My Fathers Club by Michael Libling quotWhen I diequot my father once said to me quotIll try to do it when youre in town so you wonthave to make a special trip for the funeral.quot It was the last week in November. I was up in Toronto for a shoot a commercial for some lamecarpet deodorizer that reminded me of dog dipped in amaretto I know because I once had a dogdipped in amaretto for a booze spot I was producing. Anyhow these things can go slow for anynumber of reasons. Last session for instance the actress wed hired to tout the virtues of ageriatric laxative for women couldnt coordinate her eyes with her smile and it took upwardsof seventy takes before we got a sincere look of relief out of her. But this time the budgetwas extra tight and we wrapped on schedule. We just needed the carpets to look alternatelysmelly and unsmelly and we had plenty of shots that tufted right. To con the client into thinking his business was a bigger deal than it really was the agencydecided to cap the day with a sushi feast cross town and though Ive a soft spot for sake andyellowtail I felt it best to pass in favor of a visit with my dad. For years I had beenmending my relationship with him in twenty-minute snatches. I hadnt seen him since beforeLabor Day and knew it would be a stretch before Id get another chance. With the job in NewYork the agency booming and all squeezing in trips back home was no easy feat. I grabbed a cab outside the studio and headed up Yonge toward Sheppard. I never like to drop inanywhere empty-handed a trait picked up from Dad incidentally so I had the driver let meoff at the Chinese take-out on the corner. A hot wok and a short block later I stood beforethe elevators in my fathers building two bags of his favorites cradled in my arms. Truth betold everything on every menu