A story about my dad (and why I do this work)

Last week at the incredible Daily Drip SPARK event, I shared a story about the why behind what I do as a speaking coach, and I thought I would share it with this community here, too.

A few years ago I am with my siblings, seated on a hard wood bench in a large room - we are hugging each other – and I am uncomfortable -- for a number of reasons.

The first – I am not much for hugging, something I have been seriously working on. I am wearing a badly fitting, wrinkled suit that I’ve hastily stuffed into a bag on this quick unexpected trip from Miami, where I live to New York, where I once lived -- and uncomfortable knowing that there are a lot of eyes on the back of my head.

It’s my dad's funeral. He was 94 and lived a great life – but are we ever really prepared for that day. Maybe we subconsciously delude ourselves into believing that because our parents have been around for so long, they are here to stay.

So it is a sad event - and I am, well uncomfortable. But for some reason, I turn around and in the middle of the sadness and discomfort, something else bubbles up.

Pride.

I see more than 100 people filling the room (later I learn it is more like 150, but who is counting:). People of different backgrounds, generations, races, and religions, members of my dad’s synagogue. People from the charitable organizations to which he gave his time.

One hundred plus lives, all intersecting in that room.

Even at the end of a long life, his world was still growing. He didn’t just know a lot of people; he connected them.

And the way he did that—better than anyone I’ve ever known—was through storytelling.

He was a humorist, an intellectual, a journalist, and terrible punster.

He loved telling stories.

And just as much, he loved hearing them. With genuine curiosity. and delight, with respect. He made people feel safe and seen.

My dad taught me a valuable lesson:

Storytelling isn’t just communication.

It’s community.

When someone shares their story honestly, other people remember they belong.

I still think about him every day. There are moments when I reach for my phone to call him, to share something extraordinary or ordinary ——and then I remember.

And I stop.

But I also know this: although he is not here, I carry him with me in the work that I do. Because helping people discover their own stories—that connect, heal, inspire, that bring communities together—that’s how I honor his legacy.

Love you Dad.

Do you have a story that you want to share?

Do it! The world needs it-now. more than ever.

Share Your Story, Change The World.

(Photo: me and Dad, reading each other's books - so glad I got this photo a year before he left us).