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D. None of the above

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Photo from METRO

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

During my sophomore year of college, I was preparing to visit my family for Thanksgiving. In early November, however, I had this incredible need to come home to see my mother, my younger brother, our aged-but-still-hanging-in-there golden retriever and my dying father, who was in the hospital full time.

I asked my mother if I could come home a week before Thanksgiving, return to school and then travel back again for Thanksgiving. She acquiesced, suggesting that the family would be happy to see me twice during the month. Of course, she also gently reminded me, to the extent that she ever gently reminded me of anything, that I bring home any schoolwork.

My brother picked me up at the airport and drove me home. Initially, we avoided the subject that hung over every conversation. I didn’t ask how dad was because cancer is a horrific roller coaster ride, in which every small rise inevitably precedes a hard and fast drop towards the abyss.

Over the weekend, my mother brought me to the hospital. She warned me several times that my father was taking so many pain medications that he probably wouldn’t know I was in the room. He might not even wake up, she cautioned. Still, I needed to see him.

When I got to his room, he turned toward me and he acknowledged me, in the smallest way, with his eyes. He didn’t smile or speak, but his eyes told me that he not only knew who I was, but that he was glad to see me. He tried to sit up, which was extremely unusual in the end stage of his life. His movements through the day were extraordinarily limited and he wasn’t interacting with anyone regularly.

Protecting me from seeing my father’s emaciated body in a hospital gown that hung tenuously onto his body the way he clung to life, my mother took me to the cafeteria to get my father a grilled cheese while a nurse brought him to a chair. By the time we got back, he was mostly asleep in the chair. He didn’t eat or acknowledge me, and had already drifted away.

That was the last time I saw him alive. He died before Thanksgiving. Difficult as the memory is, I know how fortunate I am to have had the chance to see him one last time. I didn’t thank him for being a wonderful father or receive any sage advice. I got one more moment to connect with him.

With that memory in mind, my heart aches with the recognition of the hardships families are enduring through their separations caused by the coronavirus. I am confident courageous nurses and doctors are comforting those with uncontrollable coughs, fever, aches and all the other symptoms of this dreaded disease.

And yet, I also recognize how difficult it must be for people not to share the same room or, as I did, to exchange one last glance into a loved one’s eyes.

We draw inspiration from seeing each other, sharing space and time, and wrapping ourselves in the blanket of humanity that offers comfort during times of crisis. I admire those who have stood outside the windows of loved ones, with messages of hope and encouragement. I also appreciate the benefit that FaceTime provides, letting people look at a virtual image of people whose lives have defined ours.

Hopefully, our continued commitment to social distancing and working from home will prevent people from contracting COVID-19, while we await vaccines from scientists and pharmaceutical companies. These efforts will ultimately prevent more families from enduring the additional layer of pain caused by such separations.

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Photo by METRO

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

With sports on hold during the pandemic, I would like to borrow from the sports channels and share a collection of sports memories.

The singing pitcher 

My daughter was pitching against a heavily favored team. In the first inning, she walked in two runs. As the coach, I raced out to the mound to check on her. She was quietly singing a song to herself. I knew there was nothing I could say that would top whatever song was entertaining her. In the final play of the game, the batter hit a ground ball to her and she raced over to first base, where she placed the ball in the glove of her teammate, starting an unlikely victory celebration.

The basketball game where we almost covered the spread

Knowing from the standings that the basketball team I coached would struggle against a team that should have been in a different league, I told my team that if they kept the other team under 50 points and we scored 30, we would have a pizza party. At the end of the game, the other team scored 49 points. We had a chance, with one last shot, to reach 30. We didn’t make it, but the referees congratulated each player on our team for fighting till the end. If they only knew …

The stampede game 

In Cooperstown, I coached a town team of 12-year-olds against a team aptly named the Stampede. Hoping to confuse their 6-foot tall hitters, I chose our softest throwing pitchers. It worked early, as they only scored one run in the first inning. In the second inning, my son hit a home run, giving us a 2-1 lead. We lost 11-4, but our players and their parents couldn’t have been happier, as we were the first team to score more than one run in an entire game and were also the first team the Stampede didn’t mercy.

Tough as nails 

Even with a face mask on her softball helmet, the fastball that hit my daughter caused the mask to give her a bloody lip. The umpire said she could come out and return later. She refused help or attention and ran to first base. She stole second, third and home, and returned to the bench with a triumphant smile.

