my father, the hero

I have my dad to thank for two things: my caterpillar eyebrows and my sense of humor. Well, actually that's a gross oversimplification. He also provided me with the perfect suburban childhood, an unabating love of Paul Simon, a healthy appetite for game birds, and all manner of luxurious creature comforts. In fact, when I come to visit my parents on Sundays, he still takes my car to get it washed (it's always filthy) and sometimes slips me a $20. I'm rather spoiled.

But who is Don Dorfman? He started life as the token Jewish kid among Scandinavians in Fargo, North Dakota. Yes, that Fargo. When he graduated high school, he hopped on a freight train and hitched a ride to Oregon, where he spent some time picking apples alongside migrant workers. Realizing the hobo life wasn't much of a permanent vocation, he attended the University of Michigan and Harvard Law School. Eventually, he ended up in San Francisco, where he met my mother and the rest, obviously, is all about me.

The pictures above are from his cross-country hobo journey on the back of a freight train, circa 1965. The pic on the bottom (my dad is the one in what looks like a white fur hat) is from Harvard, probably about 1970.