Page 166 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text
P. 166

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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