My father would celebrate his 130th birthday today - March 23, 2020. Each year since his passing in 1977, I have written a letter to him about the world and me.
With his background in broadcasting and passion for international communication, he would be quite a fan of the internet. He'd revel in the technological gadgets that abound. A cell phone with all its applications, super digital camera, and a huge screen for sports viewing would attract his attention.
He might feel frustrated by the sensationalism and inaccuracies of the media, at times. I will not get into politics or leadership, he would think I was teasing him.
We meet early in the morning.
"Let's not do our usual breakfast today, Daddy."
'What's that about?" He hugs me.
"We're kinda shut down because of the pandemic I told you about."
"Look outside, air is clean, clouds abound, and sunshine," he responds.
"Let's just wander until sunset, " I suggest.
He continues to remark at the scents of the flowers and watches pelicans and seagulls testing the currents. A pod of dolphins delights him as they jump and fish. We laugh at the sea lions and their poses.
"Do they still make coca cola?" he always asks and, "Wow, cameras without film so you can take shot after shot . . . Really?"
He turns, and chuckles, "Petsy, I miss hot dogs and Delaware Punch!"
I get a whiff of his Old Spice and watch the curling smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Now, show me that communication net again," he asks. "Stock market still around?"
I don't want to frustrate and disappoint him so I use distraction.
"See that star pine? They moved the 100 year old tree three feet to adapt to their new building construction. It's struggling, but will do well by fall," I say.
We walk near a closed café where he could go WIFI, play all day and acquaint himself with world politics. Adjusting easily to the keys, within minutes he would master the world wide web. I distract him again.
"Did I ever tell you about stories I discovered researching relatives when I traveled to Salt Lake City?"
He looks at me with eye rolls, a smile, and a head shake. He knows what I'm up to. Then his eyes glance at the clouds turning into animals and shapes. "Nature hasn't changed, has it?" he says. "It's still a marvel."
Just before sunset, we arrive at a bench by the sea and watch our “great ball of fire” ease past the horizon.
"Still haven't caught the green flash with a photo," I say.
"Don't give up hope, Petsy. I'll return next year. You'll capture that flash."
Happy Birthday, Daddy. Same time, next year.
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