What’s the Rush?

Posted on September 22, 2022 by hdh

What’s the Rush?

“We have to go!” Jack said as he hurriedly packed as much as he could carry.

“But why?” his mother asked. “You just got home from wherever you’ve been. Why don’t you rest for a while, and then we’ll go.”

“We can’t rest, we have no time, he’s after me!”

His mother asked, “Who’s after you? Such a nice boy like you. Even when I’m angry at you for selling a cow for beans, you try to make up for your mistake. First the gold, then the eggs, and now I thought you would play music for me on that harp. Such a nice boy.”

Jack regretted not telling his mother where he got the gold and eggs as he stood there with a golden harp in his hands. 

“I’ll tell you later mom, we have to go, he’ll be here soon,” Jack said frantically. 

“No!” was his mother’s stern reply. “We will stay here and discuss with this person who is after you and solve whatever is bothering him.”

Jack didn’t know what to do. “Mom, this person that you want to solve a problem with is a cannibal. The solution to his problem is to eat me, and if you are here, he will probably eat you too.”

Jack’s mother was perplexed. “A person who eats another person?” she muttered to herself. “What kind of person would do that? And why?” she said out loud.

Time was quickly running out. The ground was beginning to quiver as the giant just reached the cloud line. So Jack had to confess all. He rushed through the tale of the beanstalk (which he was surprised his mother had not seen, then again, her eyesight was pretty poor), the stolen bag of gold, the hen that laid the golden eggs, the musical harp, and the giant who was climbing down the beanstalk to crush his bones to make bread. 

Jack’s mother may have been slow, but in this case, her motherly instincts rushed in quite fast.   

“Crush my boy’s bones! Not while I’m alive!” 

She quickly ran to the shed and grabbed her late husband’s axe. Jack’s mother may have been weak-sighted, but she had a lot of strength from years of tending to the house and cow. She found the said beanstalk and, with a few quick hits from the axe, watched as it toppled to the ground. 

The giant being way too high up the beanstalk at the time, had no time to escape and fell to his demise. 

Jack stared at his mother with pride. He was a little worried about what people would say.

    His mother realized his anxiety and said to him, “Don’t worry about the giant or me. The giant was a bad person. We’ll be fine. We’ll just say that you chopped down the beanstalk to save me. It will make a much better story.”

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Do you want to learn how to play the banjo?

Posted on September 17, 2022 by hdh

Do you want to play the banjo?

I play a number of instruments. I play guitar, harmonica, and fiddle. I can play mandolin and piano a little and played trumpet in Junior High School. I’ve dabbled with saxophone, viola, and string bass. I also play a number of strange noisemaking devices as music, like shower hose, jew’s harp, and kazoo. 

Though I might have tried to learn, there is one instrument that I will never play: the banjo. And this is why. 

I was about 35 years old when I read an article in the paper that offered free lessons on how to play the banjo. All I had to do was go to this address, and I would be provided with a banjo on this particular date and time, and I would not only be given a banjo to keep but would be able to play and perform with it that very same day. 

This looked too good to be true, but I figured why not. What could I lose? And banjo was on my list of instruments I wanted to play.

I booted up my Apple //e computer, and since I had just purchased a 56K modem, I could connect to this new thing called the World Wide Web. I quickly logged in to my Applelink Personal Edition account and tried to find out about the organization sponsoring this offer. 

Back then, at 56K, one did not find information so easily. It took over an hour to discover that the information I was looking for was not to be found.

Throwing caution to the wind, I decided to go anyway. I got on the Long Island Railroad train and took off to the place mentioned in the article. I don’t remember exactly where it was, but when I got there, I found there was a big circus tent in the middle of this field. As I entered the circus tent, several other people were waiting in line to talk to the ringmaster (who was the one mentioned in the article) about learning how to play the banjo. 

After a rather quick interview, ten of us were chosen. I was the tenth. I felt honored. 

