A letter to my son.

 This blog began as a documentary of sorts and then just a letter to my son Jason Michael Zukerman, and not Jason Harvey Zukerman. The latter, I don't even know who that is. 

I never really knew my own father, and after he died, it became almost impossible to learn who he had been. What he felt was important, his health history, his sense of humor, and his favorite jokes, and what he felt were the important things in life. I never knew any of those things, and I never will. 

Only now, after learning of his passing some 20-30 years ago in 1980 and much too late, did it become important enough to me to search for anything I could find about the other half of me. I did not want my son to face that same silence if he should ever come to that place where I am today where it begins to matter. 

 These pages here are meant to leave behind a firsthand account to fill the void if one is ever felt and my son has questions about what his father was about. Who I was, how I lived, what mattered to me, the good, the bad, and the uncomfortable, in my own words. Something I wish my father had thought to leave for me. 

Although the words contained in my posts are often heavy, they are a true and honest account of a man who had a son while still a kid himself, who never really got to know him. I came into this world under difficult circumstances. I often felt what I could only express in words on a page and not in person. So I wrote in my own voice and tone, not as some cry for sympathy or approval, but just a raw account in case the day ever comes that my son might want to know.