He did nice things for other people, often at the nudging of my mother. His nickname was “Teddy Bear,” and he was huggable and lovable, a kind, patient, quiet man who loved classical music, the Red Sox and Bruins, fishing, and working with his hands. My memories of him are rich, happy, full of love, and framed by loss. My father, Ted Kasica, was a typical man of the seventies: He went to work, paid the mortgage, put food on the table, and cared for his children. The story deserves a more robust telling, and here it is. That was a much shorter, edited version as I was restricted to just one minute of audio. This is not the version I sent to the Times. So, in honor of my dad’s birthday I’m posting the essay here along with the recording. That’s what happens, and I’ve learned not to expect anything more. I pulled it out and polished it with pretty words, recorded it, and then sent it to their editors. A memory popped up out of the decades of memories buried in my brain. They were looking for stories about a time when you saw a parent differently. I recently wrote a tribute to him which I sent to the New York Times for their Modern Love Podcast. Each year on this day, I celebrate his life. He would be 91 if he hadn’t succumbed to a heart attack in 1976 at just 45. Exploring the Aftermath of Love and Loss.
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