Page 33 - WhyAsInY

ManHattan BeaCHeD
Of course, I don’t actually recall being the center of a predomi- nantly female universe, although I’m sure that I was doted on by those primarily in attendance: my mom, Aunt Beatrice, Cousin Avis, and, with less frequency, Aunt Rose. Oddly enough, however, at least three of the four stories covering my stay in Manhattan Beach that have been related to me involve males.
First, long before the ladies had determined that I could be given my first solid food, Uncle Aaron was caught feeding me a bagel, com- plete with cream cheese and belly lox. (Nova Scotia lox—never referred to as “smoked salmon”—was something that was just not done in my family; belly lox, less expensive, is salmon cured in salt, not smoked.) This story was continually repeated to me, as if it somehow demon- strated not just Uncle Aaron’s independence and insight but also that I was somehow a prodigy.
Second, on the fateful morning when my aunt and mother discov- ered that there had been an intruder in the house, after seeing that a window had been tampered with and discovering that a Persian lamb fur coat and some silver, among other things, had gone missing, they headed for what turned out to be an empty crib. The vacancy immedi- ately resulted in hysterical cries of “Where’s the baby?” “They took the baby!” and the like (a Lindbergh-style kidnapping being the only plau- sible explanation), but, once again, Uncle Aaron was the answer: Yes, he was feeding more bagels and belly lox to his special nephew. Even though I was very young, that episode made a lasting impression on me. Why, I continue to ask myself, was their first impulse to check for the Persian lamb and the silver?
Third, at the end of fifteen months, the most important male of all returned from overseas. I have more than one hundred times been told the story that upon his entrance in uniform into the living room at 414 Hampton to see me for the first time, the ladies thought that the best opening line to me, which was apparently said in chorus, was “Where’s your father?” No, I did not reply with “He’s a captain in our country’s army, serving far away in a country called England and helping in our fight against fascism.” Rather, to the delight of all those present—except,
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