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D. None of the above

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Here we are, poised on the precipice of 2024, or, if you’d prefer, at the bottom of the mountain, looking up at the year ahead.

What a privilege to start 2024 together, to share the same air, to enjoy or brace for the same weather, to root for or against the same teams and to revel in the miracle of our children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews and neighbors.

As we venture into the days, weeks and months ahead, we can all see certain patterns continuing because, let’s face it, we know the familiar playbook people use. I would love to figure out how to capitalize on some coming certainties. If, for example, we had a dime for every time the song “Jingle Bells” came on in department stores around the country in the last few weeks of each year, we’d have enough money to buy our own one-horse open sleigh and fill it with presents. With that in mind, I’d like to consider certainties or near certainties in various realms.

Political:

Let’s start with former president Donald Trump. A dime for every time he insulted someone could pay for an enjoyable and deluxe vacation to Europe or, if you prefer, a week or more at a Disney resort.

A dime for each time he uttered the words “rigged,” “witch hunt,” or “socialist,” would also net some nice cash.

Collecting money when he referred to himself in the third person, as in “only Donald Trump can fix that” would also prove profitable.

President Biden, of course, has his go-to approaches and idiosyncrasies as well. Collecting money when he misspoke or stepped in the wrong direction would turn gaffes into cash.

Or, perhaps, adding money each time he became angry or annoyed with someone would also provide considerably more change than the typical back of the couch.

Collecting cash each day that goes by without the president taking questions from the Press Corps or reacting to unscripted moments would also build wealth.

A dime for each time Chris Christie insults Trump would help build a college fund.

Oh, and some change for each time Jim Jordan (R-OH) takes off his coat, MTG scowls, Ron DeSantis uses the word “woke” or attacks Disney, AOC insults NYC, or Nikki Haley smiles when she’s insulted would also make real money.

Sports:

Ah, yes, the world of sports not only is filled with cliches, but also has predictable patterns.

Fans and sports talk radio hosts always know better. Monday morning quarterbacking has become something between a religion and a profession.

The next day, everyone else always claims to have known exactly when to take a pitcher out of a ballgame, when to run the ball and when to take a time out. 

The pundits on the sidelines always know better about the Big Game than the people who are paid to make the decisions.

And, of course, with the Olympics coming in Paris this year, we can anticipate the back stories about athletes who are competing in memory of a cherished dead relative who inspired them. If we the viewers had a dime for every tear shed during these serious and melodramatic moments, we’d be able to afford the plane ticket to Paris to watch the Games in person.

I’m not minimizing the inspiration these athletes take from their relatives, coaches and friends. I’m reflecting on the types of stories, with their sad, moving slow guitar background music, these networks share, combining loss and grief with determination and the quest for glory.

Random but predictable moments:

As a coach for many teams, I am sure parents throughout the country are convinced that their children are being short changed. A dime for each parent complaint could provide a down payment for a new field.

I’d also like to collect money each time someone who talks all the time “breaks their silence” on something. It’s amusing when headline writers suggest that, say, Britney Spears or one of the Kardashians breaks their silence on anything. I thought these non-stop celebrities shared every thought in their heads. Ah yes, a dime for each deep internal secret of people who would do well to be more discrete would also build wealth.

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Shohei Ohtani. Photo by Mogami Kariya/Wikimedia Commons

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

You know when you were younger and your parents, grandparents, teachers and adults in general urged you to “make every second count.”

“A second,” you’d scoff incredulously. “How much could I do in a second? It took me longer than a second just to say those words, and those, and those, and they don’t seem to count for much.”

While that may be true most of the time for most of us, it’s certainly not the case for sport’s best paid athlete, the baseball sensation Shohei Ohtani, who signed a $700 million contract to play for the Los Angeles Dodgers over the next decade.

To borrow from the Tom Cruise movie “Jerry Maguire,” the Dodgers showed him the money!

Wait, don’t go if you’re not a sports fan. This isn’t about baseball. It’s about money!

