Tablet Magazine - a new read on Jewish life

Back in the 1970s, my parents befriended a sporty, fun-lovin’ man named Don Shaver, who had the appeal of a Burt Reynolds. More appeal. Super fit, single, in his early 30s, great smile, huge amount of confidence—which I assume means he was gettin’ it—Don was a lady’s man from an era when it actually took charm to be charming. So my parents basically gave this guy carte blanche with their precious three preteens, and let Don Shaver (I think he may have had a mustache … of course he did!) drive me and my older sister and younger brother down our long driveway and out onto the open road. He drove us away, to put it simply. We drove five hours to a place called Busch Gardens. Don was on the sales and marketing side of Anheuser-Busch, after leaving a PR job for the Baltimore Orioles organization, which is how he met my dad. I can only assume that he had a pass to bring clients (or their children) to the park. It had to be a strategy. Why else would he have spent the day with Arnie and Tammy’s kids? Perhaps he was trying to take fatherdom out for a spin, to see if he was ready to settle down.