Purpose, Cheese and Crackers With Uncle Hirsh and Aunt Norma

Purpose, Cheese and Crackers With Uncle Hirsh and Aunt Norma

   “So tell me, me boy, what exactly is the purpose of this book?” queried Uncle Hirsh, Dad’s younger brother and a man whose agile intellect and wit I’ve always admired.

   “Its purpose,” I paused, seeking the right words with which to satisfy a very discriminating interlocutor “is to encourage sons and daughters of my generation to honor their fathers and mothers of your generation in life” and, I was quick to add on, “to teach this lesson diligently to their children.”

   “I see … and why is that?

   “Because simply, Uncle Hirsh, it is the right thing to do.”
I waited.

   “Hmm,” he pronounced at last, “Alan me boy, not too bad”.

  As far back as I can remember, Uncle Hirsh has called me
“me boy” which endeared him to me; he is my last link to the world of my father.

   We sat comfortably around Aunt Norma’s kitchen table munching on a variety of fancy cheeses and crackers. “And it’s all kosher,” Aunt Norma, a very gracious hostess who has not slowed down in the last fifty-eight years, excitedly assured me.

   “You know it occurred to me,” I remarked, seated between Aunt Norma on my left and Uncle Hirsh on my right, that “we have never sat down together, just the three of us, I mean,” but to do so now in memory of Dad seems so obviously the right thing to do.”

   “How’s Mom? Oh, we were such good friends. I loved her so much,” she lamented, still regretful after all these years things hadn’t worked out between Mom and Dad. “Mom’s well, Aunt Norma,” I assured her, remembering that of all my family members on Dad’s side, other than Dad himself, it had been Aunt Norma who always asked me about how well Mom was doing. “Thank you.”

   “Here, take a look.” Her smile quickly returned. “I got this at Trader Joe’s. Right, Hirsh?” She proudly flashed a list of all their kosher products before my eyes. “Norma,” Uncle Hirsh intoned with the tiniest hint of impatience, and who up until that moment, had been sitting quietly busying himself with the first few pages of my manuscript.
“Okay, okay, you fellas enjoy. I don’t want to be in the way,” Aunt Norma demurred, excusing herself from the table. “No, no Aunt Norma, please stay. I have a copy for you too.” Despite my entreaty, she spent the next half-hour on the phone although within proximity.