That was until I was handed a banjo, had to put on a clown’s costume, and was thrown out into the center ring with the other 9 players and told to play. There were no instructions, and the cacophony noise produced by us brought much laughter to the hundreds of people that were in the audience, especially when the ringmaster let loose the elephants that started chasing us all around the ring. It was my worst nightmare come true. 

The elephants were gotten control of finally as the ten of us rushed off center stage and left the tent. 

We were thanked for our service outside the tent and given our clothes back. We were told we could keep the banjos. And that was it. They didn’t even give us tickets so that we could see the rest of the circus performance. 

When I got home, I was still shaking and felt pretty dejected. 

The banjo is still somewhere buried in my attic, never to be looked at again. Just the thought of it makes me shudder, which is why I never intend to learn how to play one. I’m also not too fond of elephants anymore either.

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Reflections

Posted on September 15, 2022 by hdh

Reflections

It’s funny how the reflections of the scenery around you are so clear when you are at a lake that is still and shiny as glass. The imagery and perfection of those reflections mirror exactly what is there. That’s why I was quite surprised when I looked directly into the lake, expecting to see my reflection, but didn’t. Instead, I saw someone else. 

I quickly looked behind me to see if someone was standing there and whose reflection it was. But there was no one there. It was just me and the lake. I am well versed enough to know the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus and a number of folktales where people see the moon’s reflection in a body of water and think that it is caught in a lake. But this image I saw was not a reflection of reality. This was someone totally different. In fact, it was not someone I recognized.

For one thing, he had long golden hair, bright blue eyes, and pointed ears. I may have changed a little as I grew older, but I’m sure I don’t have any of those attributes. Even knowing that, I checked my hair and ears just to make sure. 

It seemed only reasonable that I should talk to that reflection if that’s what it was. 

“Who are you?” I asked. 

At first, there was no response, but I did notice a questioning look on his face as if he was considering an answer. 

“I was about to ask you the same question,” was his slow response. “In fact, I’m not sure what I should call myself to you. Where are we?”

I named the lake and felt it important to also name the planet, just in case he was from somewhere else. Which it turned out he was. 

“Earth?” he pondered. “I’ve heard of that place. Isn’t that in a galaxy called Milky Way? We learned about that in our universal geographical upload.”

Now my curiosity was aroused. “Where are you?” was my question.

“I’m not sure if your primitive species know of it. I’m from the third planet in the bi-solar system of Santur, in the galaxy called Dyslexia.”

“How is it that you’re here?” I asked. 

“We’re testing out our new ultra video system that allows us to communicate with other places. You are the first contact we’ve made.”

I was going to ask him more when all of a sudden, there was a ripple in the water as a cloud passed overhead, and all that was left was my reflection in the lake. 

Did it really happen? Yes, it did, but I was so enthralled by this encounter it never dawned on me to pull out my iPhone and take a picture. Who’s going to believe me without proof? 

I’ve been back to that lake on numerous occasions and have never been able to duplicate that experience. I wish I had gotten his name or at least a number to call.

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Timeout!

Posted on September 8, 2022 by hdh

Timeout!

In April of 2017 as part of the A to Z Blog Challenge, I wrote 26 pieces on the theme of “What if…?” One of those pieces, posted on April 24, 2017, reflected on “What if we could travel through time?”

If you want to read that piece you can by going to: https://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=896 The last line of that line in that piece was:

“Now, What if we could stop time? There’s something to think about. You’ll have to hold that thought; I’ll get back to you.”

Well here some 5? years later let’s explore that question. What if we could stop time?

First thing you have to decide is how you want to stop time. 

Do you stop time for everyone, so that everyone and everything freezes in position exactly where they are and you and whoever you are with get to move around and do things until you release time. 

This works great if you are a magician. Think of all the tricks you could do making things disappear. People would never figure out that you moved items while time was frozen. 

It would solve the dilemma of the Trolley Car problem, the gist of which is: A trolley car is speeding down the track and is about to kill 5 people. You have the ability to pull a switch and divert the trolley car to another track. On that track there is only one person that would be killed. You have to choose, should you pull the switch or not. (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trolley_problem)  This is not an ethical/moral problem if you can stop time and just move the people.