The tiny team that did 

My daughter was on a vastly undersized volleyball team that made it to the finals against a team that, in warm ups, pummeled balls into the ground. With my daughter anchoring the back row, the other team became frustrated that their hard hits didn’t win points. They tried hitting at different angles and further away from the defense, crushing balls just out. When my daughter served the last five points for the win, I joined a collection of elated parents as we screamed and threw our arms in the air. I briefly turned my head to hide the tears of pride welling in my eyes. 

The kid who was way ahead of his time 

When my son was in pee wee ball, he watched a lot of baseball  my fault. He played shortstop in a station-to-station game, in which each player moved up one base, regardless of where the ball went and whether someone got out. With the bases loaded, a player hit a line drive to my son at shortstop. He caught the ball, ran to third to get the runner who was jogging home and tagged the runner who approached him. After his unassisted triple play, he jogged off the field and dropped the ball near the pitcher’s mound. I had to explain to him that he didn’t play that way yet, but that he would, and hopefully will again, soon.

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Stock photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Disclaimer: The following column is intended to provide a lighthearted response to the ongoing pandemic. In no way does it diminish or ignore the suffering or the unimaginable horror for people who have lost loved ones or who are on the front lines of the crisis. I continue to be grateful for all the help, support, and work everyone is doing to keep us safe, fed, and cared for (see last week’s column). This latest column, however, is designed to offer comic relief.

I was thinking about how life has changed in small, and largely insignificant ways. Please find below some “before coronavirus” and “after coronavirus” trivial differences for those of us fortunate enough to be inconvenienced and not irreparably harmed by the virus and when we’re not focused on the anxiety of shuttered businesses and lost income.

Where should we eat?

BC: Do you want to go to the Italian restaurant with the cool music and the frescoes on the wall, or the Chinese restaurant, with the incredible dumplings and the endless supply of hot tea?

AC: Should we go back to the kitchen, the dining room or the bedroom, where there are so many leftover crumbs that we could eat those for dinner without going to the refrigerator?

What should we wear?

BC: We could take the newly pressed suit that’s back from the dry cleaner, the slightly wrinkled suit that we wore a few days earlier, or the jeans and casual shirt that works on a casual Friday.

AC: We could take yesterday’s sweatpants, the ripped jeans that don’t smell too bad, or stay in the pajamas we wore to bed.

What should we do when we see people we know on the sidewalk?

BC: We slow our walk, smile, shake hands or hug and ask how they are doing.

AC: We run across the street, yell in their general direction and wave as we make the same joke we made the day before about the need for social distancing.

How do we start emails?

BC: We might dive right in, ask an important question or ease into it, hoping all is well.

AC: We often start emails by hoping the person we’re writing to and their family are safe.

How should we check on our college-age children?

BC: We can call them or FaceTime to see how they are doing and listen attentively as they share the excitement about school.

AC: We can call or FaceTime them from behind their locked door in our house and ask them how they are doing.

What do we do about the polarizing president?

BC: If we love him, we can find others who admire him. If we hate him, we can blame him for climate change, relaxing regulations, and changing the tone of discourse in Washington.

AC: If we love him, we can thank our lucky stars that he’s leading us and the economy out of this pandemic. If we hate him, we can blame him for our slow reaction and hold him to account for everything he and his administration haves said or didn’t say in connection with the COVIDcovid-19 response.

What do we do if someone sneezes?

BC: We offer a polite “God bless you” or, if we’re fans of “Seinfeld,” we say, “You are so good looking.”

AC: We drop anything we’re carrying and race across the room. When we’re a safe distance, we turn around scornfully, particularly if the person didn’t sneeze into anhis or her  elbow.

What do we think is funny?

BC: We follow our own sense of humor, reserving the right to laugh only when we feel compelled.

AC: We look at a picture of Winnie-the- Pooh and Piglet. We see Winnie telling Piglet to “Back the f$#@$ off,” and we laugh and send it to everyone who won’t get in trouble for receiving an email in which someone curses, after we ask if they and their family are safe.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

You know those glasses you wear at the eye doctor when you have to identify images that stand out on the card in your hand? These days, I feel as if I’m wearing them everywhere I go.

Take, for example, my trip to the supermarket. Before coronavirus, I often nodded to the people who stock shelves and chatted with the cashiers, acknowledging them but perhaps not appreciating them sufficiently. Nowadays, the entire food services crew stands out.

The people who worked on the farms that grew the products, the ones who went to the factory that refined it, the drivers who transported it to the stores and, eventually, the residents of our community who placed it on the shelves are making it possible for us to feed our families.