Just for fun, let’s take a closer look at the approximately $33.5 million Sports Insider Andrew Petcash estimates Ohtani will earn per year after taxes and fees.

Assuming he’s paid for every second of each year, that means, he earns $1.06 each second. That’s what he’ll earn each second he sleeps, eats, sits in traffic, brushes his teeth or waits for an announcer to say his name so he can run on the field.

Assuming he has a healthy 60 beats per minute heart rate, that means each time his heart goes “lub-dub,” he earns about a dollar.

According to a website called covers.com, the average time to sing “The National Anthem” is 115.4 seconds, which means Ohtani makes $122.32 each time he listens to the national anthem of a country where he’s earning much more than a living.

Extending the math a bit, Ohtani clears $3,824.74 per hour.

As for each day, he’ll make $91,780.82. At that rate, it will take the star pitcher and home run hitter (yes, he can do both) 11 days to make a million dollars.

Each month, his after tax take home pay will be $2.79 million. Assuming Ohtani, who is single, follows the General Rule for engagement rings, namely, that he should spend at least two months of salary on the ring, some lucky future partner may be in line for a ring that costs $5.58 million. That assumes the value of the ring comes from what he’s taking home and not his overall salary. If he chose a ring based on his gross pay, he’d spend a whopping $11.7 million, which is the equivalent of 16 average priced homes in Setauket.

So, speaking of cash, what does $33.5 million look like? If you stacked dollar bills, which are 0.0043 inches wide, one on top of the other without any extra space between the bills, the pile of money would reach 12,004 feet. That would stretch 2.3 miles into the sky. 

Now, if he were to try to hold that money — and no one uses cash anymore, so why would he – he would need more than a few teammates. There are $454 dollar bills in a pound, which means that $33.5 million weighs 73,788 pounds. 

Realistically, dollar bills aren’t the most likely currency for someone who earns over $1 for every second. Maybe you’d prefer to stack $1,000 bills? That would still present a pile of money that’s about 12 feet tall. Imagine how much money you’d make if you were standing downwind of that pile during a sudden gust? That sounds like the winner’s circle for a future game show. 

Of course, you say, the first player since Babe Ruth to demonstrate proficiency as a pitcher and a home run hitter is not getting paid for every second, but, rather, for the magic he works on the field.

If we want to break it down just to the time he’s paid during games, the average time for a baseball game in 2023 was two hours and 42 minutes. The season has 162 games. Let’s throw in 19 additional games, assuming his Dodgers win each series in the maximum number of games and become World Series champions. That means, he’s a part of 29,322 minutes of baseball or 1.8 million seconds. Assuming his paycheck covers games and not all the practice time and spring training, he clears $38.88 per second. So, depending on how you look at it, he earns somewhere between $1.06 for every second of each year and $38.88 for each second he plays. 

Yeah, and you thought your lawyer was charging you a pretty penny!

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We have friends who live close to us who are pregnant. Okay, that sounds weird, right? She’s pregnant, and he looks sheepish, like he’s not sure what’s coming.

That’s not entirely fair. He was socially awkward before he brought his small package of genetic material to the pregnancy party. Why would anyone imagine he would be any different in the months before he makes a head first dive down the rabbit hole into the wonders and challenges of parenthood?

Now, if their families are anything like others I’ve known, they are bound to have a wide range of pre and post delivery discussions.

“Are you going to name the baby after my side of the family?”

“Make sure you put sugar, spice and everything nice in the crib or the baby will become colicky like your Aunt Michelle. She was one of the most miserable babies we’ve ever seen and that’s because her mother forgot about the sugar and spice under the crib.”

One of the most fascinating and sometimes confounding parts of the baby discussion, which can extend well into the years that follow, is the family credit for various traits.

To wit, “He’s incredibly serious and focused just like his Uncle Oswald. That Oswald was a man with a purpose from the time he was born, just like your little baby Joey.”

Or maybe, “Morgan has the same broad smile, laugh or sense of humor as her Aunt Carol.”