This also would help if you have a deadline to complete an assignment or are moving or going on a vacation. Imagine being able to take as much time as you want to prepare and pack for a trip instead of rushing around, getting all stressed, and eventually forgetting something. You could stop time, finish up all your prep at your own pace, double, triple check your work, and restart time ready to go.

Do you stop time for specific individuals? 

This could be similar to the process of cryogenics: having your body frozen, with the hopes that you can be unfrozen when a cure is found for whatever terminal disease you have. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uOSHjI3QtIo Only in this case you don’t have to freeze anyone, you just stop them in time.

Think of how this would work for space travelers, traveling light years away. I’m sure you’ve all seen science fiction movies or shows, or you’ve read books where space travelers are put into suspended animation and are released hundreds, thousands, or millions of years later, and haven’t aged a day, while the people they left behind are all dead because they lived in their normal time span. 

Or, do you stop time just to take a breather? You’ve had enough of this crazy world with its politics and environmental crises and personal issues so you stop it all. You just sit back and read all those books you have on your wishlist. 

You get a lot of choices when you have the ability to stop time. It can help if you have some foreknowledge of things that are going to happen so you can prevent them, but that would take some time travel capabilities, or divine intervention, which is a different topic of discussion.

So how would you use the power to stop time? Would you use it only to help yourself, or be more altruistic in its use. Feel free to think about it and let me know. I’ll stop time for you while you think up a response. You have all the time in the world.

Oh, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you I could do that.

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Labor Intensive

Posted on September 1, 2022 by hdh

FYI – This week’s writing prompt was the word “Labor”

Labor Intensive

Clara was nine months pregnant, laboring away on what would be her last day in the laboratory. Labor Day was approaching fast. That was the day she was scheduled to go to Stony Brook Hospital, where her doctor would induce labor. Clara was willing to wait until she could give birth naturally. But, not to belabor the point, her doctor wouldn’t let her. It was taking too long, and the baby’s health was at risk. 

So here Clara was, doing a laboratory experiment on a labor-saving device that would eliminate a number of jobs at the Department of Labor. If it worked, the device would reduce the manual labor needed to fill out and sort paperwork. So she labored on. 

Working in her lab was hard, as a protest was happening outside her building. This labor movement was focused on the loss of jobs that would be created if Clara’s tests on the device were successful. According to a U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics dated 8/26/22, “From 2019 to 2021, 3.6 million workers were displaced from jobs they held for at least 3 years.” 

Clara was torn between doing her job and empathy for the workers outside. If she had her way, the fruits of her labor would not only prove that the device worked but would also maintain, if not increase, the number of laborers hired due to the increase in productivity.

It was at this point that her labor pains began. Clara had had false labor before, so she didn’t pay much attention to it this time. She started to pay attention when her water broke. 

No matter what you’re working on, you go to the hospital when you go into labor. She texted her husband with the code, “911 for real this time.”

He ordered a cab to pick her up, and then he rushed to the hospital. He got there just as the attendants were wheeling her out of the labor room and into the delivery room. 

Clara was given an epidural as the pre-birthing was getting labor intensive.

With her husband at her side, their labor of love was born. They named him César after Clara’s grandfather César Chávez, one of the most inspirational labor leaders of the 20th century,  

Since she was not there to finish her lab work. The project was set aside for someone else to labor away with at some future time. 

 

 

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Be careful what you pick

Posted on August 31, 2022 by hdh

Be careful what you pick

I’ve been living in the same house for the past 26 years. Over the years, we have done a bit of landscaping on our property to make it look nice. We’ve planted a variety of bushes, flowers, trees, and plants to enhance our property’s value. We would do a lot more, except that the deer population in our neighborhood and other animals seem to feel that our property is an all-you-can-eat salad bar. Those flowers and plants that do survive do well. 