Each time I shop, I would walk around giving the local supermarket workers a hug, but that would violate social distancing, and would be pretty awkward.

Then, there are the pharmacists, who stand in their white lab coats mixing our medicines. We need them, now more than ever, to ensure we get the right amount of the right drugs.

Of course, even when I’m not seeing the doctors, nurses, police, and other first responders, I’m well aware of the front line in the battle against the pandemic. Each one of these people is putting their lives on the line when they interact with people who may carry an infection for which their bodies have no resistance, no matter how much coffee they drink or how much they hope they are invincible. With coronavirus glasses, I see them perform their heroic jobs each day, despite the concerns they may have about bringing the disease home to their families or limiting their contact with their relatives.

Fortunately, we are not so isolated that most of us can’t see important people in our lives through FaceTime. Many people contributed to the development of the phones that have become an extension of our bodies. The ones who made the futuristic Jetsons’ notion, in the animated sitcom, of seeing people as we talked to them have made it possible for us to connect from any distance, even if the ones we wish to hug are waiting out the storm in their living room next door.

Scientists throughout the world are working tirelessly to figure out the best ways to treat people lined up in hospitals or to create a vaccine that will protect us in the future. I am privileged to talk to scientists every day, although I haven’t spoken to any of the ones working on a treatment or vaccine. These researchers come from everywhere, are indifferent to national borders, and often are driven to make new discoveries, help humanity and make a difference in the world. Those of us who receive treatments or a vaccine for which they made a contribution can assure them that what they do matters.

The entire team involved in heating, cooling and lighting my home also stand out, as do the ones who created magnificent and inspiring films, books, and home entertainment.

Each day, people like Governor Andrew Cuomo (D) and County Executive Steve Bellone (D) work tirelessly and visibly on our behalf. On Bellone’s daily media calls, he has remained level-headed, determined, and focused during the difficult balancing act of trying to protect our health while working to revive the economy, once the crisis clears.

I’m sure I’ve left many people off the list who deserve appreciation. In fact, if you, the reader, would like to share a few of the people whose work and dedication you appreciate, please write in and share your thoughts to [email protected].

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Photo from METRO

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Welcome to the home office. I have been working from home for years and would like to offer a few tips.

For starters, pets are generally awesome. They can reduce the stress from deadlines and from abrasive calls. Much more often than not, they seem absolutely delighted to see us and to give and receive positive attention.

The wag, wag, wag of a dog’s tail is almost as wonderful as the squeal of a happy toddler when he sees the ice cream on his plate or learns about a trip to the store — ah good times, remember when stores were open? — or to a visit with a favorite relative.

But then there’s the dark side. My big dog offers quiet companionship most of the time. He does, however, have an uncanny knack of barking at what appears to be absolutely nothing outside when I’m on the phone with someone who is coming to the point of a long and deeply moving anecdote.

Nothing takes the professional veneer off an interview with a Nobel Prize winning scientist, the chairman of a department or the head of a medical school faster than the unwelcome sound of a dog barking.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have exacerbated that dilemma. You see, I thought I hit the mute button on my phone and shouted unpleasant words at my wonderful four-legged companion, only to discover that, in my haste, I missed the button, giving my professional contact an earful of seemingly out-of-my-mind comments. 

So, there are two lessons: Keep your barking dogs far from the phone when possible, and make absolutely sure you push the mute button before breaking character and insisting that your beloved buddy stops barking at the squirrel that tortures him — and you — during important calls.

OK, so the next tip is fairly obvious, but bears repeating. The refrigerator is not calling you. While you’re home, you will undoubtedly have competing impulses that you might not have indulged in at the office with a trip to the kitchen. One of them is to fill the momentary lull between calls, or the period when you might otherwise chat at the watercooler about the latest sports games — ah, remember when we used to watch sports in real time? The kitchen is fine and doesn’t need a visit, especially given the dwindling supply of basic items that might be harder to get the next time you go to the supermarket — ah, remember the good times. OK, you get the idea.

Create signals with the rest of the family, who are home with you or back in the nest to alert them to the most important work-related tasks of your day. If you are on a conference call with people who are signing up for off-site responsibilities for the next few weeks, the last thing you want to do is have someone come to your work space and ask if you’ve seen the blue sock to match the one he’s holding with an exasperated look at your door.

Finally, remember that the kind of things you might say in the context of gossip or jokes don’t always translate through texts and emails. No matter how some emojis might indicate that you’re joking — a winking circular blob, perhaps or a shrugging face — the person on the receiving end of your witticisms might not get it and might not find your brilliance so charming, especially if she’s still upset at the words she screamed at her barking dog earlier in the day.

