What gift do you give to a man...

... who has traveled (tfu tfu tfu) 75 times around the sun?

... who, a child of the depression, raised himself from modest beginnings to be a man of letters, learning and culture?

... who has borne with silent reserve the pain of losing his only sibling during his most formative years?

... who served his country when called upon, and as a value lesson to his progeny, returned from Korea without war stories but with many beautiful canvasses he had painted?

... who selected wisely among all the eligible women in New York the only one who could possibly have been his life partner and perfect helpmate in creating and rearing four such unique and, um, challenging children?

... who imbued his home with such an atmosphere of erudition and culture that even those of his children who eschewed the fruits of formal education [looks around innocently] emerged from childhood miraculously steeped in the classics... and anything but provincial?

... who, despite having been raised essentially without a father, created an enviable example of fatherhood for his sons to feebly emulate?

... who, during many 'lean years', never once allowed his children to feel anything but absolute security?

... who conspired with his wise and patient wife to raise four children so different as to be like points on a compass... yet successfully made each feel that he/she was the one that 'turned out right'?

... who waged, and ultimately lost, the battle against vision loss in the prime of his life, yet never once allowed partial blindness to limit or define him?

... who, despite having been raised without a grandfather, instinctively knew how to become the perfect mentor, friend and confidant to each and every one of his many grandchildren?

... who, together with his wife, learned in retirement how to indulge in, and enjoy the relative prosperity with which they had been blessed?

Yesterday was his 75th birthday and I felt terrible that I didn't have the answer to these questions.  My sense of personal indebtedness to the man sometimes weighs me down and makes me feel unworthy... like someone shopping in the 'Five & Dime' for a gift suitable for royalty. 

What could possibly be good enough?  What could he possibly want or lack?

In the end, I decided to bring him my family. 

I brought him one of his daughters-in-law and three of his grandchildren to dote on him and lavish him with hugs and kisses... and love.

I brought him a punch bowl full of 'well-spiced' eggnog and a dish of Zahava's sinful triple-layer brownies to satisfy his sweet-tooth.

And at the end of the evening, when it was time to go, I slipped him a butterscotch candy and a familiar kiss.  But in truth, the candy was a trifling down-payment on the countless butterscotches he has given me over the years... and the kiss was simply a crafty excuse to feel the evening stubble on his cheek and inhale his familiar paternal pheromone.

I left their Jerusalem apartment (which already feels like home) feeling that, once again, I had taken without giving.  On the drive home, while the kids watched a movie in the back of the car and Zahava sat beside me silently watching the roadside lights slip by and by and by, I realized that what I really should have given him was my heartfelt thanks for being my father and for helping to make me who I am today. 

Maybe when he reads this he'll know.