About a month ago, I was sitting in my backyard admiring the phlox plant that was growing near our deck. Its fuschia-colored flowers looked so pretty that I decided to pick a few to put in a vase on our dining room table. As soon as I picked the first flower, I heard an ear-piercing scream. It was coming from the ground. 

I don’t know about you, but when I hear an ear-piercing scream coming from just below where I am standing, I don’t just calmly say, “Oh, I wonder, what could that have been?” 

I scream, take a number of steps backward, and probably utter something like, “HOLY SH*T! What the hell was that?” Which is precisely what I did. Luckily no one was around to hear or see me.

Since quiet had resumed, I inched my way back to where the Phlox plants were and looked down at the ground. I wasn’t sure what I’d see, but never in my wildest imagination did I expect to see what I saw. 

She was the size of a mayfly. And if I hadn’t seen her beautiful girlish face, I would have suspected that she was a mayfly. After all, she did sport a pair of wings. 

“And what gives you the right to go pulling up parts of my house?” she angrily shouted. 

I was at a loss for words for a moment but eventually replied, “I didn’t know anyone was living there.”

“Well, don’t you have eyes in your head and ears to hear with? I’ve been living here for over 30 years. It’s bad enough that those bloody deer keep eating all my flowers, but you have to go and pick them. Can’t a fairy live in peace with you humans without you destroying the beauty of this world?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. Is there anything that I can do to repair the damage?” I asked

“What you can do, is stop picking my house apart,” she stated rather gruffly.

I was quick to answer, “I can do that. I can also plant new flowers for you to expand and protect your home.”

All of a sudden, I noticed a different expression on her face. I’m not quite sure whether it was a smile of pleasure or a smirk of something devious that had occurred to her upon hearing my offer.

The fairy said, “If you could do that, I would be forever grateful to you. I would even give you a wish. Now mind you, it would have to be a wish that relates to your plantings.”

That seemed like a fair trade. I thought about all of the things that I would have planted had I not been bothered with deer, moles, woodchucks, and the like that loved to eat whatever I planted. 

So I made my wish. “I wish that you keep all of the animals that come here and eat up all the things I plant go somewhere else to get their meals and leave my plantings be.”

“Consider your wish granted,” she remarked in rather a knowing way. “You will never be bothered by them again. I’ll make sure of it.”

And then she disappeared. 

Well, I did what I said I’d do. I planted more flowers, vegetables, and fruits throughout the grounds surrounding my house, feeling good that all would be well with the peace surrounding my house. 

And, well, she did exactly what she said she’d do. You know how I backed up and panicked when I heard the fairy scream? It appears that animals of all kinds – deer, moles, woodchucks, and the like, react the same way, too, no matter what time of day or night the fairy screams. And trust me, she screams a lot. 

Be careful what you wish for. You may end up getting exactly what you deserved.

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A World of Dreams

Posted on August 29, 2022 by hdh

A World of Dreams

* Last night, I had the strangest dream

I ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war.

 

That earworm has been in my head every morning for the past two weeks, and not because I have been listening to multiple versions that I own of the song, sung by The Kingston Trio, Pete Seeger, or Simon and Garfunkel. I haven’t sung or played that song in years. That song continues to haunt me every morning because I dream about it every night. 

It began the night I watched this apocalyptic movie. I remember that in the movie, our world is destroyed completely; everyone is gone, obliterated, kaput. The movie was so upsetting I didn’t watch the end of it. I don’t know how or if anything got resolved. 

The horror in the movie led me to believe that the world had ended. Then I went to bed.

Of course, that’s when the song pops up in my dream. I see myself at the head of a table that includes leaders from all over the world. I am proselytizing why we should be putting down all our weapons and saving humanity.

The dream is frustrating because I always wake up before it ends. Therefore, the dream comes back to me every night. It is relentless. I’m trying to think of how to stop it from recurring. 

 I thought the dream might abate if I watched the movie again to its conclusion, but I have no interest in seeing the world destroyed again. I hate watching those types of movies or reading those types of books. It surprised me that I watched the movie in the first place. 

