Is Seven Years a Short or a Long Time?

my daughter, Alison, 3, on my Dad's lap in 1991 on York Avenue.

To the right, Dad, 3, with his brother, Tom, 7, in 1932 in Central Park.

Dad died seven years ago today. Seven years is a long time for some things, and a short time for others.

It was a hundred years ago, that he and I fought over hospitals, caretakers, hospices, taking care of Mom and my brother, Rory, paying bills, taking care of my grandmother, nursing homes, oncologists, medications, and other things that made us both miserable.

It was yesterday, we fought over Sinatra's best song, DiMaggio versus Mantle, Ringalario versus Ringelivio, Bogart versus Cagney, how to make a hamburger, Wonder Bread versus Silvercup. It was yesterday, he took me to the park to play ball twice a week, taught me to throw a spiral, played Artie Shaw's Begin the Beguine, lived and died rooting for the New York Giants, taught me the tight~loose thing when holding a bat for power and control, took me to Yankee Stadium 15 times a year, 5 Ranger games, watched 2,000 movies together, cried together but hid it from each other, explained who Zeppo and Gummo were and the beauty of a tongue and grooved shelf, told me about his three trips around the world in the Navy and Merchant Marines 200 times, did art with me, sculpted clay together, taught me to respect women, told me every joke ever told and I don't remember one, bit my ear while I was sitting on his lap in the passenger seat driving along the Palisades. I threw his hat out the window and he didn't get mad at me. It was yesterday, he kissed me good night.

Is Seven Years a Short or Long Time? Depends.