Dad and I had brunch yesterday with Mitchell and Barry Roffer and their wives in Port St. Lucie. The Roffer Boys are two of the three sons of my parents' closest friends when I was growing up, they were surely my father's best friends from their earliest days as kids in the Bronx, until they died. The Roffer home in Yonkers was my second home, often felt more like home than my own, with passion and people around all the time. It was amazing to see these guys with Dad, his eyes lit up, a connection to him in a deep way, the fathers were members of the Spartan Social Club at DeWitt Clinton High School, and they were simply "The Spartans" throughout my life. Ten or so couples, they loved each other deeply, partied together often (they used to be "not asked back" from every Catskills Hotel they went to for getaway weekends), and they were the people who were there for my father and mother always, through her sickness and death, and then for him beyond. Dad and one other guy and one wife, are the sole survivors. Being with Barry, Mitchell, Carol and Janet yesterday reminded me of how much chosen family has been there for me, no matter whether blood was not always thicker than water. Why I deeply cherish friendships and powerful connections. We can choose "family," the people with whom we have each other's backs. The kind of people who, like Barry did yesterday, make sure that Dad has his phone number, in case Pops needs anything. Humbling to feel how much love simply transcends everything. Including time.
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