns, and quotes have appeared on CNN.com, Foxnews.com, The Huffington Post, The New York Times, and online and print newspapers worldwide.
He is also the author of the best-selling book The Addicted Lawyer, Tales of The Bar, Booze Blow & Redemption. His debut novel, The Ambulance Chaser, was released as the #1-selling debut paperback thriller. His follow-up crime thriller, The Body Brokers is now available wherever books are sold and at www.briancuban.com.
The post I Miss My Dad appeared first on Above the Law.
