Richard’s Notes

New York City, 1952. Walter Richard Wanderman, Richard Samuel Wanderman. My father is about thirty seven here, I’m six months.

My father died in 2000, just before the tech bubble burst, George W. Bush stole the White House, and 9/11 happened. He was 84. Had he not died in 2000 any one of these events would have likely killed him: he was heavily invested in many stocks that tanked, he was a Gore fan and supporter, and he loved New York, The World Trade Center, and he was a patriotic guy who loved his country. After a very rough summer being with him as he died, Anne and I figured that he’d checked out just in time, 2001 would have torn him up.

My father was an interesting guy: he went through the depression and worked to support his family who lost everything, he fought Nazis in Europe, and he kick-started his life through the GI Bill and hard work. He was late to get married as was my mother and neither of my parents had great models to teach them how to be parents themselves. Still, they went for it.

I’m glad my father lived long enough to both see me get traction with life and meet and know my wonderful wife Anne, who he adored.

So, happy father’s day dad. Mom’s more than solvent, Bush is about to leave office and if we’re lucky we’ll have the first black President in November, and even though things are rough in the US and the world, you saw worse times than this and things worked out okay. I’m guessing we’re going to be okay too.