I can’t believe I’m writing this. It feels fake. Like I’m in some sad Debra Winger movie or Christmas special, except we’re Jewish and it’s real. And although he is trying to downplay it, this is rather urgent: My father is facing kidney failure. Stage 5. Which, we’ve learned, is the last stage. There’s no downplaying that.
Danny Levin, always the youngest, cutest, chillest dad in the room. Who enters it with ease, chats affably and leaves everyone saying: “He’s a really nice guy.” Which is what everyone always says after chatting with him because he is a really nice guy. The nicest.
He’s the kind of guy who is genuine and generous, loyal and loving, laughs at himself and loves his hometown-Boston teams (Red Sox, Celtics), but won’t bother staying up past his comically early bedtime even for the biggest games. (“I’ll find out who wins in the morning.”)
The kind of friend who’s still best friends with his Brookline High School friends.
The kind of kid who left college to go work with his uncles, then worked his butt off to help build a family business that supported his extended family and included a chain of video game arcades called Dream Machine, which made his own kids very cool at school.
The kind of landlord who never raised below-market rents on the educational nonprofits his buildings housed.
The kind of boss who keeps longtime employees around, not because he needs employees anymore but because they still need jobs.
The kind of man who freely gives to others: early morning airport rides, loans without expecting to be repaid, 30% tips, wise advice.
The kind of reader who keeps independent bookstores in business, devouring hardcovers with the same gusto as he once did hot dogs.
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The kind of dad with the right priorities. When his college-age daughter held a party at his house, consuming all the wine in his fridge, his sole complaint was: “Someone ate my chocolate pudding cup.”
The kind of parent who, when our beloved nanny was divorcing a not-nice guy and risking deportation, said pragmatically: “I’ll adopt her.”
But he is not the kind of person who asks for favors. And a kidney is more than a favor. It’s a life-or-death necessity and the grandest, most outrageous Hail Mary ask there is.
At 75, Danny is not at the top of any national list. He never will be, nor objectively should he be. There are lots of people, younger people, with promising lives ahead, who also need a kidney. We hope each and every one of them gets one. But doesn’t a man who has lived up to the values of his life’s promise deserve a kidney, too?
Our father can’t wait five or 10 years for a kidney that may never come. So we are suddenly, surreally, looking for a private donation from a living donor that would allow him to continue to enjoy a long, full life. Neither my sister nor I are matches. We wish we were. We were ready to rock-paper-scissors for who’d get the laparoscopic surgery and, obviously, title of No. 1 Daughter. And now we’re penning the strangest of pleas and hoping we can reach an altruist who might be a match. And who might understand what it means to want your father to live if not forever, at least a lot longer.
For some reason, we all have two kidneys, and yet we only need one! As does Danny. We realize this sounds insane. Why would you want to give up a kidney when you could go out for dumplings, watch “White Lotus,” walk your dog, run a marathon or be a parent. (Note: You can still do all these things equally well with one kidney.)
I asked my dad: What should I say? Why should someone give you a kidney? “Because…” He laughed at how absurd, futile and universally honest it sounds. “Because I have a good life, and I’d like it to continue.” I would want that too.
That’s the thing: Giving a kidney to a 75-year-old-man isn’t just giving a kidney to a 75-year-old man. It’s giving a grandfather to four grandchildren who love reading his letters; a father to two daughters who love that he still rocks turtlenecks like it’s 1987; a father-in-law to two nice guys who totally lucked out; and a husband to a wife of 52 years who is the chronically ill one he’s supposed to take care of!
I’ve gone on too long and said too much or not enough. Probably the wrong thing. I’ve never asked for a kidney before.
All that’s left to say is: Thank you for reading and considering — and maybe even being willing to be screened to see whether you might be a match. You can do so on Danny’s donation page kidneyfordanny.org.
And thank you for maybe even ultimately doing something as selfless as donating your extra kidney. (What else is it doing?) He (and we) will want to adopt you, too.
Even if you are not a match for my dad, please consider donating a kidney to someone with whom you are a match. There are Jewish groups that connect donors with recipients, which you can learn more about at renewal.org/becomeadonor and utzedek.org/organ-donations. You can contact me at [email protected].