I was stirred awake at five this morning – not by roosters or dogs, not an alarm clock or priest’s bell.. rather it was the all-too-recognizable clang of the kulkul (traditional bell made out of a long hollowed-out piece of wood that hangs in every bale banjar). The particular rhythm that played was NOT recognizable, so as I lay in bed and the tune continued to ring out throughout my banjar, I decided that it was the universe’s way of waking me to this special day: my dad’s eightieth birthday.
Wow, there, I said it (rather, wrote it).
But 80 years old?! He doesn’t look a day over…
Happy Special Birthday Ab.. From the other side of the world, this one’s for you.
Thank you for everything you have taught me, brought me, showed me, drove me to, caught for me, trained me in, picked me up from, discussed with me, sat with me, walked with me, fought for me (and sometimes, with me), laughed with me, cried with me, worried with me, played tennis and swam with me, traveled with me, watched hockey and basketball with me, danced with me, listened to Ella and Barbra with me, broke bread (and steak at Moishe’s) with me, played backgammon with me, drank good wine with me, and showed me early on that the best way to learn to dance is to let my heart lead the way while standing on the tips of your shoes.
Love you. Till 120 🙂