Two Years

Tonight is the second anniversary of my father's death, according to the Hebrew calendar.

My mom, Zach, and I spent the evening together, which seemed the most appropriate way to honor my dad's memory. After lighting the yahrzeit candle, the three of us went to dinner at a neighborhood restaurant that my parents had visited together several times.

At the end of our meal, an elderly man came in and sat down with his dinner companion at the table next to ours. He was wearing a dark blue Yankees baseball cap, very like the one my dad used to wear. I don't know if it was a sign, or just a coincidence, but it made me smile all the same.

My dad was a creature of habit, and he wore his Yankees cap all the time when he went out. When he sat down somewhere, he'd take off the hat and slip it into the sleeve of his jacket for safekeeping. Actually, he always called it his "Yankee" cap, emphasis on the singular.

The funny thing is that my father was actually a Mets fan (well, a "Met" fan—again, singular). But the Yankees hat was a gift from my sister, and filial devotion dictated that he wear it, no matter what his athletic allegiances might be.

And that says all you really need to know about my dad. He loved his family, and he did everything he could to make us happy.

Somehow, he managed to do it again today.