Page 166 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

A new baby and a new business

by herself; when the customers came in, they all wanted to buy her
ice cream. She did not have one tenth the toys children have today,
yet she was happy there. Sometimes she read the Hebrew letters in
the newspapers, and learned their names. Everybody coming in the
store liked her. The Japanese porter who worked in the saloon next
door was an expert photographer, and took many pictures of her.
She was a good model and acted well—as you can see in her pictures
in our album. The best time we could give her was a nice walk on
Broadway in the evenings, and let her run from one display window
to another, or play hide-and-seek in the store doorways.
When Hilda was a year old, she was walking around the house
carrying things. One day she picked up a bottle and toddled around
with it. She fell, broke the bottle, and cut her chin, a half-inch gash.
Fannie came running to the store with her, and we took her over to
the druggist across the street who was a doctor. He put a plaster on
it, but it left a mark on the left side of her chin near the lip. I was
scared and upset, and I accused Mama of negligence. We were at
odds for weeks. I was worried that Hilda would have her face marked
up, and in a hot moment I hurt Fannie’s feelings. I never forgot the
injury I caused her—it always came to my mind, and grieved me, but
I did not have the courage and simple intelligence to apologize. I do
not know how much grief Fannie felt, but I felt ashamed of myself,
and suffered within myself, but I did not have words to express my
regret.
It happened many times in our forty-three years of living together
that we had arguments—which is usual with people living together in
one house. But it happened that she was the wiser, and had the
courage to tell me how foolish I was or how we both acted foolishly,
and made up with me. Our quarrels were not over economic
troubles, over cooking, or infidelity; mostly they were over our
children. Mama—always like a mother—protected the children when
I criticized their behavior, or studies, or even their children when
they were married and had families. Fannie acted like a furious
chicken that jumps at the biggest dog when her brood is threatened.
One thing: Fannie and I never had any arguments in public. Neither
did we kiss in public, and spared our kisses even on our own
children. It was not modesty, but from a sanitary point of view
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