“Two things I know for certain: you gotta pay taxes, and you gotta die.”

That’s what family is good for; they tell you the truth. Today is Papa’s 94th birthday, and for this day-in-age, that’s a feat, to say the least. The man is a veteran for God's sake. Well, he was honorably discharged. But that’s because of his bad back. Throughout his life, Papa has endured over 120 surgeries and even more hospital visits. He is a goddamn trooper. Since 1923, he has been wreaking havoc and causing trouble. It is only evident to see the power Lawrence Leuchtag, my flesh and blood, has carried in his wake.

I notice that I have one missed call and voicemail awaiting my attention. It’s from Papa, of course. I was expecting his call. My lips widen as I press play.

“Hey, Number One, this is your pop. Give me a call and let me know if you’re visiting me. Love you more, baby.” That’s our thing—we always argue over who loves who more. Papa claims he wins because he’s older. I beg to differ.

“Mom, we need to see Papa!” I scream as I run to the interior balcony overlooking every room in the house.

“I know. I’ll be ready soon,” she echoes around the bend from her bedroom.

“You should have been ready 10 minutes ago!” I yell, infuriated by her carelessness.

I scurry around the house and barge into Drew’s room.

“Goddammit, Drew. you haven't even dressed yourself.”

“I’m putting on my makeup!”

“We had a plan,” I whine.

“Papa is fine; we aren’t going to miss anything,” she bitches.

“You don’t know that.” I slam her door.

My mother doesn’t care about making it to the nursing home before Papa’s afternoon nap. She gets to visit him every week. I, however, am not as fortunate. Every time I leave, he acts as if he’s saying goodbye to me for the last time. His tag line? “I ain’t dead yet,” or, my personal favorite, “I want to go on a trip.”

“Where, Papa?” I ask. *points up to the sky*

At least he can make a joke out of it, right? I love his morbid sense of humor. I guess that’s why we get along so well. One time when I was in middle school, he thought it was a good idea to tell me that he slept with all of his clients. Who are his clients, you ask? He was a cab driver. One time a woman invited him back to her apartment as a “thank you.” To his surprise, a baby was sleeping in the living room. The woman was such trash that she didn’t even have a nursery. And what did he do?

“I screwed her anyway,” he said with a chuckle.

Drew and my mother finally make their way into the garage where I’ve been waiting and reminiscing in the car for 20 minutes.

“It’s about f****** time. Let's go,” I snap.

My mom hates when I sit and wait in the car. She thinks I’m rushing her. You wouldn’t feel rushed if you were on time. I scoff in my mind as my impatient eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Don’t use that tone or those words. Papa would yell at you.”

“Whatever, Mom.” She’s right.

“Jovi, let's go bye-bye.” I ignore her reprimand and focus my attention on the dog.

Our little red toy poodle prances through the door separating the garage and the kitchen. With one big leap into the car, she lands on my lap. They say poodles are the smartest dogs. She knows where we're headed. I pop my headphones in to drown out the blabbering and continue to my walk down memory lane.

Papa told me once that he became faithful to my great-grandmother as soon as they got engaged. I guess things were different back then. His stories always seem to amaze me. One question I’ve never been able to answer: Who was staying with the baby? I decided to not delve that far into the story.

He also thought it was a good idea to teach my 2 siblings and I curse words and dirty poems in Polish and Yiddish. The 3 of us had a field day with the clueless kids in our class. We memorized them at the ripe age of 7 and 8 years young.

Whether it be ending in surgery or being held up at gunpoint, this man has seen it all. You wouldn’t know it, though. Looking into the eyes of Lawrence Leuchtag can only result in one thing: turning you into complete mush. Damn, Papa is the s***.

We finally arrive at the nursing home, and Jovi bolts ahead. Jovi is our bundle of joy and designated happy pill for Papa. She knows exactly where to go and leads the way as my mother, sister and I trail behind. I know I’m getting close when I hear the nurses giggle and swoon around the corner. Papa is basically the mayor of his senior living community. He even gets special treatment—ice-cream in bed. Even when his teeth are put away for the night, he gets what he wants. There is a way about him—even if you don’t want to, he’ll get you to say yes to anything.

“Hey, Pops, turn that frown upside-down. I’m here.”

“I know you are; I heard you. Now give me a kiss.”

I have problems keeping quiet; he is always one to point out the obvious. I lean in for 2 wet smooches placed on both cheeks.

“Alright, let's get to it,” I say.

“Let's get to what?”

“Pops! Remember, we’re recording your life story and your nap time is soon, so we gotta hustle.”

“Oh, yeah, hand me a cough drop first.” His voice is already hoarse. I bet he’s been singing all day—making all the ladies fall to their knees.

He shuffles in his chair and adjusts his ankle brace to get comfortable. As if to “brace” himself for what’s to come. He-he. He sticks the soothing amber-like oval into his mouth and begins...