Writing Assignment #7: The Age I Am Now

What is it like to be the age I am now? I can sum it up in four words: My cup runneth over. That’s because I’m happier now than I’ve been in any other decade of my life, even though I have to admit I’m “middle-aged,” an expression that evokes a certain wrinkling of face and thickness of waist.

The first two decades of my life were all about Catholic school, and I wouldn’t want to go back there. Life in my 20s was filled with milestones. There was college; living on my own for the first time in a big city with a “real job”; law school; getting married; our first house; having my first child. It was a lot to pack into a decade. That was all good but nothing was settled, and I felt I had not yet arrived at whatever my life’s destination was supposed to be. Although my 30s were a productive decade, they were probably the most traumatic years of my life. I had 3 more kids, made a drastic job change and moved out to the suburbs. The traumatic part was when I was pregnant with my 3rd child, our pediatrician told us our 2nd child had autism. That was a frightening revelation, and the news that our third child had a higher probability of being autistic because of this only added to our fears. We entered a new world populated by kids with disabilities, speech and occupational therapists and special education. My husband and I were both working but somehow money was always in short supply. I couldn’t sleep. Basically I spent the decade being worried: Would our son go to school on time? Would he be accepted by his peers? Would he become independent some day? Would he ever learn to speak? That was 12 years ago and today I know that I and my family are more blessed than most who get that kind of news. I would say now my son marches to his own drummer and in my view that is never a bad thing. He goes to school, has friends, plays the guitar, and yes, he speaks. He is warm and a pleasure to be with. My subsequent children are healthy, and all my kids love and care for each other. I can’t say I don’t still worry but my worries are on a more manageable scale.

So now that I am well into my 40s, I am sitting back and enjoying life. When someone I haven’t seen in a while asks me “How have you been? How are the kids?” I’m likely to tell them I wish I could freeze time. My kids are all independent (no diapers, no strollers, no more therapy) and healthy. They are not so old that they refuse to be seen with me; on the contrary they seem to enjoy having me around. No one is driving yet so for the moment I don’t have worries about having a teenager behind the wheel of a car. No one is in college yet so I still have at least some disposable income. My husband and I amuse each other with predictions about how he is turning into his father and I am turning into my mother. Fortunately for us, they are both people we like so that prospect doesn’t bother us too much.

Probably the best thing about being the age I am now is that everyone I love is around me. My father, at 80, is as healthy as he has ever been and only retired three months ago. My mother, at 74, is still the best cook I know and can whip up a gourmet feast for 15 people on an hour’s notice. My in-laws are always on the move and generous with their time and affection. My husband is as handsome and sweet as the day I married him, and after 17 years he still keeps me laughing. And my kids, as you may have guessed, bring me constant joy.

Sure, I have the aches and pains that come with age. My knees hurt; my back hurts; sometimes even my teeth hurt. And I need a lot of sleep or else I get cranky. None of that really matters. Because if good fortune is a giant pie to be divided among all humanity, somehow I’ve been served a great big slice. And if happiness could be poured from a great pitcher into the cup of our lives, my cup indeed runneth over.

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young

by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Assignment #6: A Romance

One Friday afternoon in December 1984, Julie and her friend Janet made their way down the dark stairs leading to the Mine Shaft. Even though it was only about 5:00, the bar on High Street was already crowded with young law students anxious to unwind after another week immersed in the study of torts, contracts and other subjects reverentially known as “the law.” The fact that their class in civil procedure, taught by the dreaded Professor Fink, was also held on Fridays made happy hour that much more inviting. Professor Fink was infamous for calling on students who had not volunteered, sometimes making them stand up to answer a whole battery of questions about a case that could last the whole 50 minutes allotted to the subject each week.

Despite the anxieties that came with the experience, Julie really liked law school, and the social life had a lot to do with that. In college, she had become accustomed to the all-female campus at Smith, and even though she had taken an occasional class at Amherst, she was always just a visitor there. The best co-ed parties were always off-campus. There were no sororities or fraternities. And compared to Ohio State, Smith was tiny. Ohio State’s law school was a world unto itself, situated on the edge of the huge university of 50,000 students. Every Friday, it seemed, the whole law school would turn out for its own happy hour at one of the many bars along High Street. The undergrads wouldn’t arrive until much later, so you could be pretty sure anyone you met was a fellow law student.

Music of David Bowie and Tears For Fears pulsated throughout the dark rooms of the Mine Shaft, and lights swirled around the tiny dance floor. At the bottom of the stairs, the girls surveyed the crowd, looking for familiar faces, those of friends and naturally those of the opposite sex with whom they’d like to be friends. They headed toward the bar, at which several second and third year students were already busy quenching their evidently parched throats. Maybe Professor Fink had just released them from Advanced Civil Procedure. Julie chose a strategic spot at the bar where she would be standing right next to a tall young man she knew to be a law student, although she had never actually met him. They had spied each other in the library earlier that week, he offering a snide but unmistakably flirtatious comment on the kilt she had been wearing that day, she responding with a decidedly coy smile, but walking right past him.

“I’m Jon,” he said. “let me see your hand.”

That’s an odd way to start a conversation, Julie thought, but OK.

The young man knitted his brow together as if trying to figure out something important.

“You have turtle skin,” he said. And he proceeded to show her hand to one of his buddies. “Look, you can see right through her skin.”

His friend feigned interest just to humor Jon. Indeed, the blue veins were clearly visible on Julie’s hand and their raised outline looked like some kind of crazy blue tree branching out in all directions. She had her mother’s hands.

Jon continued to hold her hand while he asked her name, where she was from, and what professors she had for various classes. He was tall and had curly black hair. He was easy to talk to. He was cute. Julie asked him his last name but the music was so loud she couldn’t hear him.

