You can imagine how thrilled my parents were that I was marrying Michael.
NOT!
He was not at all what they had envisioned for me. Mom asked, “Are you really sure?” Much later, she asked how I knew the handsome; smart, confident, kind person was underneath the quiet, long-haired child they met so long ago.
Dad told me years later that they decided instead of not accepting Michael – which would ruin their relationship with me – they put a loving arm around him and brought him into the fold.
In our house, Sunday dinner was always a nice roast with all the goodies. As Michael began to join us, these dinners would last for hours, as we would talk about politics, financial matters, stories my dad would hear during the week, jokes and just conversation. During those conversations, dad also was able to slip in stories about goal setting, money management, proper use of credit, how to treat and manage other people. He had the heart of a teacher. Michael listened and learned. He loved being with my parents.
We would invite them over for the day or, after they retired 100 miles away, for a few days. The TV was never on during these visits. We talked, laughed, played music and wicked card games. I always cooked big dinners and we would sit for hours talking afterwards.
As Michael worked hard to provide money for our first home then worked even harder so I could stay home nine years with our son, they really respected and admired him. They also liked him a lot. He is very likable! And did I mention cute?
I think my dad saw himself in Michael as they had very similar childhoods. Kindred spirits, so to speak.
My dad loved nothing more than a good Manhattan. It is a cocktail of bourbon and sweet vermouth, which is then shaken with ice and poured through a screen into a stemmed cocktail glass. He had tried for years to get Michael to try one but he would only take a sip and say, “No, thanks!” YUCK!
Well, one Christmas Eve when our son was quite young, dad suggested to Michael, “Why don’t we have a Manhattan?” For some reason, Michael agreed. The process began: shot glasses were used for measuring, it was shaken and delivered it a beautiful stemmed glass.
Michael took a sip and somehow, for the first time, it tasted delicious. They sat together in the living room near the Christmas tree with Christmas music playing in the background just enjoying them. They went back to the kitchen together. I heard shaking. Round 2. I think there may have even been a Round 3!
We would invite them over for the day or, after they retired 100 miles away, for a few days. The TV was never on during these visits. We talked, laughed, played music and wicked card games. I always cooked big dinners and we would sit for hours talking afterwards.
As Michael worked hard to provide money for our first home then worked even harder so I could stay home nine years with our son, they really respected and admired him. They also liked him a lot. He is very likable! And did I mention cute?
I think my dad saw himself in Michael as they had very similar childhoods. Kindred spirits, so to speak.
My dad loved nothing more than a good Manhattan. It is a cocktail of bourbon and sweet vermouth, which is then shaken with ice and poured through a screen into a stemmed cocktail glass. He had tried for years to get Michael to try one but he would only take a sip and say, “No, thanks!” YUCK!
Well, one Christmas Eve when our son was quite young, dad suggested to Michael, “Why don’t we have a Manhattan?” For some reason, Michael agreed. The process began: shot glasses were used for measuring, it was shaken and delivered it a beautiful stemmed glass.
Michael took a sip and somehow, for the first time, it tasted delicious. They sat together in the living room near the Christmas tree with Christmas music playing in the background just enjoying them. They went back to the kitchen together. I heard shaking. Round 2. I think there may have even been a Round 3!
Dad and Michael were getting sillier and laughing. At one point, I looked over at them to see Michael’s head on my dad’s shoulder. He gazed up at my dad and asked, “Are we bonding now?” It has become a classic story in our family. It was the beginning of their love story. They adored each other.
Dad was in ICU for a month before he died and during that time his brother flew in from Tennessee. He stayed with us along with my mom. My uncle, mom and I drove into the city everyday to be with dad. Michael would drive up during his lunchtime to sit with him while we would go out to get some air and lunch. He would then go back to work.
We would come home from the hospital completely spent and emotionally exhausted. Michael would have cocktails ready for them and dinner for all of us.
In my extended family, it was whispered that I “didn’t marry well.” My uncle and I were driving home from the hospital one night when he mentioned how shocked he was that Michael would extend himself so much even though he was not related to my dad. He didn’t understand that Michael and my dad were very close and that he looked to my dad as a friend and mentor. He loved him deeply.
I saw my opportunity and said, “I married pretty well, didn’t I?”
“You married darn well and besides, I don’t think another man would put up with you!” he said with a laugh.
In the month my uncle was with us, he and Michael developed an amazing relationship, which continued until his death just a year ago. They would phone each other often and I would hear laughter from this end of the phone.
So many memories. On the first anniversary of my dad’s death, we brought all the supplies with us to make Manhattans at his mausoleum. We toasted him then sprinkled some on the marble.
Make a Manhattan and join Michael in a toast in memory of my dad tonight. Today is his birthday. He would have been 87-years old.
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