So many Hanukkah questions pouring in this morning, my head is spinning dreidel-wise. Today's query comes from Molly Blankstein of Tsuris Town, Pennsylvania: "Hi SJG, how's ba you? Good, I hope. I was wondering if you could share some of your fondest Hanukkah memories from when you were a child."
Well, Molly, ask and ye shall receive a nice warm platter of freshly-made, metaphorical latkes. For some reason that I need to go back into therapy to pursue, I only have one very special Hanukkah memory from childhood. Just one, but it's a doozy. As a wee lass growing up in the wilds of Westwood, what with the chopping of the wood to keep the stove burning, and the schlepping eight or nine miles through the snow to shul, come Hanukkah, my family didn't go crazy celebrating the birth of Judah Maccabee. My parents scrapped together some gelt and maybe a few toys if Daddy sold a script, and did what they could to make their ungrateful... excuse me, grateful children happy.
During the lean times, let's just say they got a little creative. Watching my mother ride in on her horse Sassy, carrying a giant gift-wrapped box that I knew in my heart was an Easy Bake Oven, was the Hanukkah highlight of my childhood. You see, Molly, I understood what she had to do to get that Easy Bake Oven. I won't go into too much detail, it's too painful, but I will say she served her time. I'll always treasure that one afternoon we spent together, cooking mini-cakes, pizzas and pretzels before the police came to cart my Easy Bake Oven, and my mom, away.
(A little blog I wrote a few years back when "to mask, or not to mask" wasn't a question.)
No comments:
Post a Comment