Today would have been my father Barry’s 92nd birthday. I’ve gotten quieter and quieter about my father since he died onMay 6, 2020. There’s so much to process. I do talk to him, and sometimes I hear his voice. What I’d forgotten was how we used to laugh.
Today I sat out in the sun at a cafe at last reading his 2012 book: Cocktails With Molotov—An Odyssey Of Unlikely Detours (WND Books.) I was reading the second chapter, “Colored Water,” a short, profoundly Barry-esque interpretation of events at a Woolworth’s counter. I took JPGs of the two page essay and am posting it here, for your enjoyment. His childlike mind, insistent on wonder, never changed—this was what he was like, to the end.
Powerful.....thank you for sharing a part of your dad with us....what a special thing, to have your father's voice...with his words on a page, and his innocence, in a book...forever....💛
maybe a better world if 5 year olds made the important decisions... adults really seem to mess thing up... 🐱