Earlier this week, Fred shared an entry in his diary with me. It's from June 17, 1980 and reads as follows:

“drove Benj to his parents' home in New Hyde Park and his dad is a pleasant eccentric little immigrant man with an accent who said I didn't look "Klein" (small) and offered me a half finished beer. His face showed concern when Benj told him of his boss's job loss."

It was, no doubt, the first time Fred met my father. Although I never would have chosen “eccentric” and “little” to describe my father, Fred’s impression gives me pause for ”thought.” I smile when I recall my father's accent -- not unusual among his generation of the family. My smile broadens when I picture him question Fred’s knowledge of Yiddish in the most)”-indirect way -- a “kibitz” of sorts -- about the meaning of Fred’s last name. My father must have liked Fred - and probably recognized our friendship - by offering him a beer. (Although I like to think that if Fred had accepted the offer, my father would have gotten a full bottle for him.)

I shared many things with my father but the next reference releases the feelings of what that sharing meant to me. I doubt that I would ever have revisited the episode of my then-boss (General Counsel to a multi-national trading company) being terminated six months after I joined the company (as Assistant Counsel). I didn’t know that I was about to be offered his position that evening when my father expressed his concern. He was concerned - for my boss and for me. That was my dad. And that was my friend who noticed.

Every once in a while we get an insight. A visit from someone long gone. Sometimes from an old picture. Sometimes from an old diary entry.