It's Me

As Father's Day approaches, I'm starting to reminisce about silly things that remind me of him.

When I was going to school in New York, when Dad would call, someone would pick up the phone -- not always me -- and say "Hello."

Dad would always say, "It's Me." Dad expected me to recognize his voice without identification because he was my father -- even though he sounded like half the guys in New York (he was born in Brooklyn and still had a light accent).

What was so ludicrous was, as I said, it wasn't always me answering the phone. Often it'd be my roommate or a friend, but he never recognized my voice without identification even though just about everyone else did. We all knew it was my father because he was the only person audacious enough to identify himself only as "Me."

It got to be a running joke with my friends. I'd call and go "It's Me," and anyone who'd ever answered my phone knew it was me for the same reason.