Each family can dig in, sharing ways that the developing child has characteristics they are convinced come from one side of the family, often from the speaker who has a proprietary interest in propagating the enduring myth of a family heritage.

Such talk suggests somehow that heredity is much more important than environment. The credit can go beyond physical characteristics such as long eyelashes, rounded shoulders, or sparkling eyes: they can include artistic talent, an ability to relate to other people, or a proficiency for languages.

That somehow seems un-American. After all, we the people generally believe that hard work can help people become proficient in any area, developing the kind of talent that differentiates them in their field and allowing them to control their destiny.

Such strong genetic links, while providing an appealing way to connect to ancestors and to those who aren’t around to smile and play with their descendants, is akin, if you’ll pardon the pun, to linking someone’s last name to their profession.

“Oh, the Jones family? Sure, they all became teachers. The Berringtons went into the clothing business, while the Shimmers all became dentists. They all have such gifted dental hands.”

Such blanket statements about where someone’s exceptionalism originated also throws the other sides of the family into the shadows, as if their only role were to ensure the ongoing survival of the dominant and more important family tree.

Family trees, however, like the trees that people decorate around this time of year, have bilateral symmetry, with people decorating each side in popcorn, cranberries and/or holiday lights.

Rarely does anyone do a deep dive into the other side of a family, learning whether the Jones family had faster legs, a quicker wit, better grades or a stronger work ethic.

Then again, the point of these claims isn’t to be scientific, thorough or even fair. It’s a way to connect the children of today with those who came before. Even if people don’t believe in reincarnation, focus on genes, or contemplate the enduring qualities of any family culture, they might feel tremendous joy and comfort hoping that this person’s unwritten life includes future chapters that reflect a familial past that need not be exclusive to one branch, one side or one person.

Story weaving may help give a developing life context and meaning. Ideally, those attributes and connections may remind the family and this new person about the kind of strong and accomplished roots that can help him or her develop into the kind of person he or she chooses to be, which would be a win for everyone.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Rufus is not sure what to do. He’s never there first. He circles the yard carefully, looking back at the fence. Bob sits in his usual seat at the picnic table, talking on his phone.

He doesn’t want to run before the others arrive. He sits under a tree, closes his eyes and allows the smells to fill his ample nostrils.

“Hi,” chirps Peanut, jumping up to reach his face. “Hi, hi, hi, hi!”

“Back up,” Rufus barks, “you’re too close.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she says. Peanut repeats herself in that high tone that annoys Rufus. “Even though I can’t see red or green, I know that holiday sweater is hideous,” Rufus said.

Fifi lowers her head.

“On the plus side,” he adds, “your fur looks great.”

Fifi prances in approval. She likes it when others notice that she’s been to the groomer.

Rufus glances at Andrea, Fifi’s human. He likes the way she scratches his ears and looks directly in his eyes.

Finally, the rest of the crew races over, tongues hanging out, fur flying off Oscar as he skids to a stop.

After the customary butt smelling, Oscar, the golden retriever, speaks.

“You had Uncle Doug’s sweet potato?” he asks Cole, an apricot poodle. “Does that taste as good as it smells?”

Cole barks his agreement, although he eats it so quickly he barely tastes anything. “And you had asparagus,” Cole says to Rufus.

Rufus sticks out his tongue. He doesn’t get his usual treat from Bob during Thanksgiving unless he has a few pieces of asparagus, which he hates.

“Stories?” King demands.

A French Mastiff, King regularly reminds the group he has the shortest life expectancy so he can’t waste time on food chatter.

“Bob’s got a new girlfriend,” Rufus starts. “She reminded him to walk me earlier than usual. She makes him shut the bedroom door, but she makes up for it by giving me more leftovers.”

“Nice,” barks Roxie. “Glad someone had a good holiday.”

“What? What? What?” barked Peanut.

A basset hound, Roxie hates her name and her short legs. Her ears also annoy her because they fall in her water when she drinks

“My family had a huge gathering,” Roxie barks. “These new kids thought they could teach me to fetch. I don’t fetch. Do they think I’m a golden retriever?”

