From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki: Real Life - Stories I Never Knew... Part 14

This is it! Over the course of these past two weeks, I've been presenting this 14-part fictional blog story entitled, "Stories I Never Knew...".

It has been a special feature of my blog entitled, "From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki"… Spotlighting original fiction by me. These stories never happened… They are original fiction pieces from my imagination. I hope you have enjoyed it.

Today is Part 14 – And the final installment. 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

PART 5 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_23.html

PART 6 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_24.html

PART 7 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_26.html

PART 8 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_27.html

PART 9 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_28.html

PART 10 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_29.html

PART 11 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_30.html

PART 12 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/10/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life.html

PART 13 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/10/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_4.html

From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki: Real Life - Stories I Never Knew... Part 14

Two months ago David had a baby. Because she was born near the holiday Tu Beshbat, celebrating new growth, they named her Netta which in Hebrew means sapling.

At first, holding my niece in my arms seemed a delicate matter. Her head wobbled around like one of those rear window bobbing dolls. Her blue eyes were watery search lights combing the area for something recognizable. Eventually she’d land on a face – a face that would, naturally, instinctively, coo back at her. Slowly, then, a smile, starting at the corners of the little sapling’s miniscule, puckered mouth and continuing to open out like a slender burst of steam, would eventually ease into a precious baby grin. The whole process took an eternity and each burst of baby grin made my own heart also stretch into a sun-glanced smile. It was a dance of which I never tired.

Watching David and his new daughter together brought me back to Papa. I know before I described him as terribly accountable and mostly absent. Maybe that wasn’t quite fair.

What I’m remembering now is the way Papa sat with me while I was practicing my Hebrew letters. I’d trail my fingers across them, the way a sweet lover tickles over a smooth, offered back. To me they were magic. Each had their own individual rhythm and hum. Papa would sit in silence watching me do this time and again. Never interrupting. Never questioning. As if he were graciously and knowingly presiding over an important ancient ritual for which quiet reverence is required.

Usually I’d start making up stories about each letter. This one looked like a humped back whale that had lost her way and was all alone now out in a dangerous sea. That one looked like a mean ‘ol slippery snake crawling around looking for someone to swallow whole.

The funny thing about Papa during these sessions is he never ever got mad at all. In fact, he seemed to love them. Endlessly he’d sit listening to story after story, laughing or sometimes, like in the tale of the lonely whale, scrunching up his face in a sorrowful way. Sometimes, even when I was quite small, I thought these learning times together were more for him than for me. Like he was able to forget all the other things he usually worried about and give over to something unaccountably sweet. I suppose he might have been telling himself this was really for my own good and that it was only proper he be involved with my “education”, but truthfully, I think it was something else.

I wonder what other people do when they have no way to connect to magic and story. You know, people who live the way my father usually lived – consumed with accounting for things and making the plan. I imagine they just get all crusted up, like crispy fried chicken. In any event, I’m certainly glad Papa had me and my magical Hebrew stories.

And today, as I remember these times, I’m glad too…about Papa and about the way his heart heard me.   

There is a syrup dark grief that pours out among the Jewish people. It began before memory. Often you can see it in the eyes – looking like deep wells of endless pain. You could feel it in the dark temples of my Grandfather. And you can hear it in our stories. Now, then, and always.