However, after using all of the superlatives on mama (yes, they said I was a mama's boy), I'm afraid papa will have to settle for the choices of adjectives I can conjure up.

My father was not the kind of man who would rate any notice from any of the print media. In fact, the only time in his entire life that papa's name made the papers was when he was listed alphabetically in the Obituary columns in 1959.

At one time in my father's life, he was a designer of women's apparel. I remember when I was a kid, some of his Main Line customers would travel down to papa's shop at 13th and Reed streets in South Philadelphia in their elegant, sparkling limousines to be fitted in the latest opera capes and suits. But papa's illness put an end to all that. From then on he took the role of supervising and monitoring the activities of his seven children.

Fortunately, mama was busy in her successful dry goods business. So papa busied himself checking our school work, our after school activities, our social lives, etc., giving counsel and ad- vice as effectively as any school counselor.

Papa had a demanding respect for people of authority. He also followed all the dictums of the church, government, and educators. To say papa was a strict taskmaster was an understatement. To him, everything had to be "right'' - or else it was "wrong.'' There was no middle ground. No gray area. No extenuatory circumstances. Also, papa would not tolerate any slang or foul language in our house. He insisted that we always show respect to older folks, whoever they might be. His dedication to morality caused him to speak in morals.

Examples: "Tell me who you go with,''or "The early bird catches the worm.'' Some- times he would pack three morals into one sentence. And they all sounded more colorful and dramatic in Italian!

Papa had two great loves (not counting his family, of course). He loved music and gardening. He was familiar with all the operas and all the famous sopranos, baritones and tenors in all of the operas. He spent hours every Saturday listening to an opera, which he heard a thousand times. As for the gardening in his little patch, he grew fruit and vegetables. And he got as much joy fondling one of his homegrown big, red tomatoes, as he got from listening to an aria from La Boheme.

To be sure, papa was not a man of the outside world. No kudos for him. He won no trophies for dancing or bowling. Never went fishing, played golf, poker or the lottery. He headed no programs, joined no clubs, befriended no neighbors, and championed no cause. And yet he was a happy man, happy about his wife's success in business, his children's school grades, their graduation, scholarships, marriages, and the grandchildren.

That was my father's inauspicious life, but a happy life for him. May he rest in peace and is surrounded by a chorus of great opera voices of the past in his new heaven, on this happy Father's Day.