My Father, Alex Shapiro, died on Sunday September 28. He was 80 years old and lived his life exactly as he wanted. My relationship with my dad had been strained since I was a kid and first discovered that my father was a flawed individual with a serious gambling problem. His obsession destroyed our family, slayed my mother, seriously hurt my sister and pissed me off.
What made me so angry was that my dad was my hero and a flawed hero is hard to idolize. He was smart, witty, popular. He taught me how to play basketball and he understood politics. By the time he left us we had already gone to battle many times. One of the most poignant moments of my young life was at a time when my father came home after a prolonged absence. My sister and I did not realize at that moment that my parents were at the onset of their divorce. All I did know was that he was being cruel to my mother and that we had serious money problems because of his gambling habit. After he laced into my mom I got my nerve up, went to her defense and let him have it. He sat there in his chair and calmly listened to my tirade. When I was done all he would say is “You’re obnoxious” and he turned back to the television. He might as well have stuck a hot poker into my gut. I have never forgotten the contempt I saw on his face or the words he spoke. It made me ill and I despondently walked to my room and cried.
All was not terrible with dad. My fondest memory of my youth was the summer evenings when my dad would cram my sister and I in the back seat of our family sedan with pillows and blankets so he and my mom could take us to the drive-in movies. I recall family meals, rare as they were, especially Sunday breakfasts with scrumptious Jewish delicacies from Tabachniks deli. My dad defended me when I was in trouble, especially in school where I was a bit of a screw up. And I will always remember that it was my dad who challenged me to think for myself and not always take what my teachers said as the absolute truth. By the way, that was a confusing lesson but it did wind up helping me to be decisive and skeptical as a man.
Even as an adult, after my dad and I had long ago buried the hatchet, we had our finer moments. Smoking cigars and swapping jokes, we had a love of good food and seafood restaurants at the Jersey shore. My dad loved the summers he could spend with his grandson and it was a real joy when the 3 generations could be together.
When my dad first became seriously ill I made sure to be at his side. He was never quite able to say he was sorry for the past but in his way he acknowledged that perhaps he had not been the best father and therefore appreciated my support all the more. He was gratifying to be there for him. Of the two of us, I was always the more responsible, especially when it came to the family, so the role reversal wasn’t odd for me but I think it caught him off guard and he struggled to express his real feelings.
My dad and I had yet another blowup several months ago which led to our not speaking to each other for an extended period of time. When he wound up in the hospital I put away my anger and went to see him as soon as I could. After that we spoke a number of times while he was in a rehab center and shortly after his release. We did not speak for almost 2 weeks but a dream I had woke me in the middle of the night and I couldn’t get it off my mind. In my dream, my father was dressed in a hospital gown and walking aimlessly in the dark. He appeared to be looking for something but he wouldn’t respond to my calls to him. I realized that he was dead and I knew that what he was looking for was resolution.
That Sunday I decided to call him, which I did at around 4 PM. He didn’t sound good but he always liked to talk about his health and his doctors. I encouraged him to call his doctor on Monday if he didn’t improve and he said he would. He was watching football and trying to relax. He told me he loved me and called me by the nickname that only he ever called me. I told him I would check back in with him during the week. 4 hours later he collapsed, his heart gave out and he went quietly, peacefully, over to the other side.
Friends and relatives have been wonderful in their support. My fathers friends have called to express their sorrow and let us know what a great man he was in their lives. My sister and I wonder why he wasn’t so wonderful with his own children.
I will miss my father in my own way. I will remember his sense of humor and his intelligence. I will recall how he showed me how cheating happens at the racetrack. I will remember the good and the bad but try to remember the good more often. I hope now he is at peace. I know that I am at peace with his life and our relationship and I can live with that.