Dear Dad,
Today is your birthday, and I can’t wait to spend your special day together. I think that I should tell the world a little bit about who you really are, because the world may see you as simply a business guy or a networker, but to me, you are always and forever my father. So, dad, this is your life, as told by your daughter, Reina:
Bob Slutske was born May 29, 1942 (yes, I am calling you out on your age, dad), the eldest child of Saul and Ruth Slutske. He seemed to take his responsibilities very seriously, particularly when he worked at his father’s grocery store, the Hi-Ho Market in Inglewood. There, he barbecued and developed a hatred for bananas and a love of celery. He was growing up an all-American boy in a perfect suburban home in Beverlywood. He was tall and broad, and played football – until an injury sidelined him permanently.
Despite the injury, he learned about something that would later become his passion – the theater. Dad was entranced by it, loved it passionately. He wasn’t the best student, even as he got into college, but once the Vietnam War hit, he sure became one in a hurry. He began to study and adore Shakespeare, one of the many things that we share a love for. Yet he was a child of the ‘60s, and when he directed “A Midsummer’s Night Dream,” he decorated Oberon’s afro with silver spray paint and twinkle lights.
Unlike many Jewish mothers, my grandmother wanted my father to marry an extremely tall redheaded woman. But once he met the beautiful Jacqueline Amira, he was smitten. He would wax poetic about how they met, and how amazing she was, with her black hair flowing all the way down her back. My dad, being the romantic he was, proposed to her six weeks after they met. Mom’s response? “Are you nuts? I’m not marrying you!” She promptly slammed the door in his face and broke up with him. Lucky for me, she was convinced to marry him, and they did in 1968, and have been together since.
Dad travelled all across the United States for his craft, often taking my mother with him. He went to Texas, Hawaii and New York. But then, in 1971, at the age of 29, tragedy struck: his father had died of a heart attack. Things started to change, and his family split apart. Soon after, my dad left the theater behind.
Eventually, mom and dad settled down in North Hollywood, and would end up with two dogs and two children. Growing up in a house with all boys (except for his mom), it must have been the shock of his life to have two little girls. But with his sensitive soul, he was perfect for it.
But with fatherhood came a new reality, and dad began to travel for his work. He has always said that when he was young and working at the Hi-Ho Market, he’d watch the planes fly in and out of LAX, and would say, “Dear G-d, let me fly all over the world. Let me never be home.” He would say that he got his wish, and paid the price – it got to the point when, at four years old, I was convinced that dad lived at the airport.
We eventually moved to Northern California, and Dad travelled all over Europe and Asia, and even occasionally to Australia. I remember him bringing back little trinkets – a boomerang, little Dutch shoes and Asian-style dresses for my sister and me. However, when he was around, I remember walking down Slida Drive with the dogs and my dad walked beside me with his cane. He would jump in the pool and spray us with the Super Soaker that we got him for his 50th birthday. Dad had life and vivacity.
Dad travelled for most of my childhood, and would often be out of the country when someone in the family was in the hospital. While we lived in San Jose, we had difficult times, including my father being laid off from his job with a mortgage to pay. Dad took some interesting jobs, one of them including a summer at Skywalker Ranch. This is how I became the envy of Star Wars fans the world over, as during Fourth of July, my father took us for a picnic up at the Ranch and we swam in the lake.
Eventually, we moved back down to Thousand Oaks, and around my bat mitzvah, dad’s travelling began to slow. Although he still went away, it wasn’t as often, and I really started to get to know my father. He also got to know me and my “hippity-hoppity music,” as he liked to call it.
As I got into my teenage years, as my mother and I fought constantly, dad’s soft voice could calm me the way no one else’s could. He got me in a way that no one could get me, understood my desire to create art and the creativity that had nowhere to really go. It was dad and I who had long drives together (with me constantly changing the radio stations to songs I liked) and who would pick me up from choir shows with his old-time radio shows playing in the background. At 16, I started watching and studying movies with him, and he was the first person to watch “The Godfather” and “Citizen Kane” with me – something I will always be grateful for.
At 17, when I experienced my horror in Israel, it was dad who was waiting for me at the gate in the airport with a balloon and a flower to hug me and tell me, “It wasn’t your fault.” He was also the first one who told me the truth about what happened to me there, as no one there was willing to.
Dad was beside me as I learned to drive and when I graduated from high school and sending me off to college. He was there for long talks and fun times. It seemed like no matter where I went or what happened, my dad seemed to really get me and encourage me to go in the direction of my dreams, no matter where they would take me. As he said to me since I was little, “You can do it.”
I often joke around with my dad – like dad yoga, where position one is sitting back with the arms crossed thoughtfully and position two is dad leaning on his cane. But the truth of the matter is that my dad is an amazing soul and an incredibly thoughtful person.
I’ve always been amazed at how my female friends and even the young women at his office were drawn to my father as a father figure, whether it was because they didn’t have good relationships with their own dads or they had lost their fathers too young. I realized that if every girl had a dad like mine, the world would be such a better place, because they would grow and learn and be safe under their care. Their fathers would rather die than see their daughters shed a single tear, would help them laugh and encourage every dream that they had. They would be able to find calm in a crazy world and find a reason for everything. And, of course, he would try his best to goof around. And that when I point out something very important to me, he takes note of it and listens carefully.
My dad has only one wish, and that would be to go to Israel. I pray to G-d that he gets to see the Holy Land. I want my dad to see Jerusalem. I don’t want anything to stop him – as much as I long every day to see the Old City at sunset once more, if I ever had the choice between the two of us, I would send him, as it’s the only place in the world he has never been and has always dreamed of.
I wish the world could know about this amazing gentle giant known as my father. I want everyone to meet him and understand how special he is. Perhaps it is not meant for everyone else to know, and only meant to be shared between a father and his daughter. I understand this love as I go out in the world and see that when I do certain things, I know where they come from. And when he asks from where, I just say, “Eh, from some old guy."
Dad, happy birthday. I love you so much, and you should just realize how much you are loved, and how special it is to just be your daughter. I feel like you never get the amount of appreciation you deserve, and you need to understand that no matter how many times I tease you, no matter how many times I touch your bald spot and drive you crazy, that you are the best dad a girl can ask for.
Love,
Reina Victoria
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