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Monday, April 02, 2018

Good Friday

Some of you think I'm a miserable bastard, and I am, but I'm the nicest guy in the world compared to my father. He hated everyone.

My Dad and the late great Milton Riskin co-owned an office building in Bethlehem. Milton was one of the most brilliant people I've ever met, a walking legal encyclopedia. His son Michael is just as smart, but is a terrible bicyclist.

Milton was Jewish, but represented the Diocese of Allentown. The Bishop likely considered Milton doomed to eternal damnation. But who better than a Jew to dispense legal advice to Holy Mother Church? No one could ever accuse him of shading things.

My Dad was nominally a Catholic, but I question whether he had any religious beliefs at all. While Milton represented the Bishop, my Dad taunted him at the Jersey shore when they both vacationed near each other.

My Dad insisted on taking our German Shepherd for an early morning walk despite signs all over that banned dogs from the beach. It was extremely rude and insensitive, and when the Bishop spotted what my Dad was doing, he rightly took him to task.

"Ahhh, go tend your flock."

Anyway, one Good Friday, when my Dad and Milton were both in good health, my dad walked up to Riskin and said, "Milton, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Did you have to crucify Him?"
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