DMCs: Tatty’s Girl

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T he earliest memories I have of my father are of him throwing me into the air (you’d think a doctor would know better!) while I laughed delightedly knowing he’d catch me and give me a warm “hug tight.” He was a quiet type of person while I got my outspoken nature more from my mother but even without so many words I knew he adored me and I adored him right back.

My parents divorced when I was just a baby and I have no recollection of them being married to each other. I was so young at the time of their divorce I didn’t ever harbor any secret longings for them to get remarried like so many other kids of divorced parents. My parents lived a few streets away from each other I saw them both all the time and that was the only life I ever knew. Life was good. When I was ten my father told me he was moving across the country to live closer to my bubby his mother who was getting older. “Don’t worry ” he told me as I sobbed “you’ll come visit all the time. We’ll still see each other.”

I remember feeling like my heart was breaking as his car pulled out of the driveway for the last time. He called me as soon as he arrived and we spoke on the phone practically every day and finally I was able to visit during my Chanukah break.

Actually it was quite fun. Since I flew by myself I was an unaccompanied minor and the airline stewardesses fussed over me constantly asking how I was and if I needed anything and offering me snacks. My father was waiting for me at the baggage claim area and I flew into his arms. My entire extended family treated me like a celebrity taking me out for ice cream buying me little treats and taking me on special outings. The trip flew by but by the time it was over I knew I’d be back at least four times during the year and for a month in the summer.