“Hey!” Oscar barks.

“No offense,” Roxie adds. “What about you?”

“Aunt Linda spent the entire dinner saying she shouldn’t eat garlic. She didn’t listen to herself and was in the bathroom for an hour, groaning and cursing. How about you, Cole?”

Cole is among the tallest dogs at the run, particularly after he went to the stylist. Cole wanders over to the water bowl, with the rest of the group following closely.

“Cole?” Fifi asks. It is one of the rare times she doesn’t repeat herself.

“We watched movies in the dark,” Cole shrugs.

“There’s more,” says Rufus. “What’s going on?”

“Audrey looked out the window and wiped her eyes all weekend,” Roxie says. “She kept whispering how much she missed her brother.”

“What happened?” Oscar asks.

“I don’t think she’s going to see him again,” Cole says. “When I leaned into her legs, she ran her wet hand over my face. Other than a few walks, she spent most of her time on the couch. She barely ate, so I didn’t eat much, either.”

“Sad, sad, said,” barks Fifi.

Rufus agrees.

“You did what you should have done,” King says, the folds under his lips turning down. “You’re going to help her and we’re going to need to help you.”

“Help? How?” Oscar asks. Whenever Oscar became anxious, he circled the water dishes at the run. He knocks one over.

“My bad,” he says.

“Cole drinks first,” King says. “And we let Cole go to Andrea before the rest of us. We all know she’s the favorite human.”

Fifi nods, indicating she would share.

“How about you, King?” Rufus asks.

“It was great,” King says. “My family welcomed a new baby. At first, they kept me away, but they slowly let me see him. We’re going to be friends.”

“How do you know?” asks Cole.

“He touched his hand to my nose. It was soft and wonderful. He made me feel so young,” King adds.

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A Thanksgiving postcard. Photo courtesy Kenneth C. Brady Digital Archive

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Sending a text message to friends and family half way around the world and then getting an instant response is pretty incredible, shortening the distance between any two people.

And yet, as Thanksgiving approaches, I appreciate some of the earlier, albeit slower at times, elements of my younger years.

Take, for example, the postcard. Sure, people still send them, but postcards and letters are not as necessary or, in many cases, even considered. Even if people don’t send us texts, we can follow them on any of the social media sites where they’re showing us how they’re having the time of their lives and eating incredible food.

Over three decades ago, when my father died, I remember the exquisite and bittersweet pain from seeing the handwritten notes he’d left for himself. He didn’t have a smart phone where he could make electronic lists. Reading his pointed and slanted script was so deeply personal that I felt as if the letters and words connected us.

Once, years before he died, my father flew for a business trip. Eager to write to me and without any paper, he took out the barf bag from the seat in front of him, wrote about his travels and shared some dad humor, put it in an envelope and mailed it. I remember smiling broadly at the words he shared and the unconventional papyrus he’d chosen to carry those words.

The modern world of digital pictures and digital cameras gives me the opportunity to relive numerous experiences. I can easily sort those images by year and location, without needing to buy an album, find the right sequence of photos and slip them behind the translucent cover.

Still, remember when we used to bring rolls of film to the drug store for them to develop? We’d come back two or three days later, open up the often small green envelope and pour through the photos, wondering what we caught, what we missed and how the image compared with our memory.

The hit-or-miss nature of those photos made the imperfections somewhere between disappointing and perfect. They were real moments, when hair got in our eyes, when we shared our disappointment about a birthday present, or when we spilled a container of apple juice as we were blowing out candles.

What about all those photos from people in the early part of the 20th century? Didn’t they look utterly miserable? Was it the shorter life span, the challenging early days of the camera, bad dentistry and orthodonture or, perhaps, a culture that hadn’t yet suggested saying “cheese” or smiling for the camera?

My theory on those miserable faces, though, is that the pictures took so long to prepare amid challenging weather conditions — it was too hot to wear that overcoat — that people wanted the process to end so they could stop trying to hold a squirming child or ignore the need to scratch an itch.

