Today my daughter came into my room to read a book while I was blogging. After about twenty five minutes of silence she pipes up and asks me, "in America are you allowed to own a gun?"
Lovely, how do I answer? I thought about it for a minute and then tried explaining to her that America is so great, you can have SO much freedom, you can even own a gun. "But guns kill people, why would someone want one?"
It was hopeless to try to explain it. I told her, I really wasn't sure why someone would want to own a gun, but if they do own one they are supposed to keep it locked away. She then told me how she visited an antique dealers office with her father one day, "the day of the Newtown thing," and they saw Abe Lincolns desk, his chair, and then on his chair there was a gun. She continued on to tell me that it didn't have bullets and asked if it didn't have bullets can it hurt someone.
I then asked her what she knew about Newtown. She knew A LOT. Way more than I had mentioned to her (being that she is 9 years old) on that fateful day so that in case it came up, she would have a general idea of the story.
She tried to hide her tears as she asked me if we knew anyone that was shot. Were there any Jews? Wasn't there a person named Posner? How old were the people? I struggled to explain...
She then spiraled into telling me that when she heard about Newtown she got chills. She realized that her school was not safe. Too many doors left open, too many windows. If only they could have swipe cards for each family to enter the building. Her next suggestion was that they build a HUGE gate around the whole school. She asked what type of security would be set in place to guarantee that anyone who does not belong entering the school is kept out. She also wanted to know where the nearest police, fire, and doctor offices were. And told me she never ever wanted to be home alone, even when she is married with kids.
At long last I tried to impress that these things are not normal. They don't happen everyday, and that the killer was CRAZY. The damage is done however, her innocence taken, because she knows that this happened.
We try to shelter and protect our children, we hold them delicately like raw eggs in the palms of our hands. A lot good it does, they still have to face real life sometime.
As we ended the conversation and she finally got into bed, I heard her say the bedtime prayer Shema, loud, with emotion, each word pronounced. This made me smile, her deep faith in G-d. Yet it made me shutter as I realized my palms were not the cushion they once were.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Bubby Leiba
Tonight marks the sixth anniversary of my Bubby Leiba's passing. As she is father's mother, and we are one of a zillion grandchildren on that side, and my father being third to youngest in a family of nine, we did not spend tons of time with her. The fact that we lived over an hour and half a way in Connecticut didn't help much either. However, my dad, with his enormous respect for his parents made sure we visited often enough.
My sister Sara and I would go to Bubby Hecht’s sometimes. We once went for Shabbat and Bubby was serving carp fish. We loved white fish with bones but she wouldn’t let us eat it. “You’ll choke on the bones,” she told us in her Hungarian accent. Upon begging for grape juice to drink, “you’ll get drunk if you have too much.” Me and Sara were devastated, plus, we knew you couldn’t get drunk from grape juice and we would try our best not to choke on the fish bones either.
When we were all little, we would go to Bubby’s and she would give us back packs filled to the HILT with candy. She got these backpacks from the Synagogue where our grandfather was a Rabbi, they gave them out on Simchat Torah, she would make sure to get a lot of them for her many many grandchildren. They always had fruit rolls ups, rock candy, laffy taffys galore. We would beg my mother to let us eat the candy and treats until food coloring was dribbling down our chins and were about to collapse in a sugar coma.
Bubby always had candy dishes filled with, what my mom called, "stale candy." To us it was heaven. Honey candies, sesame candy and those chocolate lentils that were pastel colored and minty. Not exactly the kind we would choose, but candy is candy and we would sneak them and eat them.
When we would visit, Bubby would send us to the back room to sit on the floor or the pull out bed there to watch videos or tv. I remember watching Casper the Friendly Ghost on more than one occasion as well as the Brady Bunch.
Bubby and Zaidy’s bathroom upstairs was all marble and shiny. Whenever I would use it I felt like I was visiting a palace. It was a bit scary getting up the high flight of stairs, but I loved going up to see what was new or interesting there. I also remember going down to the basement. It was creepy and unfinished, but that was where the laundry room was as well as one of the guest rooms.
I remember; Bubby never let Zaidy eat a thing unhealthy, but she always took two portions of whatever because she had diabetes and could “give herself an extra insulin shot” and get away with eating the junk. She always asked why we didn’t bring some eggplant parmesan or pizza when we came to visit. Many times, my dad would drive to Kings Hwy to pick up a pie or two to bring. It was always a special treat.
My grandmother was very generous. On Chanukah after Zaidy would give out his pre-written checks, Bubby would call us over with a huge smile on her face and give us some extra cash on top of it. She would watch our faces as the extra $20 put us over the edge.
My favorite thing about Bubby Hecht was that although she kvetched, she had a zest for life. She traveled, she read juicy books, she had her friends, her TV and her foods that she loved. And even in her last days that I spent with her, she always wanted to look nice if someone was visiting and took real joy in seeing my baby daughter, her great grand-daughter play on the floor next to her.
My sister Sara and I would go to Bubby Hecht’s sometimes. We once went for Shabbat and Bubby was serving carp fish. We loved white fish with bones but she wouldn’t let us eat it. “You’ll choke on the bones,” she told us in her Hungarian accent. Upon begging for grape juice to drink, “you’ll get drunk if you have too much.” Me and Sara were devastated, plus, we knew you couldn’t get drunk from grape juice and we would try our best not to choke on the fish bones either.
When we were all little, we would go to Bubby’s and she would give us back packs filled to the HILT with candy. She got these backpacks from the Synagogue where our grandfather was a Rabbi, they gave them out on Simchat Torah, she would make sure to get a lot of them for her many many grandchildren. They always had fruit rolls ups, rock candy, laffy taffys galore. We would beg my mother to let us eat the candy and treats until food coloring was dribbling down our chins and were about to collapse in a sugar coma.
Bubby always had candy dishes filled with, what my mom called, "stale candy." To us it was heaven. Honey candies, sesame candy and those chocolate lentils that were pastel colored and minty. Not exactly the kind we would choose, but candy is candy and we would sneak them and eat them.
When we would visit, Bubby would send us to the back room to sit on the floor or the pull out bed there to watch videos or tv. I remember watching Casper the Friendly Ghost on more than one occasion as well as the Brady Bunch.
Bubby and Zaidy’s bathroom upstairs was all marble and shiny. Whenever I would use it I felt like I was visiting a palace. It was a bit scary getting up the high flight of stairs, but I loved going up to see what was new or interesting there. I also remember going down to the basement. It was creepy and unfinished, but that was where the laundry room was as well as one of the guest rooms.
I remember; Bubby never let Zaidy eat a thing unhealthy, but she always took two portions of whatever because she had diabetes and could “give herself an extra insulin shot” and get away with eating the junk. She always asked why we didn’t bring some eggplant parmesan or pizza when we came to visit. Many times, my dad would drive to Kings Hwy to pick up a pie or two to bring. It was always a special treat.
My grandmother was very generous. On Chanukah after Zaidy would give out his pre-written checks, Bubby would call us over with a huge smile on her face and give us some extra cash on top of it. She would watch our faces as the extra $20 put us over the edge.
My favorite thing about Bubby Hecht was that although she kvetched, she had a zest for life. She traveled, she read juicy books, she had her friends, her TV and her foods that she loved. And even in her last days that I spent with her, she always wanted to look nice if someone was visiting and took real joy in seeing my baby daughter, her great grand-daughter play on the floor next to her.
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