FREDDY ZALTA
I WAS AROUND 20 YEARS OF AGE AND RIDING THE TRAIN WITH MY FATHER WHO WAS AROUND 72 YEARS OLD. WE RAN UP THE STEPS TO THE F TRAIN ON KINGS HIGHWAY. IT WAS AROUND 3 PM AND WE HAD THREE STOPS TO MAKE. THE LAST WAS TO PICK UP AIRLINE TICKETS.
“There is no way we will make it to El Al before they close.”
“Don’t worry,” my dad replied.
That was one of his catchphrases. Whenever I would get stressed he would pull that out. Or, “99 percent of the things you worry about never happen.”
Still I was never convinced. We got to the city a little after 4, we walked (it felt like he was running) towards our first stop. The man there was so happy to see my father, they kept talking and talking. As we left I told him, “Dad, we are running out of time, it’s already 4:30.”
“Don’t worry,” he said smiling.
It drove me crazy. How stupidly optimistic can someone be? I seethed inside. We made it to the next stop and once again the woman who met my father smiled and they spoke. We left at 4:55 and El Al was six city blocks away. “Dad we can’t make it.”
“Watch,” he told me, and he began his speed walk towards our final stop. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?” He asked me.
“Maybe after we get to El Al, Pop.” He smiled.
In my eyes he was walking way too fast for someone his age. But he didn’t even show any signs of fatigue. Me, on the other hand, I was perspiring a bit and I was kind of out of breath. We went to cross the avenue against the light. He literally took my hand, put his other hand up, the cars stopped, honked and the drivers made faces or threw out some curses.
“Dad.”
“Don’t ever do this.” He said.
It was 5:07 when we got to El Al building and went up in the elevator. “Dad they are closed.” Ignoring me, he rang the bell. “They all went home, Dad.”
The intercom. “We are closed.”
“Tell Rivka it’s Sam Zalta.”
I thought to myself, “As if they know or care.”
Buzz, the door opened.
“Sam!” A tall man with a giant smile greeted him. An older lady ran to greet my father, “Come on in,” they said. There was a security guard who seemed to be an Israeli mossad agent. He smiled and said, “How are you Mr Zalta?”
I couldn’t believe this. We were not only late, but the office opened up and they actually made coffee for us. As we made our way back to Brooklyn he looked at me.
“You didn’t think I could do it, right?” I nodded. “Remember when there is a will, there is a way. Nothing is impossible.”
I was young, way more confident than I had the right to be. I was positive that I knew it all. I laughed at my father and in the end he got the last laugh. There were so many times in my life where I should’ve listened to him but I thought I knew better. It’s a disease of the young. They rush in where angels fear to tread and think they are invincible, they know better, and they will be smarter than the older generation. They think they know which key to use for each door which can lead them to the next room, the bigger office, the bigger house.
They think, “What does that old man know? ”How about years of experience failing and succeeding? It’s only now as I head towards my 60th birthday that I understand. So many missteps, so many keys leading to cold empty rooms. It’s only when it’s too late that the realization comes to us to admit we didn’t know as much as we believed we did.
So I think about my father, my parents really. The ability to understand that in the long run everything will make sense, an understanding that seemed to come naturally to them. But I understand that no one is born with that knowledge. The “you” you were at 21 is not the same “you” at any future date. We are meant to evolve physically and mentally. We must learn to discard the noise and embrace the music in our lives. Even in the silence when the noise of this world can be deafening we must find a way to make it through, and we will. That’s life. That’s the beauty of aging. We know so much more and are unafraid to admit when we do not. The inspiration, the experience and the evolution of ourselves guides us as we decide to “never go quietly into that good night.”
Freddy Zalta is an author for hire specializing in biographies.
