My Turn: Memories are made by going off script

Of all the days we live, the great many pass us by without distinction. Just another Tuesday is typically followed by the same old Wednesday. There come those days, though, you just can’t let go of. You wake up early to spend extra time remembering them.

Because Sundays with my father were almost always special, my siblings and I remember many of them. One that stands out is the day we drove to watch the sun rise over the beach.

We were living in Astoria, Queens. At the time, Long Beach was our go-to beach. While I don’t know when my father hatched his plan, I do remember he briefed us Saturday afternoon. Because my mother had zero to little appetite for my father’s early-morning adventures, he may have been limiting the window for debate. Or maybe it came to him all of a sudden.

While we usually worked alone as a family, my father uncharacteristically invited two neighbor girls — Karen and Laurie Comparetti — to join us. My youngest brother, Joe, was still waiting to be born, so that meant my brother Mark, sister Annie, the Comparetti sisters, my parents and I squeezed into a 1963 light blue Chevy Impala.

Early Sunday morning Karen woke up our house by calling to ask if my father was serious. Without her call, I wonder if I would be writing this essay.

Although we pulled away from the curb while it was still dark, it wasn’t long before we realized daylight had the advantage on us. Like all good leaders, though, my father improvised a new plan. We pulled off the highway and climbed a hill, from which we watched the sunrise. We then got back in the car and continued to the beach.

What transformed this day from any old Sunday? The element of surprise had a lot to do with it. My father was not the type of man to throw away the script. Most Sunday mornings began with washing the car. Not this Sunday, though.

The sunrise, if you consider it for a moment, is a big deal. It is the moment the star at the center of our vast solar system, with a radius of 432,000 miles, dramatically pops into view. It is no wonder some cultures consider it to be a deity. The Atlantic Ocean, too, is a big deal. It was named for Atlas, the titan who holds up the heavens on his mighty shoulders. It covers more than 40 million square miles. My father helped to put all this in perspective.

Then, of course, there was Karen Comparetti. To me she was a goddess.

I can happily report I have had equally precious days with my own family. There was the magical morning I drove through upstate Columbia County with my younger daughter, Christina. She was still in her pajamas and the grass was silver with frost. My older daughter, Alexandra, and I roadtripped to a campus tour of Cornell University while listening to Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” again and again and again. Tender days shared with my wife Mary Ellen are still warm to the touch.

One day becomes the next, becomes the next, becomes the next. Make yours memorable.

Frank Salerno
Lloyd Neck