The Book

During that surreal, hazy and frankly terrible week immediately following my father’s death, one of the few bright spots was coming together with my mom and sisters to sort through family photos and other long-forgotten personal items for the memorial service. There were smiles, tears and even a few laughs – but when we found The Book, there were more gasps than anything else.

My dad didn’t really keep secrets, but he DID deliberately withhold information from time to time. Sometimes it was because he wanted you to ask him about it – which we usually were happy to – or sometimes, it was to trot it out at the perfect time. As is the case with most wits, timing was everything to Mark Derkin – after all, there’s nothing like a word bomb dropped at just the right time.

Such was the case with The Book – I don’t know if he was saving its reveal for later or if it was something he hadn’t planned on sharing, but its discovery couldn’t have come at a better time. It reminded me, yet again, of my father’s exceptionalism, his wit, his powers of observation, his bravery – and I decided at that moment to re-dedicate my life to embodying those characteristics in his honor. Because seeing these qualities on paper, written in the distinctive scrawl that I knew and loved for 37 years, was just the catalyst I needed to figure out what I could do to help his memory live on.

Hence The Ride.