The Apple and the Tree

We had a fine Jewish Christmas/Wifey's Birthday yesterday. D1 came over, and I made Daddy pancakes for her, D2, and Wifey. We laughed, and the Ds went off to talk about D1's attendance at the Christmas Eve "Matzoh Ball," and event for Jewish singles where, according to D1, "every Jewish kid since pre school was there."

We then headed out to Coconut Grove, for our annual movie excursion. The last 2 Wifey birthdays we were on cruises, but when we're on land, we endure Wifey's love of movies and take one in. We saw the new "True Grit" by the Coen brothers. Wifey loved it, D1 hated it, and D2 and I were lukewarm...

Afterwards, we decided to complete the classic Jewish Christmas by going for Chinese food. These days, of course, many restaurants are open on Christmas, but in the days of yore (50s through 80s), the only dining options for Jews in non Jewish neighborhoods (the kosher places were always open, except on Shabbos) were the Chinese restaurants. The tradition continues, and we headed over to Tropical Chinese, the best place in Miami.

It was a case of Deja Jew. At the next table was a judge I know well, dining with his family and the mayor of Pinecrest, whose husband, a local veterinarian, is, like Wifey, the child of Holocaust survivors. 2 tables over was a new girl rabbi from a Reform temple, and waiting in line for takeout were the Greys, whose daughter was D1's roommate, and a Greenberg girl --sister of D2's friend. I joked that the temple might as well have services there...

Anyway, Wifey made a comment, which, along with the 2 bottles of sake I consumed, got me to thinking. Wifey has a friend Edna, who is closer to her than any sister. Edna recently came to Miami from Atlanta to help Wifey recover from a top secret surgical procedure, and then, for Wifey's birthday, coordinated a collection from several more of Wifey's friends to buy Wifey a gift certificate to Wifey's favorite store.

In short, Edna is the best. No friend is truer, more devoted, more generous to Wifey. And yet, at the table, Wifey commented "Hmmm...Edna hasn't called me for my birthday yet..."

I laughed out loud into my chicken with black bean sauce. It was vintage Jewish guilt/ no matter what you do for me --it ain't enough. It was classic Rachel --my mother in law!!

Now Wifey wasn't really upset with Edna, but the fact that the thought about Edna's "slight" even entered her mind shows the power of psychological genetics. We are our parents. What a chilling thought.

Last week, when D2 was on her way from Gainesville on a bus, she called me. I was in a noisy restaurant, and missed the call. She called 7 times, and then called D1, pacnicked that I had been mugged in Little Havana, where she knew I was dining.

Poor D2. She has inherited my anxiety and worry genes. I got them from my father, a world class worry wart. I've worked hard my entire adult life to escape the bonds of these anxieties, and I'm still a prisoner. No ambulance siren passes by without my thoughts of one of my loved ones lying in the back, mangled. It's a terrible thing to have, and I think D2 has it...

So, we're all apples from various trees, and try as we might, we don't fall too far away. Or, we're the acorns from "The In Laws," and, like Dr. Sheldon Kornpett's patient, who warned Alan Arkin against allowing his daughter to marry the son of a crazy man, we're doomed to become like the pine trees who are our parents. Wow. That last sentence would get a failing grade in Freshman Comp.

So, Wifey is now 27 years older than she was when we met. D1 is the age I was when I met her mother. D2 is approaching the "Hey 19" status, with hopefully no Cuervo Gold and fine Colombian...

And we are, all of us, who we are. Feliz Wifey's Birthday.