"You come to my restaurant" -- you captured the subtle pushiness of Indian businesspeople perfectly. Sorry to hear about your father's passing. But wow, it sure is wonderful to know that even after leaving this world, your dad is being missed by the restaurateur. Loved this post!
Thank you, Nick! A lot of people who knew my dad have been reaching out about this post. He was definitely a man who made a big (positive) impression on people.
I love this story and find it very moving. Isn't it great that this man spoke up and told you what he was thinking when he saw you? People often don't, when they notice something striking about a stranger. I hope you do go to his restaurant!
Thank you, Becky! I was really glad that the stranger spoke up and told me what was on his mind. It literally made my day - and my day was going just fine already. I will for sure visit his restaurant.
Wow. This is a profound experience. It's the first of your posts that I've read - and I did so immediately after reading your website/ exhibition The Newest Americans.
There is so much in a face. How many times we like someone b/c their face feels familiar to us, reminding us of someone we love, loved, or at least like. And the opposite is true as well - a face too familiar to another that has caused us harm.
the other thing that strikes me though is how this stranger (who wasn't after all completely a stranger) could see your father in your face but I can't tell from this story whether or not YOU see your father in your face. Do you? And whether your answer is yes or no, how do you feel about that? It sounds like you loved your father and miss him. Is there comfort in hearing that he lives on through you - or at least, through your face?
Thanks for reading and for the great comment, Jan! To answer your question, I do see my father's face in my face, although I'd probably see it more if I shaved my beard; my father never had a beard. I do miss him very much, and I find it enormously comforting when I'm reminded of him, whether it's in my face, or something I say or do, or something my sister says or does.
Why do those of us who hustle continue the dance. What is really the driving force? I liked your dad story a-lot. I worked with my dad post high school waiting for college to start-the stock boys called him “The Terror”- they weren’t far off. Glad you have fond memories of your father- my best ones of my dad were after he got dementia, he was much more fun. Thanks for the entertainment. Appreciated.
Genetics, mostly, I think. His Mother lived to age 93 and up until a few month before her death, she used to drive the "old folks" (who were all younger than her) to church every Sunday. 🤣 I hope I inherited those genes also.
Loved this, both for the random connection element and of course the nature of this particular connection. How fortunate to share that look with your dad--if only anyone, anyone at all, ever thought I resembled my mom...I wish!
So great. I'm not a hustler but memories like this come based on our actions (or just engaging). Years ago I started organizing my family genealogy. What it has brought is unexpected. Getting folks to write biographies or share odd things have brought back memories of my family that were long-forgotten. While Naan has not been one of the memories, food dominates. Your writing is great
I’ve received the “you look just like your dad” comment hundreds of times in my life. The funny thing is that I sort of see it when I look in the mirror or at a photo of myself, but not to the extent that other people do, especially those who knew him when he was younger. Maybe that’s because we have this urge to be our own unique person or something. Like you, I wish I could see my dad’s face again. It’s coming up on a year since he passed in the next couple of weeks here.
Your comment makes me think that it's more than just a physical look. There's must be something else at work - a vibe?? - that gives of a signal of who our parents are. Thanks for reading and for sharing this comment, Lyle!
I kill time by people watching, generally. Just looking around. I find it very awkward to take out my phone in public. And yeah, I look like my dad, I get that all the time. He's still with us and he's a lovely stubborn deaf old man. Love him dearly. I'm sorry you lost your pops, Michael. But it's nice knowing he's so well remembered. And yeah, "Walking Deadheads" is the way to go. :) Thank you for this newsletter. It's such a joy on a Sunday morning to read your writing. Be well.
"You come to my restaurant" -- you captured the subtle pushiness of Indian businesspeople perfectly. Sorry to hear about your father's passing. But wow, it sure is wonderful to know that even after leaving this world, your dad is being missed by the restaurateur. Loved this post!
Thank you, Nick! A lot of people who knew my dad have been reaching out about this post. He was definitely a man who made a big (positive) impression on people.
Truly, people remember how you made them feel, not what you did!
That's a great point! I'm stealing that :)
Another sweet, poignant tribute. Love does not stop, does it. We miss them as long as we live.
Thank you, Sharron! You're right, I don't think the love or missing a loved one ever really stops.
I love this story and find it very moving. Isn't it great that this man spoke up and told you what he was thinking when he saw you? People often don't, when they notice something striking about a stranger. I hope you do go to his restaurant!
