This speech was given to celebrate the 70th birthday of the speaker's father. It summarizes fond memories of their childhood and teenage years, including playing catch, watching wrestling matches, and enjoying video games together. The speaker expresses gratitude to his father for always being there for him during difficult times and providing a sense of security. He wishes his father a happy birthday and many more years of good health and happiness.

1. This speech was written for a friend of mine whose father was turning 70. This
was delivered at a country club dining room in front of roughly 50 people.
At 3 a.m. this time last week, I was leaning up against my headboard frantic
about tonight. Not helping matters was my nightstand clock with a glare was
so intrusive it could be used in the Navy Seal's hell week. So, knowing I will
never storm Abbottabad, I decided to change it.
I shuffled through some old boxes and came across my old cube clock. It was
my bedroom timepiece while growing up in the 80's. It was all white except the
face. That was black with red digits. It had an AM/FM radio. You might say it
was an antique.
As I looked at that clock, it brought me back to some interesting and
compelling times you and I have shared Dad. Needless to say, I cannot get to
everything. After all, these people work and we only have the room for about
another twenty minutes so here are some highlights from my childhood and
teenage years.
If there is one activity fathers and sons do it's have a catch. I remember often
took place on our home's sloped side yard.
Now you know how catch goes - catch, throw, catch and throw. They start with
light tosses until that becomes boring. Soon enough, it's the child who starts
throwing wildly. And when this happened, the ball would roll down the hill into
the street and keep rolling. And rolling. And rolling.
You were smart though. Instead of getting it yourself, you’d say, "Better go get
that one Billy" and off I went. No wonder our catches were three minutes. I
was gone for twenty.
And besides playing sports, we always talked about them. Do you recall, in
1983, Marc and I had a girl crush on Houston’s Akeem Olajuwon and the Phi
Slama Jamma? When they faced N.C. State in the NCAA championship, me
and my brother acted like cocky little bastards. We were certain the W was in
the bag.
But not you Dad. You were radical. You had to go against of what we thought
was a guaranteed championship. You said, “I don’t know guys, I think I am
going with N.C. State”. We thought you were nuts.
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2. Sure enough, in the last four seconds of the game with the score tied, State's
Bailey passes to teammate Lorenzo Charles for the dunk and Jim Valvanno’s
“never give up, never ever give up speech” makes history. I can honestly say
that moment hurt more than the divorce.
Speaking of searing pain, you always had a way of administering treatment.
Whenever I had a headache, sore throat, emotional scarring, you immediately
went into your Werner Earhardt, est trainer mode.
You would ask, “What’s bothering you?”
“My head hurts”, I would respond.
“Ok, What color is it?”
“Blue,” I would say.
“And how much water does it hold?”
“A lot."
“Well, how much?”
“Couple of cups, I guess.”
Then you would ask, “Is it still bothering you?”
“Yes, Dad, it is?”
And this would go on and on and on.
“Ok, what color is it"
“Still blue dad.”
You would ask again, “How much water does it hold?”
“Still a lot of water, Dad."
“Well, how much water?”
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3. “No change there Dad, a couple of cups."
“Is it still bothering you?"
“No, Dad, actually it’s not.”
Surprised, you'd say, “Really, it worked,”
“No, not really, Dad.”
“Why not? You said your head wasn’t bothering you.”
“Because now you’re bothering me.”
Some of the memories devoid of pain are when you lived in Brockton. Marc
and I would stay at your house for the weekend and you’d make us the same
meal every Friday night. You're the only guy I know that perfected cooking a
sub-grade piece of meat. Let's just say you were King of the Cube Steak, The
Baron of Baked Beans and the Sultan of Sautéed Onions. All other meals
were spent at a dimly lit polynesian restaurant with Tahitian beach murals. I
think this was where Tony Montana killed Frank.
Nevertheless, on Friday nights we watched episodes of Night Gallery and
Night Stalker then it was off to bed. Before we crashed, you read to Marc and I
Hardy Boy’s books. I also remember you read “The Three Investigators and
The Mystery of the Flaming Footsteps” – a Hitchcock classic.
