Something For Dad

June 20, 2003 was the day Stu died. And that, my friends, is the extent to which I refer to him in the past tense.

Every time I hear and see your joyous reaction to Stu’s Cheesecake, Dad must be told about it. It brings him much happiness.

Many of you never met him though you know his name. You have a sense of who he is. How many of you call me Stu?

I crack open some cream cheese. I think about Stu. I bake the cake thinking of Stu. Because of my uncanny ability to relate any life experience to a Stephen Sondheim song, “Or am I just being kind? Or am I losing my mind?”

He resides in my heart; always available to speak. I get that concept. However, an experience happens. With the cheesecake, there’s something tangible. With all of you, there is a shared, visceral joy.

It brings Dad back in a way I can’t dream imaginable. Honestly, who needs a channeler? I have a cheesecake.

For helping to bring him here, I thank you.

Do I miss him. Yes. Am I sometimes sad? Same answer. It doesn’t last long.  Stu's Cheesecake is something I do for me and him.

It’s impossible to be sad, looking at a cheesecake crack. Stare into it and you can see your future.

This is the cake I baked on June 20 in his honor.

The two and only.  My mom and dad, Rae and Stu Mikelberg