December 2021
VOL 1 - NO 4
published bi-monthly
My Dad's Blog
My dad has been and done a lot of things, but at the core, he’s a psychologist. He knows everyone has a rich internal life, and he has a deep need to connect with whatever lies below the surface. He likes trying to make store clerks laugh by telling them a joke. For him, it’s not just a way to have fun or kill boredom. He wants to eke out any genuine human connection he can get from their brief interaction. He wants to touch their soul, at least a tiny bit.
His natural foil is “customer service drone” types who speak in scripted platitudes, revealing nothing of themselves. I’m not sure he’s ever fully made peace with the fact that some people will never open up to him.
Once, when I was little, my dad and I were in a carpool with another kid and their mom. My dad tried to start a conversation with the kid’s mom: “Do you think there are people who are insane, but they still put their clothes on straight, go to work on time, and no one really notices?” I don’t remember what she said, but I don’t think she was impressed. I remember wondering: “Is he really talking about himself? Does he feel insane?”
Maybe you’ve got to be a little insane to have the kind of faith in humanity he does. But I’m grateful he’s my dad not just for his parenting skills, but also for the stories he has shared with me; unique experiences that could only have happened to someone like him.
Immortalizing some of his stories in writing, and allowing future generations to gaze into his soul, is exactly what my dad could be expected to do. And I truly believe it constitutes a public service.
SECOND OPINION
I wrote this several years ago prior to retiring from active brokerage.
Marla and Jack Klein were both physicians, specialists. I was a bit nervous about the appointment. With their busy schedules, we had to get it on the calendar weeks in advance, and I wanted to use the time productively.
I had done my homework, researching the various options, and through email we had narrowed it down to 5 possibilities, with two of them being much more likely than the other three.
Two nights before our appointment, I dreamed about meeting Dr. Klein and Dr. Klein. Jack Klein had on some sort of an iron mask. Not having met him before, I could not tell what he looked like. Later, when he took off the mask, his face was severe. Everything went wrong in my dream. I made the mistake of bringing them to our home, where Petey had just shit on the floor. No longer a pup, Petey has Cushings Syndrome, which is not always pleasant.
My attempt to clean up was pretty inept: I seemed to be spreading the mess, and after that, things just got worse. It was time to begin our endeavor, but I could not find my wallet or keys, Marla and Jack left ahead of me, using the back door. I had thought to suggest that they leave the same way they came in, to be closer to the car, but I hesitated and they headed out.
As soon as they were out of sight, I heard them crying out in distress from the hallway which leads to the back door. Whatever it was, they made it outside, but then a heard Marla yell in fear, “It’s a dog!”
I turned toward my wife: “Why aren’t you doing something, why are you letting the dog threaten them?” But she ignored me. I headed out myself even though I still did not have my wallet or keys. The hallway had foot-tall mounds of ice, making it quite difficult to get through, and I realized that was what had distressed Marla and Jack.
Finally I got to the door, opened it, and started down the wooden steps. I saw Marla at the foot of the steps. She did not look happy. “We are dissatisfied with you,” she said. “We are going to rent a room and go home tomorrow morning.”
There was no point in arguing, it had been a fiasco. “I will cancel our agreement,” I said, “and mail you the cancellation.”
When I actually met Jack & Marla that Saturday, everything went perfectly. They called me from Wilmington, where they and their three small children were having a late lunch. That would give me enough time to get there. We arrived at the appointed place within a minute of one another.
Jack neither wore a mask, nor was his face severe. He looked like a pleasant young man with a soft face and easy demeanor. They were both intelligent, sensitive people with not a hint of the self-importance which infects some physicians.
That morning, I had decided to work in my garden. These days, when I am meeting clients, I usually avoid physical exertion to preserve my energy so as to make a good appearance. At each house, I would usher my clients up the stairs ahead of me with a gesture of politeness, but I am really trying not to let them see me painfully pull myself up by the bannister. Driving hurt. Sharp pain stabbed my swollen knee when my foot pressed the accelerator.
