Hi, guys. Some of you have been with me for a long time, so I thought I’d share with you that today my father, Norman John Shore, died. He was 86 years old. I’ve written a bit about him here on my blog, but of course never scraped the surface of who he was, and certainly not of who he was to me.
He was a good man who taught me to be a good man. That’s the bottom line. Also, for me, is this far from irrelevant fact: he was, hands down, the funniest person I’ve ever met. I talked to him about two week ago. He’d been moved into an assisted care facility, the grounds of which he wasn’t allowed to leave on his own. By way of sharing how intolerable he found this (“There’s nobody in here but old people!”) he riffed into this extensive, discursive, spectacularly articulate and sublimely timed routine for me, about how his new mission in life was to badger and guilt the Social Director of the place into realizing the extent of her probably moral and definitely professional obligation to accept his bribe of one million dollars in exchange for allowing him to slip out the gate so that he might, if only for the day, at least have a chance of cultivating for himself something resembling an actual and real social life—whereupon, the moment she had relented, he would hastily hobble to the Von’s store across the street and buy himself a ham sandwich.
“Hey,” he said. “I take my comfort where I can.”
I’m telling you, I laughed till I cried.