Father’s Day just passed. This coming September 10th, It will be 4 years that I’ve been without my Dad. Anyone who loses a parent they’re close to will tell you that you never really get over it. I keep a picture of my father dressed as Santa about to read T’was The Night Before Christmas to my sister Cynthia and me. “Dressed as Santa” meant that my mother gave him a red pajama bag that he put on his head, and glued cotton balls to his chin. But he was the best Jewish Santa a kid could ever hope for.
At the age of 31, my father was the handsomest man alive. A moment captured on film of him lovingly holding me in his arms attests to that fact. Anyone can see it. I was only two and a half years old in that black and white photo, and completely oblivious to his dark, thick eyebrows and chiseled jaw, but as I grew up, I became extremely aware of his good looks. At the age of five, I equated aftershave with handsomeness. When I would hear him in the kitchen at 4:15 a.m. trying to quietly eat his Cheerios, bananas and skim milk before sunrise, I could smell the Aqua Velva from my bedroom. I would follow that smell and creep quietly down the stairs rubbing my sleep-filled eyes as they met the harsh overhead kitchen light. And there he was. All dressed up in his suit and tie ready to round up the news for the day. Aqua Velva equals handsome. That’s all my five-year- old mind could conclude at the time. I would sit on the bottom step staring at him until the last rushed clink of the spoon on the bowl was through. He would always look up, startled at seeing me there, and say the same thing in a dramatic stage whisper.
“What are you doing up? Go back to bed, sweetheart.”
“Ok, bye Daddy.”
I would obediently turn around and head upstairs, but I knew he loved that I came down there and said goodbye to him before work. Being the eldest of three girls (there would eventually be four), it was the only time I didn’t have to vie for attention. I was alone with Daddy.
At 6:00 p.m. every night I thought I could smell that sweet, fresh, handsome morning smell as I watched my dad deliver the news on television.
“Jerry Barsha, T.V. 3, Total News,” he would say seriously to the camera and Aqua Velva would float from the TV set. I have one picture of him at that time, but it’s when he was on the radio.
In those days, the anchorman, did everything…TV, radio and sometimes even weather and commercials.
My favorite thing was when my mother would take me to the TV station. We’d show up as my father was leaving for lunch, and I would excitedly jump up and down.
“Daddy, will you spin me? Please?”
“Alright, Debbie, but be careful,” he’d warn me.
The TV station had this incredibly long sidewalk outside it that started up at the road and sloped consistently downward spilling into the outdoor parking lot. I’d run as fast as my Kindergarten legs would take me all the way up to the beginning of the sidewalk and turn around. The feeling just before I’d start my gallop towards my father was amazing. I had done this many times before, but each time it felt like a mixture of extreme fear and extreme pleasure. Little did I know that feeling would send me many years later into places I’d regret ever setting foot in, but that’s another story. I set my eyes firmly on the figure with outstretched arms waiting patiently at the bottom of the hill, and charged at him with all my might. Windy days were the best. Sometimes his hat would blow off while he was crouching, and he wouldn’t chase it. My little legs carried me to him but not before feeling like they were going to buckle underneath me from the speed and momentum that I picked up along the way. Then came the ultimate moment. I jumped into his arms and he spun me around. Two, three, sometimes even four times around. I was in Aqua Velva heaven with the wind messing up my ponytails. As my handsome father took a break from being in front of the camera, I was making news behind the scenes.
Local Syracuse Man Catches Daughter and Spins. Details at 11.