Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘dad’

Prologue:
My father died 17 years and one day ago. While the loss feels fresh, it really was 6,206 days since my beloved father took his last breath. He left behind seven grandchildren who adored him along with their parents too. There is not a day that goes by when I don’t think of him or the way he walked in the world.  My father loved to tell stories, he was always telling stories. 

~ ~ ~

 “There’s always room for a story that can
transport people to another place.”
~J.K. Rowling

As a little girl, I remember devouring story after story. It didn’t matter how a story came to me. Good storytellers and good books held equal footing as far as I was concerned, but the man who will forever be remembered as the most amazing storyteller in the world is none other than my dad, Morry Bloomberg.

My father had a way with words. He could engage friend or stranger, child or adult. Wherever he went, he would find a perfect story to share and a way to lift people’s spirits.

As a young girl, I remember going into Giant, our local grocery store, and each and every cashier wanted Morry in their lines. It seemed like everyone would address him by name and take a moment to say hi to him. I loved how people knew my father and wanted to connect with him.

booksDad gave me love of words, all words. While he riveted me with his stories, he also loved reading and encouraged me to read and then read some more. It was through my own reading that I was able to visit far away places and navigate childhood as I did.

Gratitude Abounds:
Today, I can always be found with a book that I am reading, a podcast that is keeping me on the edge of my seat, and my own creative writing. Words fuel my soul.

And as luck would have it, I love telling stories and can sometimes be found sharing those stories with others whether in a grocery store line, an elevator, a classroom, or even a stage.

I am the storyteller and writer that I am because my father filled my world with stories.

My father will always hold the sacred space in my heart as being the best storyteller ever! If he is looking down at me, I hope he is proud of how he taught me to honor the power of words and inspired me to share my own stories.

NOTE: Please offer feedback by commenting on this post or letting me know that you like it after reading it. Thank you!

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

13 years later. . . . .

Let’s get one reality out of the way.  My father was a deeply flawed human being that made significant mistakes over the course of his lifetime especially when it came to raising and protecting his little girl, me.  Yet, I am blessed that I can celebrate another side to a man I love deeply.  A long time ago, I chose to let go of the pain, to move forward, and to spend a lot more time remembering the extraordinary parts of my father.  And regardless of some of the challenges, he was an amazing Zaydie to his grandchildren and a loving soul to those that crossed his path.

Everyone that knew my father loved him.  Everyone.

While he struggled with my mother and the challenges that she posed, he was able to leave most of those feelings behind once he walked out our kitchen door.  Morry loved the world and much of what it had to offer.  He was a passionate reader, a lover of music, and a kind soul.

I am who I am because Morry Bloomberg was my father; he raised me to love people, stories, and music.  A day has not gone by without me thinking about my father and the many legacies he left behind.

My father guided me to walk in the world with a deep appreciation for each and every person in the human race while sharing brief words, stories, or jokes with all.  To this day, I feel guilty if I don’t want to interact with a cashier or someone holding the door.  My father taught me to be better than that, he taught me to acknowledge each and every person that I made eye contact with.

Sharing Stories and Jokes

I loved how my father had a story or joke to share with each and every person he met each day; he never hesitated to talk to any person that crossed his path; he always had a small offering to share. I was especially struck by his knowledge of everything going on in the news and how he would share information from all that he was reading at any given moment.  He was always reading.

Morry loved all people. Cashiers and family/friends were on equal footing; the doctor and the guys that took care of our yard were each human beings.  No one was better than anyone else.  And if anyone needed his help, he would do whatever he could to help.

Each and every person that I have met over the years believed that they were close friends with my dad.  He always had time for the person that was in front of him.  One of the reasons, I never use a cell phone in front of a cashier is because I believe he would quite literally have a cow if I every ignored a human being that was in front of me.  I can almost hear him expressing his dissatisfaction if I had chosen to disregard any person in front of me.  My moods didn’t count; I believe he taught me that I was here to serve, to bring joy into people’s lives for just a moment.  A kind word, a sweet story, or a smile makes a difference.

Turn Table and record (vinyl) - Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Loebman

Turn Table and record (vinyl) – Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Loebman (who never stopped loving music or vinyl)

Music and Records

Another one of my favorite things about my father was his love for music.  He shared that love with everyone.  All of my friends loved that he knew more about vinyl and shared what he had with anyone that wanted.  But for me, I treasured how we used to take rides to any of his record stores and spend the entire time singing together.  On the rare occasion, that he could keep me out of my house for days on end, we would sing, share stories, and connect in ways that I will miss forever.  With him, I could find peace for as long as we were together.

