Page 21 - Philly Girl

Philly Girl 5

Paterfamilias

My father worked nights at the post office, but on his days
off, I looked forward to a regular bedtime ritual that we
shared. First, we prayed for the health and well-being of our
entire family. Next, I would ask him: How old will you be
when I am 10? How old will you be when I am 20? And so
forth. I remember, at some point he told me that when I got
to be that age, he “probably wouldn’t be around anymore.”
This was my first explanation of death.
I recall that I cried during these discussions. He did too.
Then we would recite the Pledge of Allegiance together, and
he would kiss me goodnight.
In recounting this story at a dinner party one evening,
everyone cracked up laughing when I got to the part about
the Pledge of Allegiance. “Was there a flag?” one friend asked.
I said no, deadpan. I didn’t really understand what was so
funny. But I got in the spirit of the evening and laughed as
well.
But my laughter soon turned to tears when I suddenly
understood: In the 1950s, when I was a young child, my
parents were intensely grateful for being Americans. They
had an acute awareness of what had happened in Europe
during World War II. It was a miracle that there were any
Jewish children alive at all, they would tell me. I later came
to understand that to my parents, I was a kind of miracle
child.
I felt so close to my father during our bedtime rituals.
He always took the time to answer my questions about life