This would have been my dad's 90th birthday. I could mark the day by placing a stone on his grave, in keeping with Jewish tradition. And, I may.But first things first: Fun stuff. Because Dad loved a good time. (And a good pipe. Which, in Missouri, means a corn cob.)
At various times in my life, Dad called me: Jan-Jan (my baby name and family nickname), Janet (my real name), Star (Hey, I was on the radio for a dozen years, he was my dad, he was proud, stop laughing) and Yaffa (my Hebrew name).
Each of those names holds different memories. In many ways, each one addresses a different me.
We did an exercise some time back re: your name. Today, turn it around. Think about the names you call other people. What message are you sending? Does that name make them feel better about themselves -- or not?
In Dad's honor, I promise not to call any of my younger friends "puppies" today. I make no promises for tomorrow ...
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