Alfred Beckerman, part 1:
Ghost story.

5 July 2002–One year, maybe fifteen years ago, my father took the day off work, as many Jews do, in observance of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. Instead of going to synagogue, however, he went for a leisurely ride on his bicycle. He got hit by a car.

It wasn’t that serious an accident. Nothing broken, anyway; I think he was just shaken up a little. I can’t remember how it happened. I do recall, though, that we joked quite a bit that God apparently wasn’t too happy about Dad’s choice of observance. I think even he had a good laugh at his own expense.

On the eve of another Yom Kippur, years later, long after my father had passed away, I found myself speeding home. I was trying to eat dinner before the sun went down and the traditional one-day fast began. Trouble was, I didn’t have all the ingredients I needed for the challah I would bake the next day, my own traditional breaking of the fast.

I drove over to the market near my house and rushed around the aisles, gathering what I needed. I grabbed a quick take-home dinner and was heading for the exit when I passed the ghost of my father. He was older, like my father, and had a paunch, like my father. Other than that, he didn’t really look like my father, but I knew it was his ghost. It was his shirt that gave it away.

It was a simple blue t-shirt with a message written in white felt iron-on letters, of the variety one gets at custom t-shirt shops. It read, in all caps — the way such t-shirt shops always do it — "I’D RATHER BE SAILING."

Funny, that’s what’s written on my father’s gravestone.

He had a penchant for such funny shirts. Saturdays we spent wandering around Westwood Village in Los Angeles usually included a trip to the t-shirt shop. He had a bunch of them. He was buried in one of them, actually: "Life Is Short — Eat Dessert First." For some reason I thought it was "Everyone Believes in Something — I Believe I’ll Have Some More Chocolate," but my sister was right, it was the other one. I checked the records. He had one that read "I’d Rather Be Sailing," but it, like all his others, was designed rather than custom-printed, so it was nicely done with upper- and lower-case letters, nothing so gauche as what the ghost was wearing. But the message was the same.

The apparition walked right toward me but didn’t say anything, as though he didn’t recognize me. I was sure he had come to make sure I got home in time. I told him about the gravestone and how it matched his shirt, thinking that would make him recognize me, but the ghost merely frowned and walked away.