My 3 Sons

Yesterday while I was digging through old photos (and I mean that literally, album placement ended after roughly David's first birthday and the last 8 years or so are digital - everything in between is dumped in plastic tubs), I fell in love with my sons all over again. Not that I don't love them every other day, this was more about them as a trio, a band of brothers. The photographs and their bond began the moment Andrew was born. From the very first image of Scott and David sitting in the orange vinyl chair at Hartford Hospital holding their newborn baby brother (of course the one picture I can't find), these pictures tell the story of their childhood. The older brothers, only 19 months apart, were already a twosome, but even with the 5 years between them, they became three, who became one. In the early years they watched over Andrews crib, played on the floor with his toys , read him stories, taught him to crawl and walk and talk. It was always a team effort, no rivalry for his attention, no jealousy for mine. He glowed in their presence, as he still does to this day, and they smothered him (sometimes literally) with love and attention. As the years went by, he started to catch up, and the big brothers became friends. He followed and copied their every move; If his brothers were doing homework, Andrew sat at the kitchen table with his own "work" (which had its own payoff in the years ahead). He was building Legos and playing with action figures while most of his nursery classmates were still focused on blocks and coloring. They never fought, a scream every now and then if Andrew broke a Lego creation or the leg of a power ranger, but mostly hours on end happily together in the basement. I never had a great need to schedule the all-important "play date”, they had very little desire to be with anyone but each other. Up until maybe 5 or 6 years ago, there was always some configuration of a shared bedroom, by choice not necessity.  Scott and David started out together, and when Scott requested his own room at roughly 13, David chose to share with Andrew rather than go solo.  At some point thereafter, David moved into his own room and Andrew got his own too by default. Every vacation the threesome gets their own room; Andrew gets the rollaway bed even though he is now the tallest; some things are still decided by seniority. On a side note, the same rule applies for any road trip requiring all 3 to be in the back seat, Andrew gets the "bitch" seat (the middle), a few grumbles lately, but he accepts his placement with love. Looking through the years of photos I am struck by how obvious their birth order was, besides who was taller or had braces, Scott always assumed the older brother stance, with David and Andrew finding their places around him. I never had to tell them to pose, if I wanted a "brother" shot it just came naturally. You always knew who was the oldest and who was the baby, and now so many snapshots later, it is getting harder and harder to decipher. Height is out as a determining factor; it was a glorious moment when Andrews mark on the wall surpassed all the others. A milestone we had threatened his brothers with for many years, but when it finally happened last year they had to accept the cruel reality that genetics had dealt them. Boys will be boys, and height notwithstanding, Scott has assured Andrew that he could still "kick his ass" if need be (none of us are worried that will ever happen). And as I previously mentioned age rules over height in any situation regarding seating, sleeping, and shower order.

From my vantage point, starting back when they held Andrews hands as he took his first steps to watching 3 teenagers wander a block ahead of me deep in conversation on a New York City street or hearing them screaming at the PS 3 or a football game, there is nothing that can compare to those images or those sounds. There is an energy between them that is palpable; a rhythm that only they understand. Sometimes I get as close as possible without entering their space just to watch and listen. I have no idea how this magic was created; sure we always wanted them to love and support each other, but who knows how it's all going to turn out. We certainly practiced what we preached with our own siblings, but our family histories were different. Jeffrey’s relationship with his twin brother was obviously unique, and my boys were always keenly aware of their special bond. I have 2 brothers, who I love with my whole heart, but I was a bit of a solo act growing up. There was not a lot of bonding over Barbie’s or boy talk. The 8 year age difference between my older and younger brothers, with me in the middle, wasn't as conducive to the same kind of sibling relationship as my boys. I can't imagine either of my brothers hiding my report card from my parents, or me asking them to, as has happened in this house one too many times. It's those moments that you don't know if you should be mad that they lied to you or proud that they did right by their brother, in most cases it's a little bit of both. Only on one occasion when David enlisted Andrew to cover for him when he was supposed to be babysitting (we were out of town and due home late) and instead went to a friend’s house. Through multiple phone calls Andrew assured us that David was in the bathroom with a stomach ache and he would have him call when he got out. I'm guessing that the plan was to contact David to make the required call; not well thought out, as I would have known it wasn't from the house phone. The mission was aborted when Andrew finally cracked under pressure and admitted David had gone AWOL. I was not pleased, to say the least, but I was almost as upset that Andrew felt like he let his brother down. I would never ask that any of them to divulge information unless someone's health or safety was in question. In the few situations where I was concerned that might be the case I knew that each of them understood the difference between loyalty and responsibility. Even when they join forces to make fun of me, which happens frequently, I'm still happy they're on the same team and I accept defeat willingly. If Jeffrey defects to their side I get a little cranky, four against one is less fun, especially when you're the only girl. It's bad enough that I have fallen into more toilets without a seat than I care to remember. Luckily Jeffrey figured out a while back that only he has to get in bed with me at the end of the day and the boys are forgiven much more readily.

