60

I recently “made 60”. We went to Las Vegas. My parents made the trip from Hawaii. They haven’t been to the mainland since the pandemic. My dad is 90 years old and my mom is 85. They love being in Las Vegas, especially my dad. Fortunately, they are healthy, but every opportunity to see them is becoming very precious.

My mom and I talk a lot on the phone. My dad has always been there for me but he’s not much of a talker. So, if we’re not in Hawaii, we don’t really talk much. 

My dad’s memories of my 60 years (his 60 years) are from vastly different perspectives and probably feel very different to both of us.

I believe our memories touch at magical points but are never exactly the same.

My dad has been having trouble with his teeth for years. Implants for the top of his mouth have not been working so he is now seeing a new dentist. In Las Vegas, his entire top set of teeth were temporary dentures. He couldn’t chew hard things. According to my mom, eating freely is a new never-ending problem. She has to cook, “cut up” and find soft foods that he can chew. What might seem like a small thing required daily lifestyle changes. Eating based on taste preferences, desires and social connection was no longer a priority.

Everything matters. Even little things. 

In Las Vegas, I found a restaurant for my dad. Chinese noodles and Dim Sum. He ate freely, simply, with no fear. The food tasted great. My mom had no worries, she talked with my wife and me. The three of us had a lively conversation. My dad didn’t have to say anything directly about it. I knew he was happy. It made me very happy too. 

The next morning in the casino, he put his arm around me, gave me a look and told me he loved that meal last night. Simple. He’s always been a man of few words. 

In that short, unassuming moment was everything. 60 years of love. A memory touch.