On Saturday’s, we went to your office at Boston Camping and, low and
behold, Harry Lapowsky would be there ready to offer me a coffee. “Hey Billy,
want a cup of coffee?" I never refused.
"How do you take it?"
“Milk and sugar, Harry."
Keep in mind, I was 4 back then. By 6, I was a regular in the middle school
teachers lounge.
Furthermore, I remember when you had your sporting goods business, Boston
Sporting Co., ythose you, Uncle Joe and Uncle Tom hosted trade shows in
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4. your office. There was everything from rubber worms, fishing rods and WD-40.
Now why WD-40 was there, I'll never know. To be honest, I learned so much
about WD-40. Even today, my Calloway driver never squeaks?
Moving on, those weekends always ended with Frank's heart wrenching, life-
shortening clam roll and Neil Diamond’s Hot August Nights on the road back to
Ipswich. You know we hated Diamond at the time and now we love him.
But, on this day, your birthday, I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. I
remember one Chanukah Marc and I wanted an Atari console. When you
came home with an oversized box we knew our dreams came true.
My favorite game was combat. In the dogfight game, three little planes flew in
synch against one big plane. This wasn't the XBox era so we were basically
using joy sticks to move around a bunch of 2-D cubes. Despite that, Marc and
I loved it and we played for hours on end. We loved having it and I always
remember you lugging the big box. As I wrote this speech, the time was a
reminder dreams do come true.
But, as time marches on, interests change. For Marc and I, that change was to
the World Wrestling Federation. Who can forget, for Marc's birthday, you took
us to the matches at the Boston Garden. I recall you joining a rowdy crowd to
the point you gave Nikolai Volkov the finger. Unbeknownst to us, he returned
the gesture. It was so unlike you. Needless to say, Marc and I were laughing,
we were scared, but we were laughing.
And then there's golf and your crimes. I am referring to those days trespassing
onto Thorny Lea to play three holes at dusk followed by pizza and subs at
Georges in Brockton. For dessert, handcuffs and my Miranda rights.
From those days we went to Spring Valley. On one occasion, I was with you
when you played with Greg Norman, the PGA Tour's most popular player at
the time. When Norman arrived members were groping and nagging him as if
he were Jesus. Aside from that, it's worth mentioning you kept up with him on
his drives dazzling the crowds more than he was.
In 86', you bought the house in New Seabury and we were members of a gem
of a golf course. I'll never forget your shot on the 14th hole, the par 3, on
Saturday afternoon. The ball landed on the top shelf of a two-tiered green and
slowly rolled back into the hole. It was a magical moment.
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5. Before going on, one word “AFRO!” You and Uncle Tom were no Magic and
Kareem - you were more like Bee Gees rejects.
Moving on, when I had tough times in my life, you were always there after the
divorce. I think about the time when I was fourteen and you dropped Marc and
me off on a particular Sunday of a long weekend. Marc was off to a party and I
was home alone. It was pretty frightening.
Sure enough, 5 minutes later, you came back. You asked me what I was doing
and we went back to your apartment. I felt the burden of survival fall away and
a sense of security. The difference was stark. I will always remember that day.
I also remember coming home from New York. I had lost my job after 9/11.
You and Joanie let me stay in your house when you went to California for the
winter. I had no money so, before you left, you bought me six $30 gift
certificates to Whole Foods. I used five and kept one as a momento. It was
worth eating the congealed quesadilla.
Now, I know that you have a fear that the end is near, and looking at you, I
sincerely doubt that. Hey look, you gotta get past that one. Marc and I haven't
selected the box or burial site. Yet.
Furthermore, you’re playing some of your best golf. And if that weren't enough,
your spirits are great so keep swinging for life’s club championship because
you have too many great years ahead of you.
So with that, thanks so much for fantastic years of love and fun. From Martina
and I, Marc and Joline and our entire families, we love you Dad and wish you
a very happy birthday and many many more.
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