Father’s Day reminds me of …

Every Father’s Day I am reminded of the day my son, Paul, was born. I had a Cesarean section in Maimonides Hospital in Brooklyn and my dad had stomach surgery. On the morning of Feb. 21, 1977 dad and I were in the same hospital having surgery at the very same time.
My son was my second C-section so I planned his delivery for President’s Day. (My daughter Joanna was born on Labor Day … perfect day for going into labor!) I wanted Paul to have his holiday birthday too. 
Way back in the ’70s a C-section meant a week in the hospital to recover. I was “stapled” instead of stitched, a new procedure. It was a different time, a different age.
Before doctors knew that ulcers could be treated and cured with medication and not surgery an ulcer meant part of the stomach had to be removed. Dad was set for his surgery and we went in together.  
I was in the maternity ward on the third floor and he had a bed on the second. My distressed mom took the subway after work from the city each night to see dad, her new grandson and me. Then she had to catch the subway to go home. She hardly had time to appreciate Paul. She became exhausted from going to work and her nightly trips to the hospital.

Five days had past since dad’s operation. He was beginning to walk up and down the hallway with help. The nurses warned him not to overdo it. 
I know my dad. He had to see his new grandson. Nothing would stop him.I was holding Paul in my arms and feeding him a bottle in my room when I saw dad by the doorway.
Step by step he had managed to get up the stairs, down the hall in his hospital gown to just have one peek at his new grandson. Thin and drawn he looked through the glass and smiled. Color came to his face as he waved to me. He looked so weak, so frail. I held Paul up to show him to grandpa. They saw each other for the very first time.
The nurses caught dad by the door and escorted him back upstairs.He set out to see the new baby and he did. He paced away overjoyed and content. My dad had a heart full of love for his entire family. Especially his grandchildren.
He was always there for us. Nothing stopped him … not even surgery. He was determined to see the new baby and he did. Nurses, stairways or orders from his doctors would not hold him back.
A few days later we had a bris (the Jewish ceremony of circumcision) in the hospital. My brother, Ira, was a resident there and dad and I were still patients. Our family celebrated Paul’s birth and wished us both a speedy recover.
Another Father’s Day. Another memory of Fred Lefkof. Another story of how much he cared for all of us.
How we all miss you on Father’s Day.

Weinberger is a North Woodmere resident.