As hard as it has been for me to watch each of them leave my nest to venture out into the world alone,  I know that the bond of brothers will travel with them wherever they go. When they are all under my roof there is nothing better, but knowing that they are as deeply connected under separate roofs is a close second. There is no greater gift I could have given them than each other, and to know that they know that is every parents dream. My 3 sons, my 3 greatest accomplishments, my every wish come true.

A Hanukah Story

It's 6:15 am on Wednesday morning and out of nowhere I woke up with the urge to write again. Could it be my own Hanukah miracle from the universe? Assuming that must be the reason, I will also assume that, in keeping with the holiday mood, you are happy to see me because it's been such a long time and we really should do this more often. As my gift to you, I will not bore you with a laundry list of explanations or excuses about where I have been or what has been occupying my thoughts; been there, done that, doesn't matter. Bottom line, I'm in my bed, in the dark, tapping happily away on my shattered iPad (a casualty of my trip, currently held together with a screen protector), and I miss you. My Hanukah wish is that I get through this one, as opposed to the half-written entries I previously gave up on, and that when I wake up tomorrow my fingers once again find their way back to the keyboard.

So it's Hanukah and I have to say it’s kind of a quiet one. Not that it's ever been a giant fanfare or wannabe Christmas in this house, but without little kids around, it is a little lacking in the fun department. I think there are certain holidays, religious and secular, that go through "off-decades." For purposes of this blog I will stick with the Hanukah example, but think about Halloween, Purim (maybe a stretch), or I would guess, Easter. As a little kid every holiday is exciting; presents, days off from school, seeing the cousins you never otherwise see, good food, staying up late and all the grown-ups are in a pretty good mood (I figured out later that alcohol might have had something to do with that). Let's say that this feeling stays with you through middle school. At some point shortly thereafter, when you get a little wiser and a little more sullen, the glow begins to dim. The present thing is clearly defined in advance, you know what you want and, to avoid potential holiday meltdown, mom and dad usually wrap it up as a "faux surprise" and deliver it at the appropriate time.  Can't say I haven't been guilty of the same as a parent, but it does sort of suck the Happy out of Hanukah. As a parent, the best present I ever received was the look on their faces when I actually managed to surprise them with something unexpected; that sparkle, that smile, couldn’t be bought or wrapped. It’s the hardest thing to do; to think of something that allows that little boy grin to escape from deep beneath the Axe body spray, but when it does it's worth every penny or hoop you jumped through to make it happen. As young parents there's nothing better than snapping on that "My First Hanukah" bib (insert your own holiday choice), watching babies gum down their first latke and tearing open box after box of Fisher-Price joy. The toddler through elementary school years are the most fun for the kids and the most anxiety filled for the parents. Wish lists are long and painfully checked off by nervous parents who don't want to disappoint; nothing worse than having your kid come home to tell you that so-and-so got the one "it" toy that you could not get your hands on, that some more industrious or ingenious parent managed to find. In my case it helped that my mother-in-law (Nana P) was willing to risk bodily harm and financial ruin to make sure that she put a bow on exactly what they had dutifully marked in the giant Toys R Us catalog. I let her be the holiday hero and picked up the slack with the back-up gifts. I'm happy when they're happy and she generally stuck with the ground rules that noisy toys and messy craft projects stayed at her house. During the high school and college years we shifted to the one special gift theme, phones, iPods etc., or a family gift of a vacation or high-end sporting event. I remember announcing the first venture in this direction with a surprise trip to Mexico. Dinner was taco night (a big treat for my boys in its own right), little sombreros on the table, gift wrapped sunscreen and ultimately, the presentation of plane tickets and resort brochures. The giving was the gift for me and the memories from that trip lasted much longer than anything I have ever purchased at the Apple store. The tradition continued with Caribbean cruises and Celtics games, depending on the cash flow and the year (more specifically which ones included Bar Mitzvahs or college tuitions). I don't think anyone missed my feeble attempt at wrapping (for more years than I am willing to admit the superheroes and ninja turtles were presented night after night directly from the bag to their hands, I required eyes to be closed for excitement). I saved a good deal of money and time on wrapping supplies and still managed to create memories and stories that they tell to this day. We always lit the menorah, argued about who got to hold the shamash (the lead candle) and light the other candles, ate latkes and played dreidel games for foil-wrapped coins of surprisingly tasteless chocolate.

