Dad had so many talents and aspects to his character; it’s not easy to eulogize him. He was both the rare and quirky combination of left brain logic coupled with right brained sensitivity. I believe Dad chose to be an engineer, because it satisfied his left brained, logical, rational side. It was very practical and challenged him intellectually. But underneath that practicality was also the gentle heart of a creative. His profession was what he did to earn a living; I want to share what he was like inside his heart. Dad was a seeker and had a tender, sensitive side. He loved poetry, art and music. It was as if he was on a quest, seeking the answers to life’s great questions. When other Dads were reading the newspaper, my Dad was reading esoteric and philosophical books. He studied the world’s great religions. He practiced yoga long before it was popular. It was he that suggested I try it in my 30’s, to relieve my tension and stress. I’ve been practicing on and off ever since. For as long as I can remember, our home was filled with the sound of the opera and classical music. He loved the piano of Chopin, the genius of Mozart and the brilliance of Beethoven. One of my earliest childhood memories was sitting on his lap listening to symphony music. We invented a game, we called it “conductor”. I would close my eyes and Dad would say, “Janice, make your hands go limp”. He then held my hands in his and moved them to the timing of the music. We’d sit like that for hours on a Saturday afternoon. It always amazed me that his arms never got tired from waving them frantically for so long. I got my love of music from these special moments we shared together. When my brother David and I used to fight, which was almost daily, he would distract us with drawing contests to see who could draw the ugliest face. David would draw these horrific faces with pimples, scars and snot running out of faucets. That really annoyed me, because David would win. It was from these silly contests that I developed a fondness for art and a love of drawing. My Dad was the kind of person you could always depend on for supportive advice. He was often advising my girlfriends or other family members in my childhood home. He had the reputation in our family as being very wise, non-judgmental and full of a lot of great ideas. After high school, while most of my classmates were off at college having fun, I took a year off to work a crappy job in a restaurant. My self-esteem was at an all-time low. I felt left behind and very lonely during that time. I had no friends. I remember Dad and I taking long walks together for hours. He did his best to console me, build up my character and help me feel better about myself. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember that he deeply loved me and cared for me and that made all the difference. Even though I could always count on Dad to be there for me, I didn’t always appreciate the abrupt manner in which he’d express himself sometimes. He was notorious for saying the wrong thing at the right time or maybe it as the right thing at the wrong time. I’m not sure which. In my twenties, I remember calling him hysterically crying because I got dumped by a boyfriend. He waited patiently till I was done whining. Then he said, “Janice, how old is this guy?” In between sobs, I managed to whimper out meekly, “24”. I could feel him rolling his eyeballs through the phone line. “For God sakes Janice, try not to take most guys under the age of 30 too seriously. Men take longer to mature than women, and quite frankly, some never do!” I didn’t appreciate it back then, but I can chuckle about that conversation now. Over the years, we went through so many ups and downs in our relationship. He was there for me when I was graduated from college in my 30’s, when I worked on Wall Street and went through the shock of 9/11. He walked me down the aisle when I got married and held my hand I was ill and went through many surgeries. No matter what I went through, Dad was always there for me to help me pick up the pieces and start over. He’d say, “Janice, you gotta pick yourself up, dust yourself off and get back into the ring!” Yes, Dad was my greatest champion. But even all we had experienced together over the many years, he had a hard time seeing me as an adult. In his mind, I was always his ‘little baby girl’. At times this was sweet and endearing, other times, it was downright annoying. In 2004, when I told him that I was moving to New Mexico from New Jersey, he proceeded to lecture me and my future husband about the challenges and uncertainties of moving cross country. Robert, who was my fiancé then said, “Dan, she’s 40 years old…she’s 40…she’s an adult,” the look of total horror on his face was priceless. I’m not sure if it was because he realized that I was 40 or because he realized that he was the father of a 40-year-old. Dad and Mom moved here to Hood River in 2009. I know how hard it was for them to pick up and leave the familiarity of family and friends on the east coast, everything they had ever known. Dad immediately took a liking to Hood River. He loved gazing out at the mountain from the back window of their apartment. He loved the landscape and the beauty of nature here. For him, it was peaceful, quiet and serene, the perfect place to spend his final years. When Dad became ill with heart trouble and dementia, his personality began to alter. He often repeated himself and did not remember our conversations from one moment to the next. This change in his character felt like I was losing our precious connection that we had formed over the many decades. I never got used to it. I cried many hours over that. It was heartbreaking. Towards the end of his life, Dad constantly expressed how happy he was, he bragged about his love for Mom, his pride in his children and the meaningful contribution to society he made through his career. In his final years, he was joyful and grateful for a life well lived and that is how I’m choosing to remember him. I love you Dad and thank you for loving me.