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June 13, 2003/Sivan 13 5763, Vol. 55, No. 42
Childhood fantasy dimmed in adult eyesLEO LIEBERMAN
Going on an outing was a special event when I was growing up. Today things are vastly different, but I don't have to tell you that. Kids today take "outings" to ski resorts, to Disneyland, to water parks. But when I was a child, anticipating a Sunday outing was still a very exciting event even though it did not involve Club Med or a cruise to the Caribbean.I remember that when Papa had a Sunday off (and such a special holiday did not occur that frequently), days before, he would announce, "Look, this Sunday I won't have to work, so we can have the morning together and give your mama some time to herself." Mama looked pleased because then she would have the whole morning to "straighten up," which meant doing the laundry (and there were no washing machines), dusting and polishing and cleaning. And rearranging the dishes so that there would be more room in the cabinets, and polishing the silverware and ... you get the picture. A morning to herself ... (meant) that I wouldn't be underfoot to say that "I'm bored" and "What can I do?" I counted the days and then it came. Sunday morning. Papa said I should eat a good breakfast because we were going on a real hike. I managed to finish my hot cereal and drink my glass of milk even though I was really very excited and couldn't wait to get started. And then Papa took me by the hand after Mama told me to wear my warm sweater so that I wouldn't catch a chill. And so we left the house and walked toward Claremont Park going up one narrow street and down another. But then came the wonderful part. As we walked, Papa began to say that we were going on a trip to Africa - and The Bronx was miraculously trans-formed. The trees on the streets became exotic jungle foliage and the tenements were transformed into native huts. Every so often Papa would point me in a direction and say, "Look at that herd of elephants over there." And we kept very still so as not to frighten them. Or we would see a flock of wild and exotic birds overhead winging their way across the native terrain. And as we entered the park, we marveled at the wild beasts drinking so peacefully at the water hole and Papa explained to me in a soft voice about all the ways of the wild animals and he held my hand tight as I pressed against him, assuring me that I need not be frightened. All was under control and I was safe. And indeed I was. I learned about the rain forests and the special plants that grew in the jungle and about the animals that came to feed and were not disturbed by civilized man who came to hunt them. And Papa told me about the people who inhabited the land, how they lived in simple huts, how they grew their own food. And once in a while we spotted a group of "natives" in the distance, dressed in their cere-monial robes. But we did not approach them because we didn't want to interfere with the special rites that they were performing. But together Papa and I walked, hand in hand, millions of miles away from where we lived, taking in the strange sights and sounds. We continued this safari until I began to get hungry, and reluctantly we retraced our steps, but taking a slightly different route until there - in the distance - we spotted our apartment house and we climbed the three flights of stairs to our apartment where Mama had prepared lunch for us. We washed our hands first (of course) and then sat down to a plate of hot vegetable soup and fresh bread and butter. And while we ate, Mama asked if we had a good morning and I said that it was the best. A few years later, I asked Papa to retrace that special journey with me and something terrible happened. The tenements were just old tenements and the park was just a quiet park. The birds were just sparrows and pigeons and there were no exotic animals or natives in ceremonial dress. Something had happened and Papa couldn't explain what had taken place. It was a world that had vanished, a world that I had been part of and had shared for a short time with Papa. And I suppose that I should be grateful for that. Excerpted from the book "Memories of Laughter and Garlic: Jewish Wit, Wisdom, and Humor To Warm Your Heart" by Leo Lieberman ($12.95, www.comteqpublishing.com). The writer can be reached at features@comteqcom.com. |