This year was unusually quiet, only 4 of us home. Suddenly the new reality that Scott has begun his next chapter, the one that doesn't include "winter break," was very apparent. Andrew reported to me that many of the parents who picked up their kids from the after school program that he works at 2 afternoons a week, arrived with little Hanukah surprises for their kids. I was a little jealous thinking that they were all headed home to hot latkes and grandparents and piles of presents, but I guess it's their turn for now. Someday in the coming years I'll get to be super grandma who finds all the cool toys and makes the best latkes, but at the moment our menorah flickers in a much quieter house. Last night I got to hold the shamash with no objections, we sang the blessings, and the colorful wax trickled down on top of the pink and purple and blue drips from years past (I like the waxy history, only scrape when necessary). The blue and white Hanukah cookies were a big hit (store bought, but didn't matter) and when I closed my eyes all 5 of us were there and giant Lego boxes were ripped open and assembled cross-legged on the floor for hours on end. With my eyes wide open, Andrew was overjoyed if not overly surprised with his Celtics/Knicks tickets for Christmas Day at Madison Square Garden (my own fault for spilling the beans to a friend on the phone within earshot of his room). He offered in return the elusive little boy smile, a giant hug with both arms (doesn't always come that way) and a kiss, priceless (and the ticket$ were not). David and Scott had less defined gifts; a few things they wanted or needed that we would not have otherwise been so generous with, were offered without argument. Their gift to us was genuine affection and appreciation and a hug and kiss from David (Scott was excused for geographical reasons). Jeffrey and I have never been much into the gift-giving thing, our happiness comes directly from theirs. Every now and then a present happens, but neither of us seem to need or want for anything that comes in a pretty package, and I always feel a bit guilty wishing for anything more than what life has already given me.

 

In that spirit I'm going to say goodbye for now, grateful that the words flowed so easily this morning. I have already been given the greatest gift of your friendship; your laughter at my sometimes inappropriate sense of humor, your support when I am sad or lonely, your cheers for my accomplishments and your forgiveness for my less than successful moments. If you're new to my journey (thinking about my new JCCA Israel trip family), feel free to wander back to where it all began on August 13th to understand why I'm here and what it's all about. The entries that followed, almost daily until early fall and some better than others, will tell you all you want to know and perhaps lots of stuff you don't. 8 months left in my slow approach to 50, hard to believe I've only been at this for 4 months, and I can't wait to see what is around the next corner. What I'm starting to realize is that the finish line may in fact be the starting gate, and that may be the best gift of all.