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Photo from YouTube

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We take so much of our life for granted. In some ways, it’s natural and necessary. After all, if we got up and stared out our window and marveled at the combination of sun and shade on the branches rocking in the wind, bent down to admire the dew clinging to the grass and breathed deeply of the newly blossoming trees every morning, we might never get our kids to school and ourselves to work.

And yet, all the news about the spread of this new virus and the ensuing reaction to protect the population — from closing schools to avoiding subways to staying away from large crowds — gives us an opportunity to appreciate the things, people and sensory experiences we take for granted.

No one will miss the scent of urine wafting up through the subways during a hot summer day when switching problems make everyone stand four, five and six deep on the platform, waiting for the next overcrowded and overheated subway car to arrive.

Still, we may miss so many other sensory, social and everyday experiences if and when we have to lock ourselves in our homes, waiting for the “all clear” sign.

So, what are some of those experiences? It depends on whom you ask and what time of year the question arises.

I appreciate the joy of people watching. After living in Manhattan for decades, I’ve learned to swing my eyes across the street inconspicuously, while I seemed lost in thought or even pretended to be on an invisible phone. Times Square, with its superabundant tourists speaking uncountable languages, wearing unrecognizable colognes and walking in all manner of shoes, is a great place to start.

But then, the line for the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island offers a similar variety of people from all over the world. Instead of billboards of half-naked and incredibly tone and muscular bodies advertising Broadway shows and underwear, the backdrop for the people watching at the ferry lines includes the unpredictable waves of the Hudson River, which has its own personality, ranging from near stillness to foaming white caps.

Closer to home and nearer to summer, West Meadow Beach blends the natural with the call of the seagulls across the enormous intertidal zone and the salty, wind-carried scent; and the anthropogenic with the plaintive cry of babies overheated by the hot sun, the sound of music vibrating from sound systems and the sight of happy teenagers taking their first lick of their soft-serve ice cream cones.

I enjoy watching the end of a hard-fought tennis match, when two or four people come to the net and exchange pleasant handshakes and share thoughts about a good match or a good game.

The crowds at sporting events, many of whom we might not choose from a potential lineup of friends, become a part of memorable games and evenings, as we exchange high fives with inebriated strangers, share insights about what we would do if we were the manager of the team, or congratulate the parent of one of the players on our daughter’s team for the improvement in her game.

Despite the fact that I tend to avoid a crowded elevator car, an overstuffed subway or even an escalator with too many tired bodies waiting for a machine to bring them to the top, I will miss the chance to share some of these experiences with the random strangers who might become friends, the fellow sports fans who might offer a game-within-a-game entertainment, or the chance encounter with a long-lost friend whose winsome smile is the same as it was decades ago in an eighth-grade math class.

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Stock photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I just celebrated an incredible birthday, thanks to the thoughtfulness of friends and family who took the time to talk with me and shop for greatly appreciated gifts.

Each year, these birthdays have the potential to be challenging, especially given that mine often comes some time around school midterms. Even though I’m no longer watching the calendar to see how many days I have left before I have to take a big test, I still ride that roller coaster vicariously with my children. This year, however, enormous and difficult tests didn’t hang over us, like the academic sword of Damocles.

For starters, before my birthday celebration kicked in, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law sent me AirPods. I knew I was supposed to open the gift on my birthday, but I’m not exactly the most patient person when it comes to opening presents. Gee, I wonder where my kids get that trait?

Anyway, the reaction from my son was almost as enjoyable as the present itself. When he saw me wearing them, he said, “How did you get those?” as if the question were an accusation. “My friends all have them.”

My daughter did a test run with me, chatting with me on FaceTime while she stared at my ears instead of at my uneven sideburns or the hairy bridge connecting my eyebrows. It’s increasingly rare these days for anything I do, say or wear to be considered “up to date,” so this wonderful gift hit the mark.

I’m enjoying using the AirPods at the gym, where I don’t have to worry about the wire bouncing around when I’m running or after I’ve exercised, when I’m panting as I lean over the water fountain.

The best part, though, is that they allow me to talk with someone while I’m walking my dog and picking up his droppings. I don’t have to worry about the wire coming lose when he suddenly pulls hard on the leash to chase a rabbit or to run away from the sudden noise a desiccated leaf makes when it blows in the wind behind us. Yes, despite his 90-pound body, he finds the unexpected noise from leaves threatening.

