And What My 5 year old Father Hoped He'd See
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.