Saturdays with Seniors: Roberta’s Inventive Dad

Roberta Siegel, our Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger today, is working on a book about her father. Henry Naftulin’s parents and older siblings immigrated from Kiev — he was the first to be born in America, he served as a medic in World War II, and later worked as a scientist and inventor at the Michael Reese Research Foundation in Chicago. Roberta started writing her book after working to obtain a promised Bronze Star for her father. The effort was successful, but the book remains a work in progress. Today’s post is an excerpt from the section about Henry’s life at home with his family after the war.

Regards to All — Take a Pill. Go fly a Kite. A Skokie Story.

by Roberta Siegel

Roberta is on her father’s lap, celebrating her first birthday with him and her sisters.

The first time I remember being treated to a Dad version of nursing care I was no more than six or seven. I needed to take my first non-child-friendly pill. Most likely an antibiotic, it was school colors: yellow and blue.

Dad came straight up to my room after a long ride home from a day’s work at the foundation. Must have been cold outside: I could feel it on his woolen overcoat. he sat on the edge of my bed in the darkened room and gave me instructions on how to take a pill. “Just let it sit on your tongue, right in the middle,” he said. “Now, take a small sip of water and hold it in your mouth so you can feel the pill float like a little boat on the lake.” I picked up the small glass of water next to my bed and did as I was told.

Sure enough, the pill had enough air in it to float around in my mouth. “Now, swallow the water.” I followed his order, and sure enough, that worrisome pill floated right on down my throat. My dad excelled in the art of breaking down a task into its smallest components, then rearranging them in a novel and efficient manner. He did that every day, in all sorts of situations.

One of our favorite shared memories is the day we three girls went out with Dad to fly a kite. Days when Dad had the three of us on his own without Mom stood out. So much so that all three of us shared it with him the day he passed away.

That special day, the four of us trooped over to the playground behind Kenton School. After walking past the two houses to the north, we crossed Main Street to the school grounds carrying a regular paper kite along with us. It’s tail was rags tied to the bottom for ballast. I’d brought the kite home from Alexander’s Five and Dime along with kite string and an urgent need to send it aloft.

So, here we were, on a lovely early spring day with the wind blowing just enough for a good launch. The kite sailed magically up and up. As we let out more and more string, we ended up letting it out so far that the kite looked tiny. The spool of string was almost empty!

Turned out dad had been letting the string out long so we wouldn’t hurt our hands. Now that the kite was established, he handed it off to us. We took turns holding the string, feeling the strength of the unseen wind buffeting the kite.

Then came the moment that made it magical and memorable. Dad found some paper hidden in his jacket — along with a pen. He gave each of us a piece. “Write a wish on it!” he said, explaining we would send our wish up to the sky. Then he poked a hole in the middle and slipped the stick holding the remains of the string through it. The wind took the messages all the way up the kite string to the kite.

I don’t know what my sisters’ wishes were, but I remember mine: I wished this day would never end.