Maybe I grew up in the sweet spot, where pictures weren’t instant but were easy enough to take that they didn’t require endless retakes. Yes, I have friends and relatives who insisted on taking 37 shots of the same moment, just in case someone was closing their eyes, which triggered the kind of fake smile in me that I recognize in my children when they’re eager to be somewhere else, doing something else, and, most likely, looking down at their phones to see pictures of other people.

This Thanksgiving, I appreciate not only the gifts of the present, with the endless storage space on my phone and the ability to capture life in real time, but also the perspective from a past, where the anticipation of seeing a snapped photograph or receiving a postcard turned the pictures into keepsakes and memory gifts.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We’ve come a long way from the “my dog ate my homework” days.

I mean, come on, let’s give our society the credit it’s due. We have taken the blame game, the finger pointing and the it-couldn’t-be-me-because-butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth game to an entirely new stratosphere.

Gone are the days of simple, linear and mostly nonsensical excuses.

Let’s start in Washington, DC, which is the biggest clown show this side of the Atlantic and where the notion of a democracy gets battle tested nearly every day

Who is responsible for the national debt? That, of course, depends on whom you ask. The democrats point to former President Trump, while the republicans accuse President Biden and the Democrats.

Maybe those wily politicians are onto something. You see, if no one takes responsibility for anything and we can point fingers at the other side reflexively and without any effort to compromise and work together, we can live without consequence, create our own economics and come up with judgmental and schoolyard bully nicknames for the other side.

Brilliant! Blame someone else convincingly enough and not only do you not have to look in the mirror or come up with solutions, but you can also turn your entire reason for being into defeating the other side or, at the very least, enjoying their losses.

Look, I’m a Yankees fan. I know all about Schadenfreude. The next best thing to a Yankees victory, and it’s a close second, is a Red Sox loss.

But I digress. People have turned blaming others into a fine art. In sports, athletes and coaches deploy the modern blame game to excuse their losses or to step back from accepting responsibility or, perish the thought, to give the other team credit.

Like a zebra in the Serengeti to a hungry lion, referees in their striped uniforms in football games become convenient targets. They took away a victory by calling a game against us. Athletes and coaches can dig their verbal claws and teeth into those officials, who stole what would certainly have been a more favorable outcome.

How about school? It couldn’t possibly be the fault of our angelic children, who were busy watching these athletes on TV or on their phones the night before, for doing poorly on a test. It has to be the teacher’s fault. If teachers could only inspire their classes, our children would learn and excel. 

You know who I like to blame? I like to focus on tall people. Don’t get me wrong. Some of my best friends are tall. It’s just that, well, have you noticed that tall people get a lot of attention? Some of them are CEOs of big companies and make enormous salaries. They are also picked first in gym, which gives them the confidence to become successful.

While we’re affixing blame, let’s also shake our heads at gym class. Sure, it’s healthy to run around and have a few moments when we’re not listening to teachers who may or may not inspire us, but gym class can bruise egos and create a Darwinian world where height, which is kind of the fault of our parents and their parents and on and on, is an advantage.

Hey, I’m not whining. Okay, well, maybe I am, but it’s not me and it’s certainly not my fault. I blame society, commentators on TV, coaches, politicians, teachers, my parents, your parents, the parents of the kid who served as a bad role model for my kids, and maybe Adam, Eve and the snake for putting us in this position.

Oh, and you can be sure butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. I have a dairy allergy, which, ironically, is the fault of my dairy farmer grandfather.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We are on the precipice of a few social evenings. As such, I have prepared the internal and external dialog of one such potential interaction. Yes, some of it reflects my performance in previous gatherings, while other elements are exaggerated versions of what may happen. And away we go:

“Hi Pat, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dan.”

“Good to meet you, too, Dan.”

Ow, did you have to squeeze my hand that hard? Were you trying to prove something? I get it. You’re bigger and stronger than I am. You probably lift weights and stare at yourself in the mirror at the gym while you listen to Annie’s “Tomorrow.” No, I know you don’t listen to Annie. At least, not in public..

