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This essay originally appeared on the Algonquin Books blog on December 28, 2010.
Another Late Christmas
Last week in group therapy, people were complaining about the upcoming holidays. It was the seventh day of Hanukkah -- that night, we'd be lighting the menorah for the last night -- so I wasn't sure what they meant. Upcoming holidays?
People often say things like, "Hanukkah is early this year," when they should say, "Wow, Christmas is really, really late."
Sometimes when I say this to people, they have no idea what I'm talking about.
My mother, were she alive, would have said, "Do you really have to tell the whole world you're in group therapy?"
If my mother were alive, I'd probably tell her, "It's just the Algonquin blog, Mom -- who's going to read it anyway?"
Or I might say: "Maybe they'll think I'm a therapist. Maybe that's what I was doing in group therapy."
In any case, I'm thinking about quitting.
Sometimes, when I was a kid, Christmas would be really, really late -- we would have celebrated Hanukkah at the end of November -- and after Christmas break, all the kids in my class would be invited to bring in their favorite present for Show 'n' Tell. By that time, you could hardly remember what you'd gotten.
There were kids from only three Jewish families in my elementary school: the Blumrosens (two sons), the Shines (a son and a daughter) and our family (two daughters, two sons). By that time, I'm sure none of the eight of us could remember what we'd gotten.
It used to worry my mother that my father's cousin was in therapy. My father and his cousin were in business together. We lived in a small city, and I think my mother was worried that she'd meet somebody who already knew everything about her, but mostly negative things.
My father and his cousin weren't completely happy being in business together. Literally for years, my father's dinner conversation started with "Guess what time Mr. Charles came in this morning!"
My father called his cousin "Mr. Charles" because that's what the employees called him. The employees called my father "Mr. Irvin." My grandfather and great-uncle were also partners in the business. The employees called them "Mr. Archie" and "Mr. Albert."
When I was growing up, my grandfather often took me aside and urged me to become a doctor. "If you're a doctor," he used to say, "then when they drive you out of the country, you can still be a doctor. But everyone else will be digging ditches." Sometimes he'd tell me about the many writers who were also doctors. Che
Another Late Christmas
Last week in group therapy, people were complaining about the upcoming holidays. It was the seventh day of Hanukkah -- that night, we'd be lighting the menorah for the last night -- so I wasn't sure what they meant. Upcoming holidays?
People often say things like, "Hanukkah is early this year," when they should say, "Wow, Christmas is really, really late."
Sometimes when I say this to people, they have no idea what I'm talking about.
My mother, were she alive, would have said, "Do you really have to tell the whole world you're in group therapy?"
If my mother were alive, I'd probably tell her, "It's just the Algonquin blog, Mom -- who's going to read it anyway?"
Or I might say: "Maybe they'll think I'm a therapist. Maybe that's what I was doing in group therapy."
In any case, I'm thinking about quitting.
Sometimes, when I was a kid, Christmas would be really, really late -- we would have celebrated Hanukkah at the end of November -- and after Christmas break, all the kids in my class would be invited to bring in their favorite present for Show 'n' Tell. By that time, you could hardly remember what you'd gotten.
There were kids from only three Jewish families in my elementary school: the Blumrosens (two sons), the Shines (a son and a daughter) and our family (two daughters, two sons). By that time, I'm sure none of the eight of us could remember what we'd gotten.
It used to worry my mother that my father's cousin was in therapy. My father and his cousin were in business together. We lived in a small city, and I think my mother was worried that she'd meet somebody who already knew everything about her, but mostly negative things.
My father and his cousin weren't completely happy being in business together. Literally for years, my father's dinner conversation started with "Guess what time Mr. Charles came in this morning!"
My father called his cousin "Mr. Charles" because that's what the employees called him. The employees called my father "Mr. Irvin." My grandfather and great-uncle were also partners in the business. The employees called them "Mr. Archie" and "Mr. Albert."
When I was growing up, my grandfather often took me aside and urged me to become a doctor. "If you're a doctor," he used to say, "then when they drive you out of the country, you can still be a doctor. But everyone else will be digging ditches." Sometimes he'd tell me about the many writers who were also doctors. Che