While I insisted to my wife that she didn’t need to buy anything for me, she purchased several items of clothing, like shorts and shirts that fit, look good and are incredibly comfortable. She also got this terrific jacket that repels the white dog hair that has rendered the rest of my outerwear ridiculous when interacting with members of the general public.

This birthday we ventured to the Big Easy, where the ubiquitous music still resonates. We took a paddleboat ride and heard about the Mississippi River and the site of the Battle of New Orleans. The oak trees lining the bank are about 250 to 300 years old, which means that the same trees stood in the same spot during the battle. 

My teenage son, who isn’t always the picture of patience with his demanding dad, played with me and allowed me to hug him in public during the weekend. That was better than any gift he could have purchased. My daughter, meanwhile, celebrated vicariously from college. A few of her friends wandered into the screen and wished me the best.

Finally, I connected by phone with college roommates, nephews, brothers and my mom, who was a critical part of that day so many years ago. Birthdays have, at times, made me feel older and displaced. This one, with the meaningful conversations, the laughter with my wife and children and the chats with friends and relatives, as well as the “cool” gifts, made me feel so young.

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The White House

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I want the weakest possible president in 2020.

As a representative democracy, the United States uses a system of governance that relies on checks and balances. Everything about the history of the country makes it clear that a collection of leaders, each with limited power, should reflect the diverse nature of the country, with states that have small populations getting equal representation in the Senate.

Whenever one of the three branches of government oversteps its bounds, the other two have the opportunity to keep that one in check. If, for example, the executive branch, through the president of the United States, takes actions that the legislative or executive branches find objectionable or questionable, Congress or the Supreme Court can hold that president accountable.

So, how do we ensure those checks and balances? Where do we find exactly the right kind of weak president who can do just his or her job without trying to tell the courts what to do or legislate new laws favorable to the officeholder?

Most presidents, including every candidate who seems to be running now, appear to be convinced that he or she will be a strong leader with a vision for the country that takes us to greater heights or that makes us a better nation.

That’s lovely, but no president can do it alone. The government should be a team effort, pulling together people with a drive to contribute to the world through public service and to represent not only personal opinions, but the values, goals and concerns of the entire nation.

That seems almost impossible, given the divided nature of the country as we enter the 2020 election, right? Someone is always winning and someone is always losing.

That doesn’t have to be the case if a president sees and understands the limits of their power.

While this may seem like a direct rebuke of President Donald Trump (R), it is not. If Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders (I), who seems to be gaining momentum with each passing primary, wins the Democratic nomination and then becomes president, I don’t want him to be powerful, either.

Some of his ideas, like free college and Medicaid for all, seem compelling on the surface, but many Democrats, Republicans and Independents wonder how exactly he’ll pay for all of those ideas. I enjoy reading dystopian fiction, like “1984,” “The Giver,” and “Fahrenheit 451,” to name a few. The conclusions of all of them are that utopia doesn’t work and big government creates even bigger problems, particularly for the individual.

The idea of Medicaid for All may seem appealing because of the frustration so many people feel with their medical insurance, until they imagine the bureaucratic machine known as the federal government making decisions about their medical coverage. Many of us want to make informed choices.

That brings me back to the choice for president. In the next eight months or so, as we prepare for the onslaught of advertisements telling us how and why the other candidate may ruin our lives, We the People can do something about it. If we truly believe a Democrat will win the White House, we can vote for Republicans in Congress. If we believe Trump will continue to share his inspirational Twitter messages wishing everyone well — just a bit of sarcasm here — we should vote Democratic in all the other races.

I don’t want Sanders expanding government and running up a tab that even higher taxes seem incapable of paying, while I also don’t want Trump getting a free pass to follow his impulses where they take him and the rest of the country. For me, the best 2020 choice is a weak and controlled president.

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Photo from METRO

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

She could feel the tension mounting. She had been down this road, or, more specifically, on this runway, numerous times before.

Flying didn’t bother her. She had taken many flights before she met her husband. Since they’d been married, they had also taken trips each year.

That’s when the trouble started. He didn’t blame her, but as someone who shared his feelings and wanted to help him when she could, she often felt at a loss as this moment approached.

She looked at the stranger next to her, eager to encourage a new person to enter the dialogue and distract him from his frustration.

At first, the stranger didn’t engage in conversation, preferring to read his book and to look through the movie offerings on his phone.

The ride around the airport took a while, as the plane stopped a few times to let other flights land.

Unable to break the ice with the man on the other side of her, she turned to her husband and hoped the game they’d developed might help.

