The Fog Of History

 I often blow past many important holidays -- Jewish and American ones -- by simply being annoyed that there's no mail or stock market open -- but I ALWAYS stop and reflect about a particular date, even though it's NOT a holiday: December 7th. It is, of course, Pearl Harbor Day, when the US was finally committed to enter WW II. I reflect on the date since it was the beginning of my family's modern history.

I was young when I got into knowing about WW II. Strangely, I learned nothing about the Holocaust -- my family had no Survivors -- we didn't even know any. I learned about the Holocaust when I was about 9. My Dad and I were at a store and I noticed a man had numbers tatooed on his arm. My Dad gave me an explanation, and it was probably not until late Junior High that I learned about History's Acid Test of Inhumanity, and how it focused on my people. Little did I imagine that decades later, my life would be in many ways affected -- marrying a daughter of Survivors. Each time Rabbi Yossi asked me to come along on the adult March of the Living, I begged off. I told him I had the Marriage of The Living...

But anyway -- back to the US. Dad told me he was working for his father's schmata factory as a shipping clerk, which meant he schlepped dress carts all day all around  Lower Manhattan, from shop to shop, where different parts of the garments were added. He recalled that on December 8th, the city came to a stop -- like a movie set -- everyone huddling around any working radios to hear FDR's famous speech. (I compare having a president like FDR to the clown we have, or to the other clown we COULD have had -- Harris --- and it's like the species have changed).

My Dad knew immediately that change was a-comin' to this 22 year old fellow, and indeed in April he got a letter inviting him to Fort Dix, NJ to be inducted into the US Army "For the duration." Luckily, due to Fate and some cunning, he stayed stateside during the entire War. Near the end, he was about to be shipped out to what became known as the Battle of the Bulge, from a base in Texas, but a chance encounter with a sympathetic Jewish Colonel the night before his flight sent him instead back to Pasadena, where he had married my Mom and my sister was on the way.

It's funny -- the date seems so ancient, but was just 20 years before I was born. A lot sure has happened since, to the world and our family. I just wish my Dad and Mom were around to see the family part.

Yesterday D1 and I accepted Tio Norman's generous gift of his fine Panthers tickets, and took the boys to see them play up in Casa Carajo -- a/k/a Sunrise. D1 had never been to a Panthers game, and was taken by the strikingly different demographics of the fans versus Heat games (like totally white and non Latin). The boys had a great time, though D1 overruled my idea of getting them hot dogs for the better quality Lime tacos, which didn't end so well -- but over all, we had a fine time -- the boys danced and screamed to "Let's Go Panthers," and "Go Cats Go," though Baby Man at one point got confused and shouted support for "Naples," since he's been to many FC Naples games of exciting (sarcastic emoji) soccer.

When we got home, the rest of the crew was there , having gone to dinner, and we compared notes or our days. As Wifey and I drove home, we basked in the glow of the family WE created -- a family that began with a chance meeting at a Kendall apartment mailbox in 1983 -- 42 years after Pearl Harbor Day.

History's recollections become foggy. These days a lot of it seems reinvented for political gain. But I know what happened 84 years ago -- and how so many years later - it still resonates with me.