A legacy of laughter

It’s hard to believe that it’s been five years since my father‘s funeral, on 11 a.m. on 11/11/2020. He would have loved that the numbers worked out that way. And this year, like then, his yahrzeit coincides with parsha Chayei Sarah, where we learn of the death of Sarah, then of Avroham, both gathered to their people after long, productive lives. His was cut a bit short but his people continue to gather, fondly remembering his good nature and great character.

Some of my dad‘s defining qualities were persistence, creativity, optimism, and a healthy willingness to do what was necessary to achieve a goal. Without these traits, he and Mom might never have met. Dad was a junior at Penn when his cousin invited him to a freshman mixer at Temple University. Apparently, neither knew that this dance was open only to Temple students, and Dad got turned away at the door. Undeterred, he spied an open window and shimmied up to sneak in. Little did he know he would be busting into the girls’ bathroom. He bumped into Mom as he was summarily ejected by the scolding co-eds. She quipped, “You’re the ugliest girl I ever saw.” “Well you’re the cutest!” he replied.

Despite his not so snappy comeback, mom apparently thought his compliment qualified him for a dance or two, and they dated for a bit, but not exclusively. A couple of months later, he saw her at a Temple-Penn game with another suitor, and promptly called, this time with enticing tickets to see “Funny Girl.” Good thing he correctly predicted my mom’s weakness for Streisand, or you wouldn’t be reading this today.

When we were growing up, Mom was often the inventor and hatcher of schemes, while Dad facilitated and supported her plans. Whether spur-of-the-moment day trips, talking our way into sold-out concerts, or hosting endless parties and events, my parents showed us how to have fun and imparted their ethos that nothing was too late or not possible.

That kind of persistence and creativity defined Dad’s work as a patent attorney, as he was known to be able to get approvals others could not, and accrued very loyal clients as a result. He always retained a sense of wonder for the creativity of his inventors, whether they developed a complicated chemical process or a simple device. I recall him enthusiastically explaining his client’s new cap for shampoo bottles, working through how to present the novelty of this easily ignored, mundane object, excited to help the world improve on this daily task. That client made millions. I think of it every shower.

Dad brought this optimistic support to his parenting and grandparenting as well, infusing confidence in us that mistakes could be overcome, and family is there for you no matter what. I recall driving to the airport to mail college applications on the last Fed-Ex flight. I only remember his praise for getting it done, not the lecture I surely deserved for waiting until the absolute last minute.

This easygoing nature of course endeared him to his grandkids. He loved them all, loved spending unplanned, open-ended hours observing them from behind his newspaper, loved encouraging them to walk or teaching them to ride a bike, for which he was famous. In addition to teaching his own 14 grandchildren, he taught many grandchildren of his friends, too.

He took special interest in the naughty ones. My sister and I both married men from families who were much stricter about discipline, and Saba would gently express his opposition to any punishment more harsh than a mean look. Noticing the frequent (and well-earned) time-outs given to one granddaughter, he famously asked, “Does she ever get Time-In?” When my husband gave a kid a potch to reinforce a rule, Dad advised “Don’t worry, she’ll learn when she’s ready.” He was right.

I always laugh recalling how dad once solved a crisis through his patience and understanding. Friends had visited us at a rental house at the shore, and a diamond ring, thought to have been left on the bathroom counter while our guest showered, had gone missing. A massive search proceeded. We looked everywhere, shook out sheets, checked drains and toilets, questioned our guest’s memory. While others looked for a plumber to check the pipes, dad gently questioned the grandkids, asking if they had seen it. The look on one toddler’s face as she denied it tipped him off. Seeing all the commotion, she had gotten scared to confess. He found out that she had wanted to put it in a safe place, and promised reward, not punishment, if she helped him out. She led him right to it, hidden behind the leg of a massive heavy sofa in a spot we would never have looked, and only her tiny arm could reach. It was a great lesson in using intuition persuasion, and a gentle touch to solve a problem that crisis managers and specialists could not.

To this day, no conversation about Saba results in anything but smiles. Just as Avroham and Sarah left a legacy named Yitzhak, Laughter, my father left behind plenty of memories to keep us feeling happy, loved, and eternally entertained.

Laura (Lori) Fein of Teaneck is a litigator at Eckert Seamans LLC. She is the daughter of the greatest mom ever, who she hopes is reading this, and the mom to five daughters who probably never will. Her podcast Mommash: The Oy and Joy of Family is available on all platforms, and she can be reached at mommash.podcast@gmail.com

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