Today is the one year anniversary of my Dad’s death. It’s been a very busy year and it went fast. But the phantom pain is still there. Everywhere I go, it’s like part of me is exposed, a piece of armor is missing. For understandable, though sometimes annoying, reasons lots of people — especially my more vicious and asinine email pests – think they know who I am because they think they know who my mother is. They’re wrong on both counts. But the really vast missing part of the equation is Poppa Goldberg. Strangers looking from the outside can be forgiven for not appreciating that. It’s very hard to know the role parents play in other peoples’ lives. But the last year has taught me that that role is so much larger than I ever appreciated. Anyway, I’d rather not bring down the Corner — or me — with a long meditation on all this. But I thought I should say something. If you’re interested, here are my remarks from his memorial service last year. As a piece of writing I think it holds up pretty well. As an expression of how I felt, and still feel, about my dad it’s simply the best I could do.