One of the perks of having a creative child is that every so often, he or she will use people he or she knows in that art. This was my week. The Senior Son put me on the bridge of the starship Beit Ya'akov, a veritable dream come true. Let me give you some background.
As a kid, he was big on imaginative role playing with his friends...only they weren't doing Dungeons and Dragons, they built a starship in our basement. NCC-1702, the Beit Ya'akov, was named for our shul, a/k/a the known center of the social universe. The role leaked upstairs one year in the form of a role playing game from a box followed by a formal birthday dinner with Romulan Ale (blue food coloring in Pepsi Clear...don't ask,) roasted Rock Klingon Hens with Wild Terran stuffing, and assorted other dishes served on snowy damask table linen, fine china, with sterling flatware and crystal goblets, and me in a cockamamie hat posing as Guinan running Ten-Forward. (Mothers would later tell me they hated me because now their guys wanted formal dinner birthday parties. It was such a totally fun night and I am forever glad that I did it.)
That starship stayed in the basement even after they left for college. During vacations, that was where the gang would congregate. I loved the sound of their laughter wafting up the stairs. One of the last times it was in use was while we were sitting shiva for Ziggy. One of the "crew" had driven the Senior Son home for the funeral, and would stay at his folks until Senior Son was ready to go back to Milwaukee. The other crew mates all showed up for the evening shiva minyanim. And afterwards, when the crowd would thin, they would eat the rest of whatever was on the kitchen counter (including an entire Byerly's giant fruit platter!) before they went downstairs to sit on the ship. When the time came to clean out the basement because I was selling the house, I looked at all those surviving boxes, some of which were labeled with departments, conn designations, and a lot of bad spelling in very childish handwriting. The inevitable demise of NCC-1702 broke my heart. For almost 20 years it had a DO NOT TOUCH kinda sign on it, and we respected that. This was their place. It was where they talked about stuff, where they transitioned from boys to teenagers to men. In so many ways, it was sacred space.
But the Beit Ya'akov would never really go away. These days, it's a modeling exercise for the Senior Son's work in animation. He shoots over slides and I love every one of them. The original guys are seeing them, too, and occasionally appear as crewmen. The original crew has remained close. I marvel at their adult selves and how the sound of their grown-up laughter echoes the sounds of the kids in the basement. They're all pushing 40 now, but they still laugh a lot. On the rare occasions they are all in town together, they have been known to gather in my new kitchen while I go hide upstairs where I can still hear their laughter wafting up the stairs. I take great comfort in that sound.
This Thanksgiving, as everyone who isn't under a rock already knows, will be different. Families are not gathering, friends are not gathering, and the guys are not gathering. We are all making choices not just for ourselves, but for those around us. These are not easy decisions, and some are painful beyond reason. But more painful would be to know that, in the weeks following the holiday, you were the COVID spreader. No one wants that designation.
As a parent, I have made decisions that even I did not like. There were times I desperately wanted to say YES, but knew the answer had to be NO. Ziggy and I would talk long into the night about some of those decisions, working hard to see if a YES was remotely possible. The boys will tell you, even today, my favorite expression about big stuff is "Do Your Homework." I am thrilled no end when in conversation it comes out that extensive homework was done in the process of making a major decision. Doesn't matter what it's for....I love that I had a hand in teaching them process.
Process is what we are faced with as a nation. The pandemic has not slowed, in fact, it has ramped up. Hospitals and frontline workers are gearing up for a massive increase in infection and hospitalization in the weeks following Thanksgiving. If you have been following the science, you know there will be increased spread after this weekend. It's inevitable because people will make choices based on their emotions instead of the reality of contagion. The process has to be voluntary adoption of measures to stop the spread. No one can force someone to wear a mask or social distance, but those of us who do must continue to set the example.
It's Monday night and I still have no idea what is going to happen on Thursday, and whatever does happen, it'll be fine. I am part of a small family pod because I nanny for the kiddos, so I am not totally alone. Am I joining Junior Son et al for turkey, I don't know; we haven't come to an official decision yet. But I know Shabbat Thanksgiving will be here like it should be. Getting together with this crew is not a grand occasion; it's normal. It would be more normal if Mr. and Mrs. Senior Son could come in more often, but right now, Mrs. Senior Son is, thank G-d, on the recovery side of COVID-19. When things flatten out, they'll be here again...and the kiddos will be jumping all over them as soon as possible. But the spread of COVID-19 must be contained before that's going to happen.
In the big picture, I know how fortunate I am. No two ways about it. We are all setting the example for how to be safe. We can only hope others catch on before they come to understand it the hard way.
The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week
Encourage their dreams.
We got an artist and a mechanical engineer outta the deal.
No complaints here.
