Joshua A. Katz, M.D.
on his father Seymour Katz, M.D., MACG

My father is Seymour Katz, MD. In addition to being an awesome father, he remains my role model, teacher, mentor, confidante, and dear friend. I am where and what I am today largely because of him.

Medicine
Dad and medicine are inseparable. I remember from an early age, how he loved his work.  He still gets excited and fascinated by new findings and discoveries. He may grumble about difficult patients, late nights and reimbursement, but never did I hear him express any regret about becoming a doctor. “I love what I do” was and is a frequent and unsolicited statement. He loves to talk about his time at Bellevue Hospital and Jacobi Hospital in New York City, or as medical officer in the Air Force. I would listen to these stories and wonder if someday I could do what he did and how I would measure up. As a medical student, at North Shore Hospital where my father works, I would hear people say things like, “Your Dad was one of the Jacobi Giants.”

My First Professor
As I grew up I would go with Dad on hospital rounds or sit with him as he saw patients.  It was so cool to go with him and be at the hospital! Though the science was for a long time foreign to me, it became clearer each time how masterfully Dad practices his art. I watched him examine people, draw blood, place nasogastric tubes, perform colonoscopies, and could understand this only after entering medical school myself.

Lessons
Dad has taken me to task for not having my shoes shined or my clothes neat. He taught me to stand up straight, shake hands firmly and to make and keep eye contact. Grooming, hygiene, dress, bearing and stance convey respect for oneself and those around you.

Dad also taught me to respect silence. Normally quite talkative, when he is displeased, he becomes very, very quiet. He also has a certain look; a glare when you do something he does not like; that is more intimidating than any threat or punishment.

Dad hates mediocrity and taught me to pursue excellence. He demands your best, only that, no more or less. Once when I was griping about how hard medical school was he looked me straight in the eye and said, “What do you want? That’s the way it is. To be a doctor, stop talking and start working.” He also gave the directive, “focus and persevere.”  Only after learning this, could I thrive in medical school.

Business
Dad quotes the saying, “You can take the kid out of the Bronx, but you can’t take the Bronx out of the kid.” The fear and insecurity of a childhood in one of New York’s toughest neighborhoods perhaps explain why he upholds his independence, and will take orders from no one, (except Mom, and his grandchildren.) He retains a keen business sense, and has used this to give his family the opportunities and comforts he lacked as a child. He takes pride in this and views the economic and financial aspects of medicine as integral to its art and science. I once asked him if he thought I was weaker because of my sheltered upbringing, and if I owed him something for what he gave me. He answered: 
“There is no merit in being poor. Do for your children what I did for you.”

Fun
Dad always seemed to be working. Yet, when he was around, the times seemed special.  Outside medicine, Mom, I, and my sister and brother comprised his world. We all looked forward to when Dad was around to share a meal, to help with homework, to play games, to go for a walk or run, or just talk and watch TV together. He taught me to find humor in the ridiculous, the irreverent and the absurd, be it Monty Python, Mel Brooks, MASH, or my favorite, The Muppet Show.

Whenever I have a question, I know I can call Dad and talk it out. As he shares his knowledge, experience, judgment, and his art of medicine, he helps me make sense of it and find the right path for myself.

Thanks Dad, for getting me here.
Happy Fathers Day.
Love