Category: Life

Hanukkah Inclusion or Anti-Semitic Symbolism? Flip a Coin.

The store always seemed to be crowded, even when it wasn’t, and that afternoon was no exception. I only needed a few things so I was finished with the actual shopping fairly quickly. I wove back between the shoppers, carts and strollers and took my place at the back of the checkout line which was, predictably, almost at the back of the store. The other tortoises and I moved forward, slowly but steadily, making sure to glance up from our phones frequently enough to make sure we hadn’t fallen behind.

I was about halfway to the registers when a particular “‘Tis the Season” display caught my eye. The rest of the store had been outfitted, just like most stores are at this time of year, with snowflakes, evergreen trees and red and white hats sporadically dotting the walls and aisles. But at that spot, hanging from the ceiling, were large cardboard dreidels, painted in a variety of colors not unlike the apples on the table below them. Just above each dreidel was a cutout of a coin, each one representing a different country’s currency.

I loved the dreidels.

I didn’t love the coins. Continue reading “Hanukkah Inclusion or Anti-Semitic Symbolism? Flip a Coin.”

What I Learned From NaBloPoMo

I learned about National Blog Post Month by accident.

You might think that someone who has been writing a basically-weekly blog for six and a half years would know that there was a full month dedicated to blogging (a verb I detest, just for the record). In my case, though, National Blog Post Month had either never been on my radar or it ended up grouped in with other forgotten pieces of information, like phone numbers of high school friends or what I was looking for when I walked into the living room this morning.

National Blog Post Month (which translates to the ridiculous hashtag #NaBloPoMo) is designed to challenge writers to publish a new blog post every day of November. The idea is that publishing daily – as opposed to weekly or less often – forces the writer to silence their inner editor more so they can write more, publish more and just see what happens. Too often, writers will hesitate to write a piece because “I don’t know what to say,” “No one wants to read what I write” or any number of other hesitations that really all just boil down to a lack of self-confidence. NaBloPoMo becomes a sort of accountability group that pushes writers to meet goals and spur their creativity. Continue reading “What I Learned From NaBloPoMo”

Why Men Should See Frozen 2

“Do you think she’s okay?” she whispered.

We were at a movie theater for a screening of Frozen 2 for our son’s friend’s birthday. I had just settled back into the red recliner at the rear of the movie theater after bringing three party attendees – my son among them – to the bathroom. It had taken some small extra effort to sit back down without disturbing the two bags of theater popcorn and the Ziploc bag of candy we had brought with us but I had managed it. I returned my attention to the screen just in time to see Elsa grappling underwater with the Water Spirit who had taken the form of a horse – a sea horse, if you will.

We had known that Frozen 2 was supposed to be darker than the first movie but this was a difficult moment. Elsa was in mortal peril and, while I wasn’t the least bit worried about our seven-year-old son’s reaction, our three-year-old daughter had insisted on sitting in the second row with the birthday girl’s eleven-year-old sister instead of with us and she might be having more difficulty with the intensity of the scene.

I rose from my seat and ran, bent at the waist so as not to block too many people’s views, down the aisle to S’s seat.

“Are you okay? Is this scaring you?” I asked.

She smiled widely.

“This is my favorite!” she said.

I made my way back to my seat, sat back down gingerly and leaned over to T.

“She’s fine,” I said. Continue reading “Why Men Should See Frozen 2”

Eye Rolls, Curses and Puns (Oh My!)

She let out a sigh so deep I could practically see her shoulders slump, despite the wall separating our desks.

It was hardly the first time she had made such a sound. Working in an office such as ours – not to mention social work, in general – tends to have that effect on its employees. We take on the mental and emotional burdens of our patients, helping them to sort through the various circumstance they face each day. Even in the best of moments, when we are able to collaborate with our patients and other providers to carry those loads, the additional weight still empties our stores relatively quickly.

There was a slightly different tone to this sigh, though. She hadn’t gotten a call about a child being hospitalized or a parent unhappy with her family’s treatment. The phone lay still on her desk and the notifications of new emails remained silent. Her resigned exhale had nothing to do with work, in fact.

She had just heard me tell one of my jokes. Continue reading “Eye Rolls, Curses and Puns (Oh My!)”

Lighting Fires and Letting Go

I stood near the back wall and leaned against the bulletin board as I spoke. I felt awkward standing still – I usually pace back and forth or sit on one of the tables with my feet on a chair as I facilitate discussions – but the moment seemed to warrant stillness.

