The following is a remembrance, excerpted from a past Medium article. I find it worthwhile today to honor his memory in this way, as time is passing far too quickly and I cannot believe it’s already been nine years.

In the interim, my life didn’t stop, and I fight every day to honor his memory, and far exceed his greatest hopes …

For those who do not know me, I am a novelist and writer-producer for television and film by profession, and have been an avid diarist since childhood. Few conversations could better elucidate my relationship with my father than the exchanges that follow:

December 17, 1983

I was 19 years old, and had just returned from the movie Yentl, directed by and starring Barbara Streisand.

Dad: Did you like the movie?

Me: It was okay.

Dad: What about the music?

Me: There was this one song Streisand sang. Papa Can You Hear Me? I loved it. The rest, not as much.

Dad: I figured. I figured you would like that song.

Me: Why?

Dad: I know you.

Me: Do you like it?

Dad: It’s okay.

Me: Does the song remind you of Gramps (my paternal grandfather, for clarity)?

Dad: Not particularly.

My father knew me better than anyone. I loved him. He was my real-life hero. And so, as I wanted to be a professional screenwriter, in my very first screenplay I exaggerated that reality.

This conversation took place the following morning, after he had read my work:

December 18, 1983

Dad: Yeah, I read it.

Me: First script I ever wrote. Took about eight months. Coulda had a baby by then.

Dad: I’m very proud of you for completing it.

Me: That’s it?

Dad: An opinion you want too?

Me: Well?

Dad: (pause) Let me ask you a question. What was the story about?

Me: I thought you read it.

Dad: I read it. Answer my question.

Me: Well, it was about a boy, whose dad plays a popular mid-1970’s television

superhero –

Dad: Starman, go ahead.

Me: Starman, right. So one day, in an alcohol and drug-induced stupor, his dad walks off the set of his show and completely disappears. Everyone, even his own family, thinks he killed himself. Years later the son receives a mysterious phone call, and he realizes his dad is still alive. He goes on a quest to find him, never sure of his intentions should he succeed. In the end, love conquers all.

Dad: Right. Let me ask you another question.

Me: Okay …

Dad: I don’t understand why the boy’s father had to be an alcoholic and drug-addict.

Me: That’s the point. He didn’t appreciate what he had, and —

Dad: Is that how you see me?

Me: What?

Dad: You heard me. Is that how you see me?

Me: I … Why do you ask me that? Come on, of course not. You know tha —

Dad: I thought I did. I guess I just didn’t understand it. Good job completing it

though. You okay?

Me: I guess I’m just a little surprised.

Dad: Don’t be upset, Junius (short for Jewish genius; I called him Plops). I’m sure I’ll love the next one.

Me: I’m sorry … I just thought … That’s why it’s called The Better Part of Me, because of the redemption. He idolized his dad, but didn’t understand if it was him he looked up to or the character he played on TV who everybody else loved. That’s why I made him a superhero because in his son’s eyes that’s what he always was —

Dad: Oy, your mom’s calling for dinner already. Come on, I still love ya.

Me: But he idolized him. It’s sort of like what would be if George Reeves had a son. Don’t you get it?

Dad: Don’t you wanna eat?

George Reeves, star of “The Adventures of Superman”

We had a deal. We would be honest with one another because, he would say, most people tell others what they want to hear, as opposed to what they need to hear. Truth is, though, I was crushed.

Still, his philosophy about honesty became a philosophy I adapted in short order. We will fast-forward from here.