Father's Day

I searched around today for a photo of my dad, Isaac Fitterman. He was a photographer, which meant he was more often behind the camera than in front of it. That makes it a bit harder to find photos of him, even though my parents left behind dozens of albums and slide carousels.

Here's a picture from 1983, when my parents took a trip to Hawaii. He was 67 years old. Clearly, they were on a boat ride. I love the way his hair is blowing around in the wind -- just the way he would have liked it -- in spite of my mother's efforts to get it (and him) under control. He had a restless side --which I can see in the way he holds the fingers of his left hand.

While in college, a friend observed my parents arriving at my dorm for a visit. The friend later said, "Your father looked like he owned the place and your mother looked like she was about to take it over." I think my father looks like he owns this boat!

New York to Colorado and Back
My father was born in Manhattan and raised there and in Brooklyn. Several years after my parents were married, my father decided they should move to Pueblo, Colorado, where one of my mother's brothers lived. Poppa loved the place from the start and never wanted to move back. That said, Poppa loved to travel and see the world, but he was always happy to come back home to Pueblo.

Work Life
My parents worked together nearly every day. He was the photographer but the business decisions and all the other work required to keep a studio running were equally shared between them. Both of them were hard workers, but for my father work often had a feeling of fun. On one of the kitchen walls my mom had several plaques. One said: "In the hum of the market there is money, but under the cherry tree rest." I'm sure my dad would agree with that.

Tireless Driver
My father drove us to New York for several family gatherings. He did all the driving and he made it in two and a half days! My father had amazing endurance. Mid-afternoon, he would suddenly pull onto the shoulder of the road and announce it was time for a nap. He would open his window and my mom would open her door to create a breeze. She would sit with us in the back while he stretched out on the front seat. Poppa would snooze for what seemed to be a short time and then we were back on the road!

Handy Man
My father's energy and strength were continuing themes of my childhood memories. After they bought their first house in Pueblo, my father dug the basement -- by hand. It seemed there was nothing he did not know how to do: plumbing, carpentry, electrical, etc.

In the 1960's, they built their second home. My father wanted to fill the backyard with bushes so that he would have less lawn to mow. He did leave a section for grass, trees, flowers and rocks. Together, my parents shoveled all the rocks across the front yard and parts of the backyard. I think I helped a bit, too. In the far backyard, my father planted 29 juniper pfitzer bushes. That neighborhood was built on top of an old airport. For each bush (and subsequent trees), my father had to use a pick to get through the runway so the plants would have room for their roots to grow. I grew up thinking there was nothing he could not do (and also came up with the mistaken idea that all men were equally energetic and talented.)

Outdoors Man
Poppa loved the outdoors and he especially enjoyed being on the water. He was a water safety instructor and fisherman. In the 1980s and 1990s, my parents routinely took their canoe out on the local reservoir. Most summers, we vacationed in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, where we could enjoy the mineral-water pool and he could get a few chances to go fly fishing, Of course, he made his own flies.

It was not until 1982, when my parents were visiting me in New Hampshire, that I learned my father was not a fan of sandy beaches . . . but that's a story for another day.

Many Interests
My father was a great conversationalist and delightful character. I think he could talk about anything. As a portrait photographer, this skill helped put his subjects at ease. When he was not putting them at ease he was entertaining them as he energetically ran around fixing lighting, etc.

He was playful and shared his many joys in life with us: music (musicals to opera); literature (Shakespeare to I.B. Singer); photography (his livelihood and his pleasure); food -- both eating and cooking (bread, pasta, borscht, summer canning and freezing with my mom); the beauty and peace of nature; Yiddish (his first language).

Helping Hand
But it was not all about him. If he knew you wanted something, he would do whatever he could to help you get it. One night my mom mentioned that it would be so much better if the opening between the living room and kitchen was moved down the wall -- 10 - 12 feet. That way, when visitors came in the front door, their first sighting would not be the kitchen sink. (Mind you, in spite of being a constant and vastly productive and talent cook, my mother kept everything spic and span.) Perhaps you can guess. The next morning, my father took the sledgehammer to the wall!

He was like this with everything we wanted. He had such a joy and zest for everything he did -- it never felt like we owed him anything but a simple thank you and a smile. He loved to make and keep us happy.

Early Influences
My father's first language was Yiddish. When he was a little boy, his mother took him to the Yiddish theatre. Throughout his life, he enjoyed Yiddish music and literature. As a young man, he was an Eagle Scout and had stories of fun times camping with friends and cousins. My father shared many stories from his youth with us -- more than I'm prepared to tell today. Maybe some day I can create the eulogy my father never had.

My Father
I always knew I had a wonderful father. In fact, I sometimes felt sorry for other kids because their fathers were not as interesting or fun or nice.

Through his example, my father made it clear that the world is a big beautiful place to explore and enjoy. Life with my father was a very rich experience -- an adventure. I miss him more than words can say.