My sixth grade religious school students and I were talking about sins and sacrifices, the mistakes that define us as humans and the efforts we make to beg forgiveness. It wasn’t a fire and brimstone speech; that’s never been my style, nor is it the usual interpretation of God’s personality at our synagogue. But we did address the ideas of commitment to each other and to a higher authority and the different ways people work to demonstrate their growth and remorse.

The students’ facial expressions ranged from rapt attention to mild disinterest as the lesson went on.

But everyone sat up a bit straighter when I pulled out the box of matches. Continue reading “Lighting Fires and Letting Go”

The Nicest Thing I Ever Said to My Wife

I had been sitting in our living room, in the corner near the window of our sprawling, charcoal grey sectional. The television was on, showing one sports game or another, but my attention was split between watching the plays, following the updated statistics on my phone and responding to T’s questions about outfit choices. She had shuttled back and forth between the full-length mirror in our bedroom and her clothes in the front closet a number of times – it didn’t occur to us until months after being in our new apartment that it made more sense to move the mirror closer to the actual clothes – as she got ready for a moms’ night out.

I gave the best input I could muster; it sounds cheesy, of course, but I really did think she looked terrific in everything. I followed her lead, though, and tried to join with her critical view of the way a blouse sat on her shoulders or the way a pair of pants was slightly too snug. I usually didn’t think the details she pointed out were cause for concern – an outfit had to be particularly egregious for me to have a problem with it – but, after twelve years or so (at that point), I had an idea of the way clothes needed to fit in order for T to feel comfortable. I usually knew what she was going to point out when she tried on clothes but I let her tell me how she felt first before offering my opinion. Continue reading “The Nicest Thing I Ever Said to My Wife”

Making Better Choices

Look, kids, we need to talk.

There’s something that’s been bothering me for close to a week now and I need to get it off my chest.

I realize that, to a certain extent, this isn’t your fault. You’re just kids and you don’t really know better (apparently). You’re attracted to shiny wrapping and flashy covers because your brains haven’t developed enough yet to understand the difference between an enticing outer layer and the real quality that’s supposed to lie underneath. And, if I’m being honest, the responsibility for teaching you how to make that distinction falls on my shoulders more than anyone else’s.

I can see by the looks in your faces that you’re starting to get uncomfortable – frankly, so am I – so I’ll just come out with it.

The two of you picked horrible Halloween candy.

Continue reading “Making Better Choices”

Goodbyes Are Hard

We sat across from each other, she in her scrubs, I in my usual polo shirt and jeans. The conversation was relatively short; more substantial than a rushed hi-everyone-okay-great-see-you-next-time, but not nearly as drawn out as some of our previous interactions. I did my best to sprinkle some humor into our exchange; objectively, I’d like to think I stayed above the Mendoza line with my choices, though it’s always hard to tell with teenagers. Either way, it wasn’t exactly the time for jokes.

I like to think that I can put people at ease with barely more than a look. I have an image of myself with a warm smile and a welcoming twinkle in my eye, encouraging my clients to open up with little more than a curled lip and a relaxed brow. It might be unrealistic to think that I can help someone relax simply by being relaxed myself but I know it doesn’t hurt.

It didn’t seem to matter with her, though. Continue reading “Goodbyes Are Hard”

Not My Place

The hallway walls on the twenty-first floor were bare, showing nothing but faded paint and reinforced tinted glass. I hadn’t been to this part of the hospital in close to a year but the maintenance carts and construction tarps to the left of the elevators did not seem to have moved. It was the highest floor in the building but I had long thought that the brown and taupe evoked the image of a dungeon, rather than the penthouse.

I pressed the intercom button to announce myself to the nursing station and sat obediently in the small waiting room to be let in. My eyes lingered for a moment on the sign next to the door – “Caution Opening Door; Elopement Risk” – and I grunted. The phrase had always struck me as odd, as though the staff were concerned that the patients’ first destination if they left the unit would be a seedy Las Vegas chapel.

Her therapist entered and greeted me with a smile and a handshake. We exchanged pleasantries and she led me through a maze of hallways to the meeting room. Our patient was seated next to the table, her mother and grandmother on either side of her and her infant brother bouncing on her lap. I smiled at the family and the two other social workers in the room and made my way to a seat across the table. The baby tracked me as I sidled between the chairs, his expression of skepticism strong enough to rival any teenager’s.

Don’t worry, kid, I thought. I hate having to be here as much as you do. Continue reading “Not My Place”

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