Papa's Loves

I love my Papa dearly. He is a kind man, protective of my sister and I, smotheringly and unconditionally (although he talks crap about us behind the others back). When we don't return the calls he makes every hour on the hour, he panics and tells us that "sometimes I have it a not so goot feelings". He constantly worries about me, especially my 30 something year old singleness. My father tells me he wants me to get married so he can "push it da yoor babies carriage". Jokingly, and with clear intent to shock, I tell him, "Papa, I can arrange that without getting married." Papa jerks and responds, "O, O-K. I vait! I vait!"

He loves fishing. In his trunk there is always a tackle box, a rod for his use, and another in case he can goad me in to coming with him. As little girls, he patiently taught his daughters how to put the lure on the hook, how to cast a line, and how to scream for help should something bite.

The natural has always been a passion of his. Papa can spend hours in the little garden that he tends on the side of his building, cultivating herbs and cucumbers, and bitching out octogenarian tenants that steal his tomatoes.

He adores animals, and much to my mother's dismay, Papa surprised us by coming home one day with a little black poodle tucked under his arm. Dolly gave us joy for years to come. Unable to resist a stray animal that could potentially be in danger, he brought home a large turtle he found on a road upstate. Turtle (that was its name) roamed the house freely for two years. Papa would leave lettuce and little 20 oz. bottle caps of water for it under the couch and by the radiator, until the "smell" came one day. Poor Turtle.

What Papa loves, absolutely LOVES, are the ladies. Papa... is a Pimp.

Being on wife #3 should have given me enough evidence. However, while fishing one day with him off Montauk Pier, I caught a glimpse of a true player in action. Standing to the side of the pier was a group of three women in their early 40s. Without a moments hesitation, Papa strolled in their direction and gingerly cast his line over their heads. Puffing out his chest, lightly tilting his head and placing his free hand casually on his hip, he cockily states, "O, excuse it me young ladiez". He inches himself closer, and within seconds, had all three blushing and giggling. All I could do was smirk, tilt my head, and shake it back and forth.

Clearly, there was more than bluefish on his agenda.