Jonathan Livingston Siegel

"Why, boychick, why?" the Short Jewish Siegel asked. "Why is it so hard to be like the other birdies, who listen to their mothers? Why do you sit there, like a lump, staring into  space?  What are you looking at?  What's so interesting?  What?  What?  Enough with the staring, son, the philosophizing.  Get up off your tuchus and fly, boychick, fly already.  But first, have a nosh.  I don't want you should get hungry.  Here, have some kugel, son, you're bone and feathers. I'm embarrassed to be seen with you at shul." "No kugel, Mom, thanks.  Unless it's glutten-free.  Is it glutten-free, Mom?" "Please.  I'm not even going to answer that.  What the hell is wrong with you?"  "Nothing.  I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't, that's all. I just want to know.”  "Then stop with the sitting, son.  Stop pondering your pipik and flap, flap, flap."  "I will when I'm ready."  "I won't hold my breath."