It wasn’t hard to make dad laugh. Most memorably, when mom, going through items on his desk said that he obviously hadn’t gotten much use out of a money management book he had bought. I countered for him by saying that the Martha Stewart “Guide to Housekeeping” was doing nothing but collecting dust since she had received it. That was enough to send him into rolling fits of laughter.

Despite numerous doctor’s visits, he remained in high spirits. During one procedure, he was asked several questions by the doctor to gauge his alertness, and the doctor asked if there was a question that would show he was indeed alert and not experiencing any ill effects. “Ask me the name of my first wife,” he said with a smile, “Ha, I like to have fun with her,” meaning mom. After the seizure, most likely brought on by a brain cancer treatment, the nurse asked if he could giver her a smile. “Sure I can,” and his face, so recently paralyzed by the seizure, broke into the biggest and brightest smile. I felt much better. Even though I was the one that had found him starting to seize in his bedroom.

Growing up, my brother and I were often asked to “perform” in front of friends and family. Whether it was a funny dance, or the way I could move my swing head around my neck like some Egyptian hieroglyphic, these talents were often called upon at family reunions and dinner parties.  This past fourth of July, eating with friends, I was strategically seated at the head of the table. The perfect position to monitor every conversation at the table and insert humorous comments as I saw fit.  After  a lighthearted story, and a comic remark from our host the conversation lulled long enough for dad to look to me.  Still smiling from the previous comment, he said to me, “say something funny.”  Remembering how we had been called on to perform as children, I let the moment pass, and the conversation moved on.  I realized that all those performances were never for the audience of family or friends.  It was about making our parents laugh. Or smile.  That was enough.