In Plain Engel-ish

He was returning from abroad, where he had gone to enjoy life as a private citizen after leaving the White House. But his return was hardly private. The five-mile parade up Broadway in New York City in his honor brought out over one million fans, lining the streets and hanging out of the fifteen-story-high rises. And this was when our entire country held but ninety million people!  His name was Theodore Roosevelt, and the year was 1910. Newspapers reported that there were countless well-wishers waving toy bears over their heads. They became Roosevelt’s unique and charming symbol. Two years before,...

As a Jewish child, I never related to the Magical Beings of my Christian friends’ world. We didn’t celebrate Easter, so the Easter Bunny held little appeal. Besides, jelly beans were my least favorite candy and licorice was my least favorite taste, and the combination was too hideous to contemplate. As far as Santa Claus was concerned, when I was about eight I asked my mother if he was real. What a great answer she gave: “Honey, if he is, he doesn’t visit Jewish children, so what does it matter?” The one figure that gave me an insight into this...

I wanted to get a 100% on my fourth-grade science test. Yes, 90% would secure an “A,” but 100% would secure bragging rights at the dinner table, and I could mention it nonchalantly over Mom’s Salisbury steak. I wasn’t good at nonchalance yet (my speciality was gleefully waving the test paper in front of my parents), but I was slowly learning that appearing modest had its uses. On this particular science test I knew every answer but one — the name of the comet that passed by earth every seventy-five years. My mind drew a blank (unheard of then, but...

There are many things that we all agree are troublesome about being old. But if am going to complain about aging, I prefer to be unique in my regrets. So I shall now go on record as saying I hadn’t realized until recently that I no longer have a prayer of counting from one to a billion.  That ambitious endeavor would take over 31 years, so I would need to live to be 109 to complete the chore. Even though I remain an incurable optimist, I am guessing my obituary will not read “1948-2057” under my name. I console myself...

Sleep has been confusing to me since I was a kid. I remember the pleasure I derived from learning how to wink, which gave me the superpower of sending a silent visual code to someone when we had a joke or secret that we shared. But shortly after that, my dad announced (after a big Sunday lunch) that he was going to “take forty winks” and headed for the bedroom. Did he have forty friends there, eager to share jokes?  Even all these years later, now that I understand that the expression almost exclusively refers to naps, I remain confused...