they bought all sorts of stuff – fake mustaches, balloons, American top hats, beaded necklaces, giant sunglasses in crazy colors, and a giant glass for Herman. Back at home the girls went to work on the boxes. They painted skyscrapers on them, window by window. They painted museums, hotels, a jail, a Broadway theatre, even a deli. Other boxes were painted as taxicabs, each one of which held a stuffed puppy dog. On the outside front door the banner read Newark Airport. When you entered the house – there was the skyline of New York. The girls had brought New York to their grandfather. To be around my children and grandchildren with all their creativity is always exciting and this was one of the best. The girls’ legs were covered with black paint but it was worth it. Not only was it very clever but it was a touching tribute to Herman. It was a great Father’s Day party at Wendy and Max’s house. Harry, Herman’s brother, and his wife, Ida were with us. Harry and Ida’s son, Danny, was there with his wife, Leslie, and her mother, Joyce. My oldest son, Frank, was there with his two sons. My youngest son, Stephen and his wife, Diane, were there with their daugh- ters, Carly and Cassidy. My son, Michael and his family were in Israel. Diane is a fabulous cook and she was in the kitchen from 7:30 in the morning preparing the feast, which included a tremendous dish of enor- mous strawberries dipped in milk chocolate. Max, Wendy’s husband, barbecued all the meat. There were also many delicious dishes for those that were vegetarians. Abigail and Cassidy made a cute little cake with candles on it and the six fathers all combined to blow out the candles. Leslie makes jewelry and she brought out a lot of beads and taught us to make beautiful brace- lets. We all had a great time and I made my first bracelet. After dinner Cassidy and Abigail played the guitar and sang Beatles’ songs for us. It was a very successful party. I cannot get over the talented people in our family. There was so much imagination in everything they did. It turned out to be a beautiful Father’s Day after all and Herman was happy because he got to New York.
WHO DO I THINK I AM? It is August 21, 2013, a Wednesday. My book is coming to an end. It may seem odd to some that I have spent so much time telling these stories. After all, no one will read them in history books; I am not famous and what I have accomplished in my life will be known only to a few. I can imagine someone saying, “Who does she think she is?” But that is the very question we all must answer for ourselves. Writing my book has been a way of looking at my life and trying to answer that question. Who do I think I am? Right now, in another room in our home, my dear husband, Herman is fighting his last battle. There have been many battles in his long life. Some he has had to fight alone but most I have fought alongside him. We have been tested in many ways. We are not people who look away from trouble and hope it will go away. We face it. For over sixty years Herman and I have faced every crisis together. We are each other’s strength. I know who I am with Herman. I know what it means to fail and fail again until you think you cannot go on. I know what it means to be the only person who believes in you. I have been that person for my husband. That is who I think I am. And I have been that person for my chil- dren and grandchildren. There is no free ride in life – we all must struggle against our own limitations, against the weight of the world, and take our luck as it comes, both good and bad. It is no shame to fail, but you need some- one to tell you that, and to stand by you until you can gather your strength, and get up and go on. Herman says it is simple; you just have to get up one more time than they knock you down. It may be simple but it isn’t easy. And it helps to have someone to lean on while you are getting up. All the stories in this book are about the love we need to deal with failure and success or simply to do our duty. The stories are not just
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