OMGabe

by Gabe Berman – the author of Live Like a Fruit Fly

Archive for the tag “father”

The Little Things Are Huge (that’s what she…)


My dad would be so proud of me right now.

Am I getting married? Nope.

Have I become a success? Nope.

Did I stick up for someone who was being taken advantage of? Nope. Not yet today.

I’m just getting the five thousand mile check up on my car.

He loved this shit.

I’d call him and say, “Hey, I’m just sitting here getting my oil changed.”

And he’d say whatever he’d say and I’d hear him smiling on the other end of the phone.

These are the little things you miss when you lose someone.

Things you thought meant nothing at the time.

Now they mean everything.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

love/thanks,
gb

P.S That’s “Munchkin” with me in the photo. We’re chillin together at the Toyota dealer. His mom is some double cane using, decrepit old lady. She’s wearing a Cosby sweater. I feel for her. Right now she’s reading the newspaper. Talking out loud about Trump and Clinton. Trying to get me to take the bait. I won’t. She just said, “We should get Roosevelt back.” Roosevelt turned Jews away during the war who were fleeing Hitler. And now I hear my dad saying, “There’s three sides to every story. Your side, my side and the truth.”

Live Like A Fruit Fly

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Fuck Pride

It took three tries and two long pauses between those tries to get the goddamn sentence out of my mouth.

“Remember the music from that movie daddy…”

“Remember the music from that movie daddy would…”

“Remember the music from that movie daddy would…always whistle. Once Upon A Time In America with Noodles? With De Niro playing Noodles?”

My mom checked back into the old files in her mind and within a second, smiled in acknowledgment.

And after I almost cried three times, I smiled too.

It was a nice moment for us to share.

We watched Tarantino’s latest flick together tonight. The Hateful Eight. Ennio Morricone composed the music for it. And for the Once Upon. My dad would randomly whistle a song from that score while reading the New York Times. And then he’d look up from the paper and say to me, “Hey, Noodles!”

I wonder when I’ll stop being eviscerated by these memories.

Hopefully never.

love/thanks,
gb

My new book – Love Looks Like This

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Father’s Day

If I had access to a time machine, and could only use it once, I know exactly where I’d go.

A few years back, sitting on the couch with my dad, listening to Pat Matheny through his huge speakers at unsafe decibels (as if we were in that old Maxell commercial), looking at each other and smiling as children do.

We’d sit there until my mom yelled at us.

And then we’d sit there a little longer.

With that, tomorrow is Father’s Day.

My dad left me a few years ago and those speakers washed away in the hurricane.

And here I sit in Starbucks, listening to Pat Metheny for old time’s sake, and thinking – what’s the point of it all?

But I knew the answer before I asked.

The point is, further.

Keep moving further.

Because I know deeply, down to the depth of my neurons, more moments that will turn to monumental memories are on their way.

So, I’ll keep my head up.

And keep moving further.

I owe that to him. And to myself.

(This is a chapter to a new book I’m writing which I may or may not finish – thanks so much for trading your time to read it – PLEASE share it with your friends)

“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

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Dear Dad…

Dear Dad,

I’m sitting alone at the kitchen table, staring at my iPad.

Paul Simon’s “The Boy In The Bubble” just came on Pandora.

I can still hear you singing along with the song (typing that made me cry).

– – – – – – – – – – – – – — – – – – – — – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – — – – – – – — – – – – – –
– – – – – – – – – – – – – — – – – – – — – – – – – –

Amazing. “Son of a Preacher Man” is playing now.

Are you sending me a sign that you know I’m writing about you (we’d look over to each other, smile, and silently agree that we were done changing channels when we caught Pulp Fiction on TV)?

I hope so.

Actually, I know so.

Thank you.

I couldn’t miss you more.

love/thanks,
gabe

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Attempted Murder and a Death In The Family

“I’m holding a bottle of Fabreze,” my mom said in complete panic.

“Why? Does it smell musty?” I replied calmly.

In between laughter and passing out from fear she said, “No…I’ll try to spray it.”

This was part of our conversation last night. She called at around 11:30pm from her condo in Boca Raton because a gargantuan bug was taking a midnight stroll in her bathroom and she didn’t know what to do.

Not that I wished harm on the little guy, but my dad should have been there to kill it.

I still can’t believe he’s not.

Live like a fruit fly.

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www.LiveLikeAFruitFly.com

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