Business had heated up and I was booked solid for the next 3 or 4 days. With nearly week-old seedlings needing to be planted immediately, I either had to use the few hours available that Saturday morning, or let the poor seedlings die of neglect. So, I carried the heavy five gallon buckets of soil and compost and lifted them to the platform I had built for truly raised beds, and hoped for the best.
We had 2 houses scheduled for that Saturday. I think I was OK in the first house. There were three levels, and I had to negotiate extra flights because we revisited each level for a longer look. My right knee was hurting as usual, but now the sciatica also kicked in for synergistic pain and mobility problems.
By the time we got to the second house, there was no way to hide my difficulties. It was not just a matter of “grin and bear it,” the pain was distracting, and I worried about whether my attention was sufficiently focused on the business at hand.
Before parting, we went over Sunday’s itinerary. Then Jack said: “Steve, I hope you don’t mind me asking you something.”
He paused. Then, with genuine kindness, Marla leaned toward me and said softly: “We are both physicians.”
“You mean the way I am walking?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” I said, “I am recovering from lyme’s disease.”
A look of serious concern came over Marla’s face. “I had lyme two years ago,” she said, “ but we caught it right away and knocked it out with antibiotics. Were you given doxicycline?”
“Yes, I went through a 28 day course of doxicycline. An infectious disease specialist at Dartmouth-Hitchcock told me the symptoms could persist for 6 months. That was almost 6 months ago and I am still having some trouble. I have an appointment to see a naturopath next week.”
There was silence. Had I offended this MD by mentioning a naturopath? Or did she just not know what else to say? Then Jack spoke up.
“Actually, that was not what I was going to ask you.” I turned toward him and waited.
“I was going to ask if you are Jewish.”
PHOTOS
Orchestral Wisdom
Everyone said it was a good thing that this happened to Mr. Klein, the Bayside High orchestra teacher; and not to our band teacher, Mr. Leuschner.
“Leuschner woulda yelled back: ‘Shut Up Ya Dope, Ya!’” said Steven Nahmias, then the class wit, now a retired systems efficiency auditor.
This incident took place early, with the theater lights still on. Mr. Klein was standing in front of the orchestra with his dignified back to the audience while the musicians tuned up — you know the sound, and perhaps the feeling of that moment.
Suddenly*, a man sitting a few rows back in the center orchestra section loudly shouted:
“START THE CONCERT ALREADY!”
Calmly, Mr. Klein turned around and, in a soft voice, disassembled the gentleman in a manner so refined and so incisive that it was like watching a chef masterfully slice the meat off of a chicken’s carcass until that man must have felt so humiliated that he might have gone home and committed suicide that very same evening, for all we know.
The one thing that I most remember Mr. Klein for, though, is for his performance advice:
“It is better to leave them saying: ‘I wish the concert had gone on longer,” than for your audience to be wishing it would be over already.’”
– 30 –
*Conventional writing wisdom notwithstanding, it is OK to use “Suddenly” in a story.
Miracle on Westervelt Avenue
Grace had just turned 5 one day before Christmas Eve, and Eve would be 2 the day after Christmas. It was 47 years ago.
We had been reading chapter books, one chapter each night. It was time to pick up our current book, Wind In The Willows. Tonight happened to be Christmas Eve, but the coincidence of our having come to the chapter about Rat and Mole’s Christmas Eve celebration did not dawn on us… at least not at first.
I read about how Mole and Rat had finally found Mole’s cozy home under the snow, and were setting in comfortably when they heard voices outside:
“I think it must be the field-mice,” replied the Mole, with a touch of pride in his manner. “They go round carol-singing regularly at this time of the year. They’re quite an institution in these parts. And they never pass me over — they come to Mole End last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford it. It will be like old times to hear them again.”
And here we were comfortably snuggled in at 106 Westervelt Avenue, Staten Island, reading this passage, when — unexpectedly — we hear voices outside.
“’Let’s have a look at them!’ cried the Rat, jumping up and running to the door,” was the next line in the book, but instead of reading it, I got up, pulled open the blinds, and we saw that the voices were coming from a group of Christmas Carolers!
We invited them in — not mice, but children and adults — for hot chocolate. After they left and the excitement of their visit had settled down, we got on with our reading, which this night seemed anything but routine.