Just Like Me

If it'sThursday, I must be on my way to Tel Aviv. The last few days have been challenging for me, both physically and emotionally. I had no real expectations for Poland, although the vision in my head was grey and a little sad. For the most part I can't say I was very far off. There were a few shining moments, but mostly I felt empty. I'm sure the cold of winter had something to do with it; the few moments of bright sunshine made Warsaw only slightly more attractive. What I love most about traveling is exploring the hidden streets, the local culture, the personality of a city. To be fair, this was not a vacation and I was not expecting to have "tourist" moments, but we covered a lot of ground and I simply could not grasp a "life" vibe in any of the towns we visited. I was being shown by JCCA what they could offer JCC's and my job was to explore our vision for future Mandell JCC travelers. We found some gems in the JCC of Krakow (and I got a cool T-shirt too), and found the city as a whole both an interesting snapshot of pre-war Poland and a sneak peek of a newly emerging Jewish community. A night out in a local pub offered great local food and a look at Krakow through the local lens. We rebelled a bit from the group, who were repeating at a local kosher spot, to explore on a more personal level. Maybe not the most professionally appropriate, but we want to make sure that we find the best every destination has to offer. Great leaders have to choose their own path sometimes, or in this case, their own dinner. I can't think of another "must do" from a travel perspective, but with Poland in the rear view mirror, I now understand that this leg of the journey had a different missive. We were not here to visit Poland, we were here to "remember" Poland. As I admitted to the group in our "confessional" session, I am a little embarrassed about how little I knew and thankful I am that I work with and for people who provide me with experiences like this to grow and learn. There was no judgement from the group of much more informed professionals; only a chance to share their knowledge and their personal stories.

As I shared with the group, I am the third generation of my family to have an American childhood. I know through my fathers interest in his family's genealogy that we had roots in a now non-existent Polish shtetl of Tarnipole, but I did not grow up with any family stories of the Holocaust. I am certain that had he lived long enough to have access to today's technology he would have unearthed all the branches of our family tree and explored Poland first hand for evidence of our history. I learned what I was taught in Hebrew school, but it was much more factual than personal. There were no sad stories in my Jewish narrative, only joy and family and tradition, and I'm not sorry about that. My sons were raised the same way, I could only offer them what had been given to me, and again, I'm not sorry their Jewish story is a happy one too. They have all spent much more time in Israel than I have (5+ weeks each, their 16-year old summer) and more than likely, they know more as young men than I do as their approaching 50 year old mother. That makes me both ashamed and proud.

So where does that leave me today, after 4 days in Poland, almost 14 hours a day, spent trying to grasp what generations of my fellow Jews (and the majority of my colleagues) have felt and understood their whole lives. I didn't cry the same tears in the Warsaw Ghetto or Majdenek, I didn't feel the same hatred for the Polish people (and don't want to share that sentiment, too much energy to hate, and aren't we trying to end hatred of a people), and although I was anxious about our visit to Auschwitz, I wasn't emotional. I think it's going to take me some time to process what I've seen and how it made feel. Of all the horror that Auschwitz revealed to me today, there was a moment , completely unexpected, when I felt the presence of a kindred spirit; these were my relatives, this could be my story. Superficial as it may seem, it started with shoes. Piles and piles of shoes, taken upon arrival along with all other personal belongings. There were stylish espadrilles, elegant camel pumps, even a navy blue pair with a little white anchor. These women; these Jewish wives and mothers and daughters, were just like me. They had happy lives in beautiful cities like Lublin and Krakow or West Hartford. They gave their children a joyous Jewish childhood, and they had closets filled with clothing and shoes, Just like me. I can't imagine that they ever feared the atrocities that were in their future; who could fathom such an unthinkable fate. They packed their bags for the ghettos and the camps; filling their suitcases with their favorite things and they were killed, just for being a Jewish woman, just for being me. They were the suburban housewives of their time, busy days raising children and cooking dinner; they never imagined that anything terrible could happen to them ...but it did. This will stay with me, this I will remember, and for now, that's a good place to start.