“Krassenstein!” he said louder.

“Eisenstein?” she asked.

“Never mind! Let’s dance!”

Looking back, Julie could never remember what song was playing, only that it was a slow one so he had his arm around her waist and they continued holding hands and talking over the music. Soon the music was fast again, and though the dance floor was packed with people dancing to the energetic beat “Walking on Sunshine” or “I’m Turning Japanese,” they kept dancing slow, talking.

Soon Jon’s friends were leaving and he asked Julie to come along. She opted to stay with Janet. She’d see him around. As soon as he left, Julie began asking people if they knew a “Jon Eisenstein”. Nobody had any idea who she was talking about.

Writing Assignment #5: A Big Event

As you know by now, I’m a Catholic girl. I attended Catholic school from Day One, until college. I went to Mass every Sunday, until college. I really didn’t even know anyone who wasn’t Catholic until I was eighteen years old. If anyone told me then that I would have four Jewish sons and have to plan four bar mitzvahs, I would have said, (A), they were crazy, and (B), what’s a bar mitzvah? But as it happened, this nice Catholic girl from Youngstown, Ohio, married a nice Jewish boy from Cleveland, and indeed we were blessed with four beautiful sons who would celebrate their bar mitzvahs in due course.

The bar mitzvah of my oldest son, Sam, was a big event in my life. It was a day we had anticipated since his birth, and one that I will never forget. Keeping in mind that I was not Jewish, could not read Hebrew, and never attended a bar mitzvah until I was 39 years old, planning this event was a daunting task, to say the least.

By way of background, when a Jewish boy turns 13, he is said to become a Bar Mitzvah, which literally means “Son of the Commandments.” It marks the moment when a child becomes an adult in the eyes of the Jewish community. On the day of his bar mitzvah, Sam would lead Sabbath services for our temple congregation. These services typically last two hours and are conducted largely in Hebrew. Sam would read text directly from the Torah, the Hebrew Bible, that looks something like this:

ברוך אתה ה׳ אלהינו מלך העולם אשר קדשנו במצותיו וצונו להדליק נר של שבת

He would also perform a community service, known as a “mitzvah,” symbolic of his obligation to help heal the world. Since Sam began Hebrew school at the age of 8, he was rather fluent already. He has a precocious personality and a lot of confidence. I knew he was up to the task. I hoped I would be, for my part in this whole production loomed large.

My role was to plan a weekend revolving around this event. I would select invitations, reserve the hotel, find a photographer, plan a Friday night dinner for 28 people, organize the Oneg (dessert for the whole congregation following Friday night services), prepare a speech to give during Saturday services, plan a party for all family and friends in attendance, find a DJ, select the menu, decorations and party favors. All this would be capped off by brunch at our house on Sunday for our out-of-town guests. Planning the bar mitzvah included everything one would include in a wedding, right down to the cake.

The chosen date was August 31, 2002. One year in advance, Sam and I started going out to lunch at all the restaurants we thought we’d like for the party. I learned that Sam has expensive taste, always going for the shrimp and crab. For once I was glad those were not kosher and thus not suitable for our party. We settled on the Stone Mansion in Wexford where we would host a private party for our 120-plus guests. We watched tapes of DJs at Entertainment Unlimited and learned there is a “bar mitzvah circuit”. We chose a DJ experienced with the musical and dance tastes of thirteen year olds. While Sam practiced his torah portion and performed his community service (helping with the upkeep of our town’s nature conservancy) day in, day out, all summer, I figured out all the logistics of the weekend.

When the date finally arrived, we knew we had done our best to prepare. There was nothing more to do except sit back and let the day unfold, hoping that each part would fall into place. It was a warm summer day and everyone was dressed in their finest, the little girls in new dresses, all the boys in suits and ties. I was grateful to see my parents and my in-laws, all my siblings and my husband’s siblings, and virtually every one of Sam’s 32 first cousins in attendance, even though the majority of them (my side) are not Jewish and had never been to this kind of event. They traveled from near and far to show how much they love Sam and were proud of him on this very significant day in his life.

During the service, I sat in the front row and marveled at the young man my first born had become. He was poised and comfortable. Standing on the bimah, a kippah on his head and tallit draped around his shoulders, he led the service as if it was something he did every day of his life. We said the same prayers that were being said that day in temples around the world and sang songs in Hebrew worshipping God. Toward the end, my husband and I stood before the congregation and gave our speeches about what Sam means to us. What a blessing, to be able to stand before all your friends and family and tell your son you are proud of him. More than a few tears were shed, all in happiness.

After the service, guests were greeted at the entrance of the restaurant by a life-size photo cut-out of a smiling Sam dressed in a suit. Blue and white balloons filled every room and the tables were scattered with chocolate coins. Between the open bar and the international menu, there was something for everyone. The DJ had adults and kids alike on their feet doing the limbo, line dancing, the Hora, you name it. The guests lifted Sam over their heads in a chair and paraded him around the room. Sam was the man of the hour, and he thoroughly enjoyed every moment.

I learned so many things from this experience. It is certainly useful to master the intricacies of throwing a big party. But that was the small part. I learned to appreciate the beauty of the Jewish faith. I learned about the Torah and about the importance of community service. I experienced the pleasure of having a community rejoice along with me. And how wonderful to be able to mark a moment in time when your son becomes a man in the eyes of others, to take the time and energy to honor him for the person he is. I learned that our children really can be independent and trust that they will be able to handle challenges that they will inevitably face as they grow older.

I’m happy to say that we have since had bar mitzvah number two, which was every bit as joyful as the first one. Now I can look forward to the next two, knowing that my kids will rise to the occasion. And I’ll be right there in the front row to enjoy it.




The Man of the Hour