To the big guy:

No, not the "Big Guy" but certainly the big guy. To the big daddy, the papa doc, the DOD, RAR, the Imperious Loudmouth, the man who taught me what "prolix" means, and who taught me to study before I spend, the guy who got me hooked on leftover casserole, who still teaches me about morality and mortality, the man who proved that righteous indignation is genetic and a man of whom Rabbi Akiva would be proud...to the man who was an early adopter but a believer that new is always good, who serves the public good and who models being a good person, rather than lecturing about it, to the daddy-o who got me to cherish the word, and almonds and who thanks the world for not smoking...to someone who never stops surprising me and makes me want to be better at being who I am, who has been a curmudgeon with a heart of gold for as long as I can remember, and someone who made decisions upon decisions so that others would be happy...to the intellectual who laughed at Monty Python with me (though he might not remember it, he really enjoyed the Crunchy Frog sketch and I won't let him forget it) and who enjoys movies with explosions and unmemorable plots...to the trail blazer who taught me to try things once, do what needs to be done and get it done right (but if it isn't right, own up to it and fix it), eschew the spotlight and focus on results, to the celebrity who never quite made it onto Italian television, to the armchair grammarian, the pilot, the story teller, the man who taught me to love the clutch and use him often, to someone who understands what it means not to like people but to love his People and who made sure that I could do what it was I wanted to do...to the doctor who diagnoses gout every day, the teacher who knows that the biggest challenge is helping people learn on their own and to the student who still has worlds to conquer

to my dad:

Happy birthday. To 120 and six months.

[and yes, I know that today is not exactly his birthday, but when the muse strikes, the iron is hot]