Not that you asked, but I like to sweat in the gym, too. I use the elliptical machine, the bike and the treadmill. 

“So, did Maria tell you about me?”

Wait, who’s Maria? Oh, right, your wife, the woman standing next to you. She’s the reason we’re here. Our wives worked together a few years ago and now the four of us are going out to dinner.

Pat is talking about how great he is at bowling.

He wants me to smile, so I’m smiling, but I’m not sure what he said. Maybe it was self deprecating? Nope, doesn’t seem likely. He’s talking about how much his average has gone up since he joined the Thursday night league.

“Good for you,” I say.

He nods appreciatively. Whew! I said the right thing. Go me! 

Oh, cool, now he’s talking about how great his son is at tennis. I’m picturing myself scuba diving. I’m looking at him, but I’m imaging fish around me, the warm water, and the bubbles that expand as they head to the surface. Nice! Life is good down here. Oh, wait, he just touched my shoulder. He wants me to say something. Staring into space isn’t enough.

“You know what I’m saying?” he asked.

I’m sorry, no. I don’t know, but I’m going to nod and hope that’s enough. Nope, clearly not.

“Tell me more about your son,” I say.

That’s enough. He’s off to the races with another story about some incredible app his son is working on that already has over 1,000 subscribers. My wife seems to be enjoying Maria’s company. Wait, no, she wrinkled her eyes subtly at me. Uh oh! She knows I’m not paying attention to John. No, that’s not his name. It begins with a P. No, hold on. I’ll get it. It’s Paul.

“So, Dan,” she says, “did Pat tell you about their plans to go to Alaska this summer?”

Pat! Duh. How easy was that? I would have gotten it eventually. No, I wouldn’t. Who am I kidding? 

I’m going to focus closely on his story. He’s talking about how much he enjoys vacations. I like vacations.

“Alaska was pretty amazing,” I say, hoping I shared the right sentiment. “We saw whales, drove a dog sled, and ate fresh fish.”

He’s always wanted to go to Alaska. He can’t wait to see the wide open terrain. He wonders whether it’ll be the same 500 years from now.

Assuming the Earth is still here and is habitable, what will humans be talking about and thinking about in 500 years? Will a potentially longer life span mean that future humans will be more patient? Will they think about what our life was like today? They’re as likely to think about us as we are to think about the people who shared the world of 1523.

The evening is almost over. We pay the check and talk about how wonderful it is to to go out together.

“Yes, we should do this again some time,” I say as we head towards the car. Maria and my wife give each other a professional hug – not too long and not too close – while Pat and I share a manly handshake. Pat seems to appreciate the firmer grip.

“Something wrong with your hand?” my wife asks as we walk towards the car.

“Nope, all good,” I say, as I try to bring the circulation back to my fingers.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

My wife and I used to say “the recording is always on.”

It was our code words to each other to be careful about what we said and did in front of our children, particularly when, as many parents know, we might not want our children to act or speak in the same way we might be tempted to in the moment.

Our children have an incredible ability to monitor everything we do, even when they don’t appear to be paying any attention to us. Sometimes, they actively choose the opposite because our choices annoyed or frustrated them.

If, as many of us say and believe, we want our children to be better than we are, we wish them well, wait and watch, hoping their happiness, success and achievements far exceed our own.

Perhaps such reaction formation is what brings grandparents and grandchildren together, causing various characteristics to skip a generation, as two opposites create the same.

Aside from things like weekly routines, an emphasis (or not) on achievements like community service, or performance in sports or music, parents recognize that we are role models.

In the movie “42” about trailblazer Jackie Robinson, the first African-American man to play in Major League Baseball, a father shouts racial epithets at Robinson, leading his conflicted son to ponder how to behave. The son echoes what his father shouts.

In that moment, Peewee Reese puts his arm around Robinson, offering his public support and quieting the hostile crowd. Reese even suggests, as a nod to the realities of today, that “Maybe tomorrow we’ll all wear number 42. That way they won’t tell us apart.”

Films are great, but we don’t live in a world where supportive music and smiling heroes remind us who we are or how we should act.