“Hey,” she said, “how long do you think it’ll take this time?”

He grumbled something between his gritted teeth.

“Well,” she said, not bothering to ask him to repeat himself when she felt that the words were less relevant than the angry emotion that built up inside of him. “I’m going with eight.”

“Eight?” he spit back at her incredulously. “No way! It’s going to be at least 12.”

When the plane stopped and the Jetway came out to meet it, the man started his stopwatch, holding it up so she could see.

After three minutes, the passenger on her other side, who had heard the abbreviated conversation and could feel the tension rising between them as the man glared, unblinking, at the front of the plane and all the passengers between him and the next step on his trip, decided to break the frustrated silence in their row.

“Are you guys guessing how long it’ll be before you get off the plane?” he asked.

“Yes,” she sighed, grateful for the relief from watching and taking care of her husband.

A flight attendant made an announcement.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, we’re waiting for a gate attendant to fix the lock on the other side. It should only be a few minutes,” she said.

The man near the window shook his head. The woman shrugged at what she hoped was her new ally.

“Well, we’ll just start now,” she offered, as she set her own stopwatch on her phone and encouraged him to follow the new timing.

“You see,” she said, “he gets angry when people aren’t ready to go after the
plane lands.”

He turned away from the front of the plane long enough to explain himself to the stranger near the aisle.

“They turn off the seatbelt sign and people don’t get their luggage,” he snarled, gesturing with his palm at all the offending passengers between the door to the rest of his travels and the seat that barely contained his irritation. 

“Look at them, sitting there. It’s going to take each of them a while to get off. They have to find their bags, pull them out and get off the plane.”

The stranger offered the weary wife a supportive look. She appreciated the gesture, even as she made sure all her items were ready to go.

“These things are beyond your control,” the stranger offered.

“That’s true, but it still bothers him,” she sighed as she held her bags tightly in her hand.

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Stock photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Twenty years ago this week, my wife and I got married.

Over the course of the next two decades, we have gone through numerous changes and challenges together, providing a united front for our children, hosting relatives during birthday parties and celebrating landmark occasions.

As I think about the many roles we’ve played in each other’s lives I am grateful for my wife, the teacher. In addition to taking time to help educate our children, she has also been an extraordinary educator for me.

Starting with something easy, she taught me to relax. Before I met her, I felt the need to move, almost all the time. Sitting on a beach, a bed or a rock at the top of the mountain seemed like a waste of time. Over the years, taking a moment to soak in the sun, to observe the trees and birds around us, or to talk and laugh about the events of the day have become increasingly enjoyable ways to spend time and connect.

While my wife has taught me the fine art of relaxing, she has also demonstrated an incredible work ethic, balancing between the needs of our family and the demands of her job. She finds time to respond to work emails, to read work material and to answer important calls, all while supporting our children at everything from sports scrimmages to concerts to graduations.

Neither of us is particularly fond of shopping. She has, however, demonstrated how to speed-shop in a store. She has a gift not only for finding what she or any member of our family needs — a black shirt for a coming concert, a white dress for a party or specific socks that are cool enough for school — but also doing it in the most efficient manner, enabling the four of us to race back to the car and on to other activities.

She has also taught me how to laugh. Of course I laughed before I met her, but the laughter wasn’t as frequent and it didn’t continue to help cement my relationship to someone as well as it does with my wife. The absurd surrounds us, if you know what to look for and how to find it.

Of course, I don’t necessarily cherish every lesson the same way. You see, my wife is a cat person, a trait she shares with her mother and siblings. When my wife was pregnant and during the months when she breastfed, I learned the fine art of scooping cat litter and, once a week, changing the pan. I learned how to do this unpleasant but necessary maintenance task as quickly as possible, leaving me with only a slight scent of cat litter on my clothes. Our young children enjoyed watching me expectorate for a full minute after the process ended.

She also taught me the sheer joy of walking the Earth with someone. Before I met her, I was an avid walker, trekking up and down West Meadow Beach, walking around neighborhoods in Manhattan and crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. Ever since then, we have covered thousands of miles in all types of terrain as we share our observations of everything from nature to the events of the day or week. Walking together in stride, I have felt a part of something larger and more meaningful than my own existence.

Ultimately, however, my wife taught me how to turn my dreams into a reality. When I was 13, I read about the Galapagos Islands. When I heard about how all the marine and island life ignores people, I knew I had to visit. Spurred on by my wife, we planned this journey, which in 2013 far exceeded my lofty expectations, just as each year does with the woman I married two decades ago.

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