"Oh, comeon, itwasn'tthatbad," he'llsay, whenhereadsthis. "Iwasfine." Whichhewas. Healwaysis. HedidcompletetheHudsonswimamonthlaterinNewYork, buttoldmeoverthephonethatnexttimehe'llmakesurehiswetsuitfitscorrectly (inhaste, hepulleditonbackward) andbuynewgoggles. (TheyfilledupwithwaterandhebumpedintoPeteSeeger'smooredsailboat—thefolksingeristherace'sorganizer。)
Ifyouaskmyfatherwhetherornothislifehasbeenhard, hewillsayheisaluckyguy. NotinaHollywoodway—hemeansthekindofhappinessthatcomesfromsharingawell-cookedfamilymeal, takingagoodlongrunorgrowingaperfecttomato. DidImentionthatheusedtorunmarathonsbeforehiskneereplacementsurgery? He'stheonewhoconvincedmeIcoulddoit, too. "Anyonecanrunamarathon," hesaid, "aslongasyouputinyourtimetraining."
Myfatherwasbornin 1933. HisLondonchildhoodtookaturnatthebeginningofWorldWarII: HisfatherenlistedintheFrenchArmyandwascapturedbytheGermansandspentthewarinaprisoncamp. MydadandhismotherandsisterwereshippedofftoNewJerseytolivewithrelatives. Hismothersufferedfromdepression, andDadwenttoboardingschoolinNewEnglandfromthesixthgradeon。
YetinallDad'sdinnertablestories, andtherehavebeenmany, heturnedthemintogreatstories。
ThesedaysthefavoritesayingofthefamilypatriarchhisgrandchildrenhavedubbedPapaBobis "Andsoitgoes," fromthewriterKurtVonnegut. Herepeatsitoften, especiallywhenhehassufferedasetback—anythingfromspraininganankleskiingtofacingmymother'sdeath. Duringherillness (shehadleukemia) hedidhisbesttocheerherup. Mysister, wholivesnextdoortoDad, sometimescomplainedthathewasindenial。
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