It’s up to us to decide how to be better for ourselves and for our children.

A friend recently shared a story about his daughter. A college student, she was working at an ice cream store during a fall break. A few customers came in and a man in the group asked her where she attended college.

When she told him, the man suggested that there were Muslims who attended that college and it would be easy enough to take a few of them behind the shed and get rid of them.

The man who made a joke about murder at a time of violent conflict in the Middle East and ongoing and hostile disagreements among Americans probably wasn’t thinking about his children, about my friend’s daughter, or anyone else.

Maybe he was repeating the words his father or mother said at the dinner table, after an evening of drinking or within minutes of leaving a house of worship.

Is that the person he wants to be? Is that what he would encourage his own children to believe, that people who practice other religions or have other beliefs are somehow such enemies that it’s okay to make such a comment?

We have to be better than that. Maybe the guy didn’t mean it, but even saying it suggests that he not only thought it, but that he also likely shared that idea in some context in front of his children.

Killing and hatred won’t end if we don’t hold ourselves accountable for our actions and words.

We identify ourselves in particular ways, by such factors as nationality, religion, race, among many other labels.

Those identifiers, many of which we didn’t choose but are an accident of our birth, mean that others around us are on the outside, associating with a different group.

We owe it to our children to imagine and create a better world. That starts by serving as role models and not as reflexive perpetuators of anger, hatred, or prejudice towards those we consider others.

With the world echoing the conditions from the 20th century, we should speak and act in ways that bring people together and that would make us proud if and when we heard our children making those same, or perhaps better, remarks.

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President Barack Obama said he wanted even more funding for treatment. File photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Years before he was the 44th president of the United States, Barack Obama gave me a call.

I was working at Bloomberg News as a banking reporter and was covering some financial services issue. A source of mine suggested that I chat with this state senator from Illinois, whom he insisted was going places. My source clearly recognized Obama’s potential.

What I recall about a conversation that was akin to getting a rookie card for Derek Jeter was that Obama was erudite, eloquent and halting in his response to my questions. Attuned to the rapid pace of New York conversation, I was unaccustomed to the cadence of his conversation.

When Obama ran for office, I recognized not only his name but also his speech pattern.

I have had brushes with a wide range of people of varying levels of fame, often times in the context of my work as a journalist. Please find below a brief compendium of such interactions.

— Jim Lovell. The commander of Apollo 13, Lovell and his wife Marilyn attended an event in Florida where I was their point of contact. When the cool night breeze gave Marilyn a chill, Lovell jumped up to get her sweater and asked when they could leave. I asked my bosses, who wanted Lovell, who was the honored guest, to stay until after dinner. He was greatly appreciative when I told him he could finally lift off.

— Yogi Berra. I attended an event at Tavern on the Green event, where Berra was a client of the host. Even though I was only five foot, seven inches tall at the time (I’m probably a bit shorter now), I towered over the older and thin former Yankees catcher. When I told him it was an honor to meet him, he took my hand in his and offered a polite smile.

— Eliot Spitzer. Before he was a governor and client 9, Spitzer was a hard-charging New York Attorney General who went after investment banks for inflating stocks to help their business at the potential expense of investors. I spoke regularly with Spitzer, whose energy and intellect made it hard for my fingers to keep up while I was typing notes. I expected the impressive and ambitious Spitzer to ascend to national office.

— Scott Kelly. I interviewed Astronaut Scott Kelly after he set an American record for continuous time in space of 340 days aboard the International Space Station. With his then girlfriend, now wife, Amika Kauderer, in the room, the two of them described his book. She also recounted the second class treatment she received from some of the wives who weren’t impressed with her status as a girlfriend.

— Ed Koch. The former New York mayor was a staple at Bloomberg News, where I worked for several years. At 6 feet, two inches tall, Koch towered over me as he regularly filled his plate with some of the free snacks and sugary treats at the newsroom.