Thank you, Becky! I was really glad that the stranger spoke up and told me what was on his mind. It literally made my day - and my day was going just fine already. I will for sure visit his restaurant.
Wow. This is a profound experience. It's the first of your posts that I've read - and I did so immediately after reading your website/ exhibition The Newest Americans.
There is so much in a face. How many times we like someone b/c their face feels familiar to us, reminding us of someone we love, loved, or at least like. And the opposite is true as well - a face too familiar to another that has caused us harm.
the other thing that strikes me though is how this stranger (who wasn't after all completely a stranger) could see your father in your face but I can't tell from this story whether or not YOU see your father in your face. Do you? And whether your answer is yes or no, how do you feel about that? It sounds like you loved your father and miss him. Is there comfort in hearing that he lives on through you - or at least, through your face?
Thanks for reading and for the great comment, Jan! To answer your question, I do see my father's face in my face, although I'd probably see it more if I shaved my beard; my father never had a beard. I do miss him very much, and I find it enormously comforting when I'm reminded of him, whether it's in my face, or something I say or do, or something my sister says or does.
Why do those of us who hustle continue the dance. What is really the driving force? I liked your dad story a-lot. I worked with my dad post high school waiting for college to start-the stock boys called him “The Terror”- they weren’t far off. Glad you have fond memories of your father- my best ones of my dad were after he got dementia, he was much more fun. Thanks for the entertainment. Appreciated.
Kathy
Thanks for taking the time to share this comment, Kathy! I really appreciate it and I’m glad you enjoyed the story.
Enjoyed this a lot. Fortunately, my Dad is still plugging along at 87.
Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed this one, and it's such a gift that your dad is still plugging along at 87. What's his secret to longevity?
Genetics, mostly, I think. His Mother lived to age 93 and up until a few month before her death, she used to drive the "old folks" (who were all younger than her) to church every Sunday. 🤣 I hope I inherited those genes also.
loved this heartwarming anecdote - and i too am hustlin' everyday like yourself and Rick Ross.
Thank you & keep hustlin'! Hope you'll subscribe for more stories!
Loved this, both for the random connection element and of course the nature of this particular connection. How fortunate to share that look with your dad--if only anyone, anyone at all, ever thought I resembled my mom...I wish!
thank you! i'm really glad you enjoyed it, hope you'll stick around for more stories!
So great. I'm not a hustler but memories like this come based on our actions (or just engaging). Years ago I started organizing my family genealogy. What it has brought is unexpected. Getting folks to write biographies or share odd things have brought back memories of my family that were long-forgotten. While Naan has not been one of the memories, food dominates. Your writing is great
This was sad and sweet. Happy Passover by the way...
Thank you! Next story will probably be funnier
Such a small world moment. I love it.
I’ve received the “you look just like your dad” comment hundreds of times in my life. The funny thing is that I sort of see it when I look in the mirror or at a photo of myself, but not to the extent that other people do, especially those who knew him when he was younger. Maybe that’s because we have this urge to be our own unique person or something. Like you, I wish I could see my dad’s face again. It’s coming up on a year since he passed in the next couple of weeks here.
Thanks for the lovely story, as usual, Michael!
Your comment makes me think that it's more than just a physical look. There's must be something else at work - a vibe?? - that gives of a signal of who our parents are. Thanks for reading and for sharing this comment, Lyle!
Yeah, I think you're onto something
Your stories about your dad are always among your best. "The Life of Larry" is a book that needs to happen (in audio, of course).
Thank you, Jodi! And yes, if I ever do get around to a book of Larry stories it'll be an audiobook!
Love this post! Makes my heart swell up! Miss your dad!!
Thanks man!
I kill time by people watching, generally. Just looking around. I find it very awkward to take out my phone in public. And yeah, I look like my dad, I get that all the time. He's still with us and he's a lovely stubborn deaf old man. Love him dearly. I'm sorry you lost your pops, Michael. But it's nice knowing he's so well remembered. And yeah, "Walking Deadheads" is the way to go. :) Thank you for this newsletter. It's such a joy on a Sunday morning to read your writing. Be well.
Thank you for your kind words! Glad you enjoy these Sunday stories!
Nice story, Michael. I don’t look exactly like my dad, but people say I sound like him. When we pick up the phone, we both say hello like, “Yeh-llo?”
Nice!
People have mistaken me for my mom when I picked up the phone.
I don't know much about living in a tiny town, but I do know much about missing parents. Thanks for the story Michael. Happy Easter to all!
Thank you, Paul!