So now I go through each night explaining to these leaders the dangers of war and how we could accomplish many things by declaring peace and working together. We could reverse climate change, eliminate homelessness, provide equitable health care for all, and ensure gender equality, to name a few. And as each night’s dream creates itself, though I never finish convincing everyone of my goals, I perceive myself getting bigger and bigger in appearance than the night before. 

It is the second week now of these dreams, and I am a giant, towering over all these politicians, military leaders, kings, and emperors. The more they look at me, the more they cower before me. 

But the reality is, that is not how it should happen. The song says:

 

I dreamed I saw a mighty room

The room was filled with men

And the paper they were signing said

They’d never fight again

 

And when the papers all were signed,

And a million copies made

They all joined hands and bowed their heads

And grateful prayers were prayed.

 

They are the ones that have to agree to put an end to war, not be bullied into it by some 71-year-old giant. Generally, when you force someone to agree to something that they don’t agree with, it doesn’t work out. 

So how can I resolve the dream and end this damn earworm? I mean, I like the song, but enough is enough. 

I’m not going to be able to change the world by myself. Though I wouldn’t mind being a little taller than I am, becoming a giant is not on my bucket list. Maybe what I can do is focus on the piece that I can control. I can stop myself from wishing harm to others. As much as I wish that politicians who don’t see how hypocritical they are in their blindsided views would get long COVID and have their houses destroyed in a climate change flood, I just shouldn’t say it. 

I should become more politically active and see that the right people get elected to our local, state, and federal governments.

I’m a writer; maybe I should write more letters to people in power and newspapers to support positive values and peaceful solutions. That might help the right people get elected.

Perhaps, if I can help make my small world around me change for the better, those who get elected will also make the whole world a better place.

Then:

And the people in the streets below

Were dancing round and round

And guns and swords and uniforms

Were scattered on the ground

 

Last night I had the strangest dream

I ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war

 

I guess, until then, I can put up with the song a little longer.

 

*(Original song written by American Folk Singer-songwriter Ed McCurdy in 1950)

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Where I learn a lesson about drawing…

Posted on August 25, 2022 by hdh

Where I learn a lesson about drawing…

“Now remember, “Mother said, “your father and I are bringing some guests by after the opera, so please keep the house neat.”

Bringing people over to our house after the opera was nothing new to me. My parents often did that. I never knew who those people would be each time, so I never paid attention to who they were. 

Keeping the house neat was another matter. My mother wouldn’t have had to remind me had I not, previously, left the house in less than pristine condition when they returned. 

I had about four hours from when my parents left for the opera before they returned. I thought about hitting the books right away, but four hours was a long time; I could always wait until closer to the time they came home to study; They would find me studying on their arrival, and I’d get praise and bonus points. I know I should have been doing my homework; I had a big social studies test the next day.  

I liked that idea. So what to do with the rest of my time now that my parents had gone? It took me about 5 minutes, with no ideas,  to become bored. So what did I do? I called my friend Ronald up and asked him to come over. He always had good ideas. 

Ronald came over and brought a lot of different colored markers, some masking tape, and some large sheets of drawing paper. 

Ronald said, “We’re going to paint a mural.”

That sounded cool to me. He had all of the materials we needed, and if we were careful, what could possibly go wrong?

My room was a little cramped, so we decided that we would do our painting in the living room. We needed a solid backing under the drawing paper, so we decided not to use the rug as our easel. Ronald suggested I use the masking tape to attach the drawing paper to the walls. Since there were pictures on the walls throughout the living room, we couldn’t place the drawing paper end to end, so we just set the papers throughout the room. When completed, we figured we could tape the whole thing together and hang the finished mural somewhere, probably in my room. Boy, would my parents be surprised!

We spent almost two hours drawing our mural. The mural was an alien space battle on the moon. We did each section, ensuring we got close to the edge of each sheet without drawing on walls. Drawing on the living room walls would be a disaster. 

