The Death Of Me

The Death Of Me

By

Leonard Zwelling

In our 52 years together, my father gave me many gifts. Of course, I got a bike, a puppy, several different baseball gloves, and a bar mitzvah suit—husky. That’s what they called clothing for the young and overweight in the early 1960s.

Two gifts my father gave me stand out above all others. One of those shines because it is the gift that has kept on giving for over 60 years. The other shines because it was so overwhelmingly thoughtful and was the proof that he loved me and my sister, as if we needed any further proof of that.

The first gift was teaching me how to play golf. One of my close friends whose father also played as did mine had begun to play and so I wanted in. I never had any lessons other than the ones my father gave me until I was an adult. He was a good teacher of golf. He was an equally good player of golf. In both areas he was a reasonable amateur. But what he gave me with the beginner’s clubs, old balls, and Hush Puppy golf spikes has lasted me to this day.

I think I started playing when I was about 12 and stopped when I entered medical school and began my years as a serious distance runner. I picked it up again 25 years later after business school and the end of my running career. I love everything about golf, even practicing. But what I love the most is that you can play with anyone regardless of their ability or yours. You can even play with no one else. You can compete with people of varying skills using the handicap system. It is a great social game and a wonderful way to spend time outdoors. And no matter how good you get, you are never good enough. Even Tiger thought he could be better. It’s a lifetime pursuit of excellence knowing that no one has ever shot an 18 except in miniature golf.

The second gift my father gave me, I did not receive until after his death. My mother was still alive when he died in 2000, but she had fallen deeply into her dementia by then. She wouldn’t talk at all. How would my sister and I ever sort out the final arrangements to my father’s specifications? My Dad had been meticulous in his record keeping. There was going to be piles to go through.

There was nothing for me to do but go through his final list of phone numbers of organizations to call to inform them of his death like Social Security and the United States Army. The funeral was all arranged and paid for. All I had to do was deliver the eulogy, pack up the few remaining items, most of which my sister took, and fly home with Genie. Now, that was a truly considerate gift. It is, by the way, also one I will be giving to my sons. All that funeral stuff is arranged. I’ll be spending the rest of eternity in a plain pine box bearing a Jewish star near the Ikea and the Regal theater on I-10 in Beth Israel’s cemetery under a tree.

I hope to continue to use my father’s first gift for as long as I can. It’s getting harder with the 77-year-old spine of a former marathon runner, but I press on. The second gift, as I said, I have emulated. One gift for a lifetime, the other for the death of me.

Fore.