— Hank Paulson. I interviewed the former Chairman and CEO of Goldman Sachs at an International Monetary Fund meeting in Hong Kong. After I asked the first question, Paulson, who would become Treasury Secretary, yanked the microphone out of my hands and spent the rest of the interview holding it up to his mouth. I tried to project my voice into the microphone and above the chatter in a crowded restaurant.

— Goldie Hawn. At a lunch at Shun Lee Palace near Lincoln Center with a former banker from the now defunct Lehman Brothers, I spotted the famous actress as I approached her crowded table. Dressed in a sleeveless black dress, she could tell I recognized her. Rather than look away, she gave me a warm and welcoming smile. I wished, even moments later, that I had given her a thumbs up or an appreciative grin. 

— Earl “The Pearl” Monroe. When I was at the New York Daily News, I spoke regularly with the Knicks legend for a rookie (Channing Frye) vs. veteran stock picking contest. While he lost the contest, he couldn’t have been friendlier and more receptive during our weekly calls, updating me on his life and sharing his weekly stock picks.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We have a Rock And Roll Hall of Fame, a Baseball Hall of Fame, a US Space Walk of Fame, a Model Car Hall of Fame, and a World Video Hall of Fame, to name a few.

Why not a love hall of fame, which we could build right here on Long Island, with a picturesque view of the Long Island Sound or of one of the many glorious parks? After all, love is all around us, as the song and countless movies suggest.

Beyond the love for a child, spouse or family member, here are some of my nominees for the Love Hall of Fame. Feel free to share some of yours, if you’d like.

— Love of a pet. This is an easy place to start. After a tough day, what’s better than the feeling of a happy, furry, wet nose in your hands? Dogs and cats are popular not just because they’re great companions and don’t talk back when we’re rude or annoying, but because they are often so happy to see us that they run to get their favorite toy, chase balls for us, go on runs around the neighborhood, or lean against us while we read a book or watch our favorite films.

— Love of a song. Time disappears when we hear a song whose lyrics say exactly what we’re thinking or feeling or whose melody transports us to the moment we met our partner or spouse, learned that we’d been hired by our dream company or received admission to our top choice for college. Music can carry us back to that magic moment.

— Love of nature. We don’t all see or appreciate nature in the same way. Some of us adore snakes, mud puddles, and dark clouds, while others are moved by sunsets, water lapping on the shore, or a hawk soaring overhead. Whatever your favorite moments, nature provides an infinite array of spectacles, from the movements and behaviors of other animals to spectacular landscapes.

— Love of a sport. This one is particularly easy at this time of year. Passionate baseball fans are enjoying the last few innings of the playoffs, continuing whatever superstitions they think will help their teams win, while football is grinding through the first half of the season, hockey just started and basketball opens next Tuesday. Fans of a team, a sport, or all sports have plenty of choices for their agony and ecstasy.

— Love of cooking and eating. I’ve watched people, like my college roommate, who truly adore the fine art of cooking. They toss spices into the air, roll their wrists to stir pots, and conduct the scents of their creations into their receptive nostrils. When these same chefs eat, they appear filled and fulfilled, savoring the sauces, textures, flavors and combinations of tastes they brought to life.

— Love of art. People dedicate hours creating wood cabinets, landscape paintings, and portraits, as their imaginations shape the material in front of them.

— Love of religion. The world sometimes makes no sense. With its traditions, rituals, and, hopefully, spiritual encouragement, religion can help us find meaning and purpose and can connect us with our ancestors and with something larger than ourselves.

— Love of travel. People journey outside their immediate surroundings, visiting unfamiliar places and meeting new people whose lives differ but whose priorities – taking care of their children, contributing to the world, meeting their needs – are often the same. Undeterred by language differences, we can work through conversations, sharing moments with people who can become an ongoing part of our lives.

— Love of oneself. I know, I know. Numerous people have an overabundance of this that makes them insufferable. And yet, some people benefit from the right balance of enjoying their own company and sharing that sense of well-being and joy with others. I’m pretty sure Mary Poppins was able to love the children in her care because she – in the form of Julie Andrews or Emily Blunt – appreciated her own company.

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