When we finished drawing, we untaped the pictures and took them down so we could assemble the mural. Did you know that certain drawing papers are porous, and when drawn on by permanent magic markers, the ink can bleed through onto whatever is underneath? 

While we were careful not to draw directly on the walls, when we removed the paper from the walls, there were images of everything we had done permanently affixed to the walls. We had an hour to figure out what to do. 

Ronald had a great plan. All we needed to do was move the pictures that my parents had already put on the walls so that they covered up the drawings we had leaked onto the walls. 

We went about doing exactly that. With Ronald’s help, we carefully lifted off all the wall portraits hanging on the walls. Ronald then held onto the stepladder from dad’s workshop for me as I took the picture hooks out of the walls and repositioned them to the spots over our leaked wall drawings. Then we rehung the pictures. Lucky for us, there were the same number of wall portraits as there were marker bleeds. 

With about 10 minutes to spare, Ronald mentioned that he had to go home, and he left without taking any of his supplies with him. 

I quickly gathered up all the markers, the tape, the drawings and threw them under my bed in my bedroom. I put the stepladder back in dad’s workshop. I grabbed my social studies books, went back to the living room, and was sitting on the couch when my parents walked in with their guests. The guests happened to be my social studies teacher and her husband,

My social studies teacher was quite pleased to see me preparing for the test. She said something about looking forward to seeing how I’d do. She might have said something else, but I really wasn’t focussing on her. 

I watched my mom scan the living room, particularly the paintings on the walls and the little holes in the walls that were left behind where those pictures should have been. 

Did you ever notice that moms have that look in their eyes that clearly say, “The jigs up?”

My mother looked at me with those knowing, glaring eyes and sneered, “Ronald’s been here. We’ll talk later.”

Later turned out to be her usual Ronald speech. You know, “What were you thinking?” “That boy is nothing but trouble.” “I don’t know what you see in him.” and on and on. 

The end result was that my father and I moved the paintings back to their original places. With my father’s help, I spackled the new picture hanging holes and had to repaint the walls to cover up all the marks from our drawings. I had to give up my allowance until I paid for the wall paint I used. As to the mural, I had to give it to Ronald. It was not seen in our house again. Ronald said he hung it up in his room. It was gone when I got to see him again at his house. I’m not sure what happened to it.

 

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The Three Bears Redux

Posted on August 24, 2022 by hdh

The Three Bears – Redux

To: Associated Press

Re: The Untold Truth

Dateline: Once Upon a Time

 

You’ve all heard the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Mama bear makes some porridge for the family, it’s too hot, so they leave their house while it cools down, forgetting to lock the door. Goldilocks, a rather nosy little girl, breaks into their house. However, with the door unlocked, that accusation is questionable. She tastes all of the bowls of porridge, consumes the porridge of the youngest bear, sits in all their chairs, breaks the chair of the youngest bear, goes upstairs and messes up all the bear’s beds, and is caught asleep in the youngest bear’s bed. Goldilocks supposedly jumps up and runs out of the house and is never seen again. 

I’ve heard this story so many times that I decided I would personally do some of my own investigation as to the facts in this case. I needed to check out the Family Bear and see if any of this could have happened. You’ll be surprised at what I found. 

The first time, I phoned ahead to make sure they were home. I said I was a great fan of theirs and wanted to meet them in person. I ended up going to their house multiple times.

When I got to their house the first time, to no surprise, the door was not locked at all. I decided not to knock on the door but to slip in quietly and stealthily do my investigation. I did this each subsequent time I went. I don’t believe that they ever knew I was there. Below is the picture that I took upon my first entrance:

Here are some of the things that I noticed during my visits. 

Momma bear does none of the cooking. I doubt that she even knows how to make porridge.  From what I could observe, she spends most of her time on her computer Twittering and on Facebook. When this picture was taken, she was actually e-mailing GLocks@hedgefund.com about some royalties that they were supposed to get from their published story. 