Dad took me to my first concerts sometimes with my friends and often times with just the two of us.  He even took my friend Elizabeth and I to a KISS concert; he couldn’t hear for a week after that.  (And for the rest of his life, he never let me forget what he did for Elizabeth and I.) Our seats were center and close to the stage; I think he was as excited as we were to provide this opportunity for us.

My father introduced me to all music and many people in the music business.  I met musicians, sound men (they were all men back then), managers, producers.  I heard and learned about rock, country, bluegrass, pop, classical (although not much), and whatever was popular at any given moment.  My father taught me love of all music. Not only did he teach me, but he introduced music to everyone.  He was particularly kind and loving towards my friends and our neighbors on Pikeswood Drive outside Baltimore where I grew up.  Sharing music made my father feel happy and whole.

Today and every day, I remember how my father walked in the world and I realize that the apple didn’t fall from the tree.  My hope and my prayer is that I am nearly as loving and kind as my father was.

I miss him, but feel grateful for the gifts he did give me.

Read Full Post »

Every one of us has stories to share.  While stories might have clear story lines; reality and relationships are rarely that simple.  Very little in this world is black or white; gray flakes are scattered everywhere.

Ten years ago, my father died.  He was kind and loving; he was the most amazing storyteller I knew and he never met a stranger.  My father was also weak and emotionally unable to keep me safe as a child.  And somehow, I learned to detach from that last part of the story; I learned to love him for who he was and to value the endless gifts he did give me.  In order to have a relationship with him, I chose to de-emphasize the struggles.

Tears trickle down my face when I recall the torment that my father suffered as he dealt with his own demons.  Financial, emotional, and physical challenges plagued him from my early teen years.  I wonder if he knew just how horrible my mother was to me; he should have seen the bruises around my neck, the black eyes, or the many cuts.  Somehow, I am not sure he realized how bad it was; he was never home and when he was, he hid downstairs. Just the same, he did have some clue, if anything; he knew the realities that surrounded my mother’s physical and mental life.

At the same time, the nature of my life with my father gave me the foundation for who I became as an adult.  I love people; I generally get a long with most every soul that I meet.  I walk down the street and make friends with homeless people, animals, and children.  My 14 year-old son, Dovi, frequently asks me if someone I just met has become my close friend.  And for that moment in time, the stranger becomes my closest confidant or more than likely I have just heard their life story because I was willing to listen.

Music is part of my daily life.  I listen, I sing, I chant, I drum and on a good day I can hold a tune or rhythm and on a bad day, I enjoy myself nonetheless.  Dad used to own record stores and a wholesale record house.  As I got older, my dad would let me work with him and there I would find friends and have a good time being surrounded with music and people that loved music.  My childhood had tolerable moments because of my father’s profession; when his business was able to sustain our family, I was a little safer. I loved that his work got me out of the house and that I could work with him too.

During the weekends and sometimes the summers, my father and I would go for long drives.  We would eat whatever cravings I was into that month; we would sing the popular hits, oldies, and anything that was playing on the radio.  We would laugh and share stories too.  When we were together, it was mostly great fun; the dark shadow was close by, but it didn’t detract from our time away from the house.  When we were working, driving, and just hanging out, we had fun.

Dad taught me how to smile, to share stories, and to live in the present moment.  He also taught me how to live when darkness loomed close by.  I don’t think I would be able to navigate the world or go with the flow the way I do if I didn’t have my father as a role model.  Yes it is sad that he stayed with my mother, but perhaps he felt like he had no choice.  I can understand that.  It wasn’t good for me, but in the end I made out OK.

My hope is that I take all the wisdom that was part of the man I knew and treasure it; and that I acknowledge the realities, but let them go.  Peace comes from knowing that I can do things differently than my father.  So, I will quietly (and sometimes loudly) navigate this world and I will do the best I can do with the tools my father gave me.

Ten years later, I think I may miss him more now because I have learned to let go of some of the pain and to treasure the memories.  I also believe I am a good storyteller because I was blessed to hear my father tell stories to every person that crossed his path.

May Morry Bloomberg’s memory be a blessing for good.

Read Full Post »