Respect, part II

While not wanting to be morbid, it has been an unusual two weeks. Birthday yesterday (is there anyone else that thinks the happy birthdays on Facebook almost make the whole thing worthwhile?), three funerals and the 18th anniversary of my dad's funeral.  My dad was buried on the coldest day in the history of Cleveland.  His drafting set from East Tech was my "Precious Object".

The memorial last Saturday was from a colleague from my first career.  Howard was a couple years younger than my dad, both part of the generation that served in the World War II. I have no idea whether Howard had a college degree but people like him and my dad who worked hard could create a comfortable middle class life - own a home, send their kids to college, retire if they wanted.

The memorial a week ago Sunday was for my friend Rabbi Bruce Abrams.  Bruce officiated at my dad's funeral. He was a few months my junior. His parents and younger brother were (are) remarkably like mine in many, many ways. His brother is a contemporary of my brother. (If he is reading this, I have to note that Bruce's brother still has hair.) What got me off my butt to write this was cleaning my studio yesterday and      finding comfirmation class photos I had done twenty years ago which included Bruce.  My son's confirmation was among them.  At the time, quite the accomplishment for a young man with autism. To be sure, quite an accomplishment for his rabbi as well.

In the end, this ends up a tribute to a friend and to a generation.  As I have said before, every time I revisit the people of my dad's generation that participated in "Precious Objects" I am doubly grateful. Grateful as I am for all the people that participated from five year old Sean to those in their nineties. But grateful again for the optimism and seriousness that the previous generation brought forth. They were not without faults. Equally they brought some ideas, at worst worth recognising and, at best worth preserving.