Papa bear spends most of his day sleeping, either on the couch or on the comfy chairs they have throughout the house. The only hard chairs I saw were in the kitchen area. There is absolutely no way this big old cushy bear could sit or sleep on any hard furniture, let alone get up and go outside on an extended walk with the family. He’d be gasping for breath after taking a dozen steps. 

That leaves us with “Baby” bear. I would hesitate to call him a baby. He’s more like a “Disaster” Bear. He’s the one that does most of the cooking. As you can see, he is not noted for his neatness. I’m unsure how or if they’ve ever cleaned their house. After all, they are bears, in case you hadn’t noticed. Baby bear tends to look after himself, and no one else seems to mind. Do you see either Momma or Papa scolding him for the mess he’s making? Those chairs around the table look pretty sturdy. It would take more than sitting on one to break it into pieces. Given some practice with an erector set, I’m sure it would take Baby bear seconds to take one of those chairs apart. 

And then, there’s the going upstairs to see Goldilocks asleep in bed. Again, these are bears! They don’t live in split-level homes. They’re supposed to live in caves. 

I guess that Goldilocks, if that’s her real name, hooked up with these bears in their cave, and they all came to some sort of business arrangement. She would purchase a house for them and provide them with all their needs, providing that they signed a non-disclosure agreement, so when she published the story that we are all familiar with, they couldn’t deny it. The money gained from the published story would be split somehow between the 4 of them. It’s estimated that they made millions on that story deal. 

Do I have proof? Not yet, but I’m working on it. We still haven’t been able to locate Goldie, and I’m still waiting on a court order to seize Mama bear’s computer. I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. As I said, we’re talking about cutesy bears here. Certain animals generally get the benefit of the doubt in situations like these. Trust me, I know.

 

Respectfully submitted,

B.B. Wolfe

   A member of Huff and Puff News Ltd. 

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My Friend

Posted on August 19, 2022 by hdh

My Friend

Despite popular opinion, my best childhood friend was not Ronald. Though he was a good friend of mine and we did things together, some of which you may have heard about, he was only one of my friends growing up. My best friend when I was young was Jude. 

Jude, whose real name was Juda, entered my world in third grade. He arrived in my third-grade class mid-year when his family moved to America from Israel. 

Though Jude knew some English, the first language I heard him speak was Hebrew. It occurred when he came into our class for the first time with his mother. Most of the conversation heard was between him and his mother. His mother was basically trying to tell him that he had to stay in the class, or he had to do what she said, or he had to speak English or something of the sort. As I said, Jude did know how to speak some English; in fact, he could speak some words particularly well. Especially in this conversation with his mother. He was perfect at pronouncing the word “NO!” 

You could hear a jumble of words spoken in Hebrew to him by his mother, followed by some words in Hebrew and a very loud pronounce “NO!” This continued back and forth for a few minutes until Mrs. Reggel, our third-grade teacher, must have said something, his mom left, and Jude reluctantly found a seat in the classroom. 

As the days went on, Jude and I became friends. Since he lived a couple of blocks from my house, we played often. Even though he wasn’t in my class after 4th grade, we continued to do things together outside of school. It helped that his apartment building was right over the garage court where we used to play stickball. 

I don’t believe our parents ever got together, but he and I frequented each other’s houses. I don’t think he ever had a meal at our house, but I certainly ate at his house several times. His mom always seemed to have a pot of homemade stuffed cabbage that I loved to eat. 

After high school, when we graduated, we drifted apart. I was asked to be an usher for his wedding. It was my first time having to rent and wear a tuxedo. We rarely got in touch with each other following college. He lived in Westchester and became a postal worker, and I moved out to Long Island to pursue my teaching career. 

About 15 years ago, I received a phone call, and the person on the other end of the phone asked if they were speaking to “Harvey Heilbrun from Waldo Avenue.” I immediately recognized his voice, even after 50+ years. We shared some memories about our youth and families and talked about Stony Brook University, where I had gone to school, and his daughter was applying. That was the last I heard from him.

As friends come and friends go, Jude was definitely a memorable one.

 

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