On my birthday recently I was out at a bar in Rochester with my wife and a few friends. We were sitting at a corner table, 80’s music competing with a football game on screens overhead, the slow build of intoxication easing away inhibitions. Pitchers were being steadily drained and, as is often the case
For most Indian parents, sacrificing for your children is not only expected but desired. Spending money that could go to a nicer house or car on helping your offspring get the edge is the highest of callings (and provides ample bragging rights during parties). My Dad poured money into college savings accounts and sports classes
During a recent visit home, I was given an ultimatum. My bedroom was being reincarnated as a study for my dad so either I could box up the artifacts of my childhood or risk having them disposed of and lost to me forever. My husband Om sweetly offered to help and I accepted, not realizing
“Last Name, now!” “What?” My mind raced… I thought quickly… No way this is happening right now… I couldn’t believe I was going to get the complete shit knocked out me, right then and there…. “Last Name, you dirty Jew, what’s your last name?” Shit…..He was so much bigger than me…. What the hell am
“Italo?” I could scarcely believe it was him. Pale, sickly skin and a haunted look in his eyes. Wearing a bright green workout shirt that’s tight around the belly. Flashy sneakers with trailing laces. As a kid, he’d been lean and handsome, with a smirk that proclaimed him to be untouchable. He nods without really seeming
