I was fortunate to see my parents this past weekend at their home in Woodcliff Lake, NJ. We moved there in 1979 and it is a beautiful place, only 35 minutes from New York City, but situated in a hilly and wooded landscape of small towns and large trees with numerous lakes and historic landmarks all around.

My father has always been the quintessential gentleman, soft spoken and clear headed, with the noble dignity that eminates from his honesty, intelligence and integrity. He once seemed to my younger self, to be soft, as he struggled and sometimes failed (only for a time) to make a living and dutifully paid every 25 cent toll on the Garden State Parkway. How come my dad couldn’t be like Donald Trump and fire other people?

Yet who wouldn’t want a father who faithfully stayed married to the same woman for now almost half a century, a man who paints beautiful watercolors and lives again to spend another day of life with his children and grandchildren? There are worse curses in life than being stuck with a real mensch who happens to be my father.