From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki: Real Life - Stories I Never Knew... Part 5

I hope you are enjoying my current blog feature, "From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki"… It spotlights original fiction by me. These stories never happened… They are original fiction pieces from my imagination!

Over the course of these two weeks, I'm presenting "Stories I Never Knew...", a 12-part fictional blog story. I hope you enjoy it. Today, I present PART 5. If you missed any of the previous parts, here are those links to read first:

PART 1 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_19.html

PART 2 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_20.html

PART 3 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_21.html

PART 4 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_22.html

And then there’s Papa. I guess I mention him nearly last because, in a way, he’s the one I knew least. When I think of him now I still grin over the way his tight curly hair fit his head like a fat cap. Actually, anywhere your eyes landed on dad you’d find a grassy field of that thick hair. Hair peeking out of his sleeves, sauntering down the backs of his legs, urging up out of the front top of his fresh white tee shirts, and even threatening to creep up over his back collar. He liked to say he was Papa bear – and in some ways I suppose he was. Protective. Growling. A hibernator. I never found him cuddly, though.

I know Papa was a good man. “A fine fellow,” people often said. And I believed it. He was generous - often helping out those who had less than we did. “After all,” he’d say shrugging both his shoulders and his eyebrows at the same time, “I never came from much myself. A man should share his blessings, nu?”

In the long run, however, I suppose the thing that kept me away from my father was how sensible he was always being. Magic was not a word in his vocabulary. It was as if he’d just long ago decided to keep his eyes straight ahead - no matter what. Even if the finest, brightly colored circus wagon in the world rode by. Even in the face of the God’s most glorious sunset. Even if he had a daughter that was crying out for love.

Eyes ahead. No matter what. For Papa was an accountant and he accounted for everything. He knew what cost what. He even knew the cost of family time. And of joy.

Of course, the other barrier between me and my Papa was David. That’s my older brother. The name alone tells the story. In Hebrew it means the beloved.

Believe me I have nothing at all against my brother. He’s smart, hilariously funny and, friends tell me, he’s cute. I just don’t get why in Jewish families boys are considered so much better than girls. Maybe it’s not all Jewish families – but it certainly was true in my family.  Except, of course, with Grandfather.

Now, when it comes to the business of being Jewish Papa was really interesting. Saturday morning we’d all go to Temple – our family time, he said. Dad would put on his yarmulke and sit looking quietly intent. But nearly every time, after a short while, we’d hear his slim breath, like a tired fog, escaping from his full lips. I asked him about the sleeping in Temple one time when he was dropping me off at my Hebrew class (another tiresome foray into unfathomable territory – duty without heart). He answered in this oddly conspiratorial tone, “God knows how tired I am from all the hard work I do for this family, so while I nap he whispers prayers in my head. Remember, no matter what, even when we sleep, God doesn’t.”

Papa died a few years ago. He died in his sleep. Heart attack they called it. I wonder if, on that particular dry summer night, while Papa napped, God was awake...whispering prayers.