4/4/2024 0 Comments Half life 1 face textureWe never learned to discuss hard things, but we shared this liminal space where bodies told stories, and words weren’t necessary. There in the theatre, the lights would dim, the curtain would rise, the music would start, and my father would take my hand as the dancers took the stage. In my regular life, I was terrified that my friends would discover that he was gay, that my family wasn’t like everyone else’s. This was his domain, and I felt important because of who he was. He dressed in Armani suits and bold neckties that signalled a hint of irreverence. My dad was tall, handsome, young, and at the height of his creative powers. Walking through the lobby of City Center was like striding alongside a prince. Alvin Ailey, Trisha Brown, and Paul Taylor were all clients, and he took every opportunity to expose me to their work. He would often take me to see modern dance in Manhattan. My father was a marketing executive who had worked with the Brooklyn Academy of Music in the seventies, before he and my mom started their company. “I’m sorry, he’s not available-can I take a message?” I’d say, satisfied by the smooth click of the phone connecting with its cradle. “They usually let the women and children go,” my mother assured me later when I suggested I use her German name if I ever got a passport.Īfter the news, my dad would listen to Ella Fitzgerald and cook dinner-steamed artichokes, maybe roasted fish-and I would play “office” alone at one of the desks upstairs, writing important memos and answering phantom calls. My father wasn’t religious, but he was Jewish, and so was our last name. Flight 847, in which passengers with Jewish-sounding names were isolated and threatened, left me concerned. I spent Wednesday nights there, along with every other weekend.Īfter work, my father would come downstairs and prepare a small bowl of Lay’s potato chips, and we would watch “CBS Evening News” with Dan Rather. My dad eventually settled in the upper half of a brownstone a few blocks away, in a three-story apartment that became the headquarters of an advertising agency my parents started together soon after they separated. Emily Ziff Griffin on a trip with her father before he died, of AIDS.
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