Dreidels on the Brain Read Online Free PDF Page B

at my dad. First his face was curious. Then it sort of scrunched up, afraid. He pointed to my dad and started to cry.
    But my dad looked right at him, then did this kind of move with his head, tilting it back and forth like Charlie Chaplin. He made a funny face and a clicking sound—with his mouth this time—and the boy actually started to giggle. It was like my father was only
pretending
that he couldn’t walk very well, like he was putting on a show.
    That’s what my dad does best: He makes people laugh. He’s always telling us how important it is to laugh, especially at things that aren’t funny. “Like the circus clown,” he says, “who may be sad, but still laughs—and that’s better than crying.”

    Kenny came home with my mom all excited about his new model airplane kit. And when my dad finally got home, he was whistling, which was a good sign, as it meant hismeeting with Forentos about Omni-Glow must have gone well. My dad and I cooked the latkes together, and they came out perfect. Then, no one fought during dinner, which was practically a miracle in itself. After eating the latkes we gathered around the menorah, just like a normal Jewish family, and turned off the living room light. I checked outside. No snow yet, but it sure felt like it was coming.
    As the youngest, I got to strike the match and light the shammes, and we sang all three blessings for the first night. Then my mom started to clap and sing “Maoz Tzur”—“Rock of Ages”—which is the traditional song you sing after you light the candles. We got two lines into it and realized we couldn’t remember the words, which is our own tradition.
    We stopped, and there was a long silence.
    My mother finally said, “How nice to be together for the first night of Hanikah!”
    I nodded, seeing no sign of a box that would hold a top hat. I looked at my mom, waiting for The Explanation. Something wasn’t right. I could tell from the way she was talking, like everything was so wonderful.
    â€œAren’t the candles lovely?” she said.
    This much cheeriness meant something was definitely wrong. Kenny and Howard must have known it too, because they sat there silently, waiting.
    â€œWhy the long faces?” said my father. “It’s Chhanukkah! You’re supposed to be Chhhappy!”
    I saw no box, or bag, or anything that looked like a present, and realized I had been a fool to expect one.
    â€œWe have some news,” my mother finally said. She didn’t have to say another word. From the look on her face, I knew exactly what we were getting.
    Chopped liver.

THE SECOND CANDLE: In the Land of Shriveled Dreams
Monday, December 13
    My childhood isn’t supposed to be like this.
    I say
isn’t
but at this point I may as well say
wasn’t
, because it’s pretty much over. My bar mitzvah is next June. That is, next June I will
become
a bar mitzvah. Just to clarify, I won’t
get
bar mitzvahed. Cantor Grubnitz made that painfully clear back in September, on the first day of Hebrew school.
    â€œI want each of you to tell me the date you will become a bar mitzvah,” he said. Then, noticing there were girls in class, he added, grudgingly, “Or bat mitzvah.”
    A bunch of us raised our hands and began calling out dates.
    â€œExcuse me, Cantor Grubnitz,” said Ernie Maitloff. “What if you’re not sure when you’re getting bar mitzvahed?”
    That was all it took to set Cantor Grubnitz off. For a moment he just stood there, staring at Ernie. CantorGrubnitz has a blue vein on his forehead that gets bigger when he’s angry, which happens a lot. I think it might be a gorgle, like when someone says, “Calm down, or you’ll bust a gorgle!” Now it was twitching.
    â€œIf you don’t know, then I’ll tell you. You’ll never
get
bar mitzvahed. You know why? Because it’s impossible. You
become
a bar