Today was my gazda father's birthday. He turned 51 years old. Every morning when I get up he and I share a cup of coffee and talk about the weather. If its cold outside, whether or not it will snow. There is usually a plate of bread with too much margarine and some jam on it, or a sandwich from the sandwich maker, or eggs, sunny side up. Every morning, without fail there is something to eat on the table. His main obsession was finding me food, or having me eat it. I used to think this was a special obsession that applied only to me. Until I saw him with other visitors. As it turns out, he is just a gracious and generous host. He hounds everyone anywhere near a table to come and eat.

He is a man who insists on giving his children better than he ever had.Even if it means sending his wife to Italy in order to pay for tuition, iulian's piano, or anything else they may ask for. While today should have been a great day of celebration for him, it had to be one of the saddest birthday's he has ever had. With his wife away working, his daughter away at school for the first time it must have been very hard on him. A few friends stopped by to say La Multi Ani and were of course husseled to the table for some food.When everyone left it was still just us three boys sitting in the kitchen, His 12 year old son, His illegitimate American son and one of the most generous people I have ever met. I wish there was something I could do to make his day seem better. But I have a feeling he won't really celebrate until he has his entire family back under one roof.