Stay at Home Dad

4-24-2013

Dear Henry,

       Long time no speak. Its definitely been way too long. I actually wanted to share with you a little bit about my week! My week was more interesting than my drunken tweets. But Henry, my week was not only interesting-- for it was also informative. Heck, it was more informative than a mall directory, which informs me where Lidz is, so that I could go ahead and purchase a new lid. I am so frustrated that I looked in the whole store, and I didn't even find one lid-- I only found ball caps! Go figure! As Christopher, AKA Chris Rock once famously said, "That Aint a Right!" But I digress. Anyways, I think I will now go ahead and share with you what I did this week, from the very beginning...

      At my own strong urging, my wife agreed to go to a Rebbetzin's aka. (Rabbis wife) three-day conference. When I had encouraged her to go, I was very excited for all the inspiration she would take. I figured she would even be half as inspired as a person who has the privilege to hear Yours Truly dazzling an audience with a life-changing lecture. Interestingly enough though, it did not occur to me that if she would be away for three days, then it would necessarily mean that it would be I who would change every single diaper. It never once dawned on me, that with her away for three days, it would be me who would be cleaning up the house. It never occurred to me that it would be I, who cooked dinners, packed lunches, washed dishes, and worked out carpools and took out carseats.

     I began to get an inkling of what I was in for when we-- Yours truly, The Eldest, and The Princess pulled into the garage after dropping off Momma and the baby at the rental car place. The Eldest gave a mighty, thunderous sneeze, and then clutched his ear in agony. He started crying, telling me how much his ear was hurting. I figured this would be a little stage that he was going through for like 3 minutes, and by the time we got upstairs, he would be out of the kvetching-about-my-hurting-ear- stage. To my horror and dismay, when we got upstairs, he did not start playing with his cars, or color, or even draw, or do finger paints,  but he lay down on the couch, all the while grasping his ear in agony. I didn't find all that amusing that he had never had such an ear ache before, and the first  time he had such a thing, my wife was almost in New Baltimore (20  LONG miles away). 

      I quickly called the doctor, who said they weren't open on Sundays, but maybe I should go to an urgent care center, or just wait till tomorrow. I then looked in every cabinet and drawer I could find, hoping against all hope I could find that silly kiddies tylenol bottle-- and then I remembered that I am a male, who cannot even find where the forks go. I grabbed The Eldest in one hand, The Princess in the other hand, and before one could say "Bunny Bunny", we were back in the car. I sped out of the drive way to CVS, and grabbed not one, but the first two bottles I could find. As soon as  I paid, and put the kids back in the car, I gave the little man some tylenol to sooth the pain. With the help of the Al-mighty, his ears were as good as new by the time we got to the grocery store 13 minutes later. Phew!

     Everything was going great from that point on-- I went to the gym to become Brolic and Dikembe Mujumbo, and when I got home, for dinner, I even made the kids eggs and quinoia, (Im good-- I know) and as I put them to sleep, I reflected how cool it was that tonight, I would get a solid night sleep, as my 6 month old baby was with the Mrs. at the conference 150 miles away. 

      Everything was going great-- until about 3 AM. My slumber was suddenly, rudely, and abruptly interrupted by obnoxiously obnoxious chirping sounds, which sounded once every 47 seconds from my Carbon Monoxide alarm.  I got up, googled how to stop it, and it seemed like maybe the battery was low. I switched out the battery, and the darn thing kept chirping. I googled it again, and saw a suggestion to call the fire department to come take a CO reading-- and that is exactly what I did. So at 3:20 AM I had 5 firemen in my house, with their tools, checking things out. Again, with the help of the Lord Above, there was no CO whatsoever-- as it was either battery problem or the alarm was defective. So I tried again to fix the battery, but to my dismay-- the darn thing kept chirping. I gave up, and by 4:00, went back to sleep. For the next two and a half hours I would sleep for 46 seconds at a time before I would rudely be interrupted at the 47th second, until 6:30 when The Eldest woke up. The chirping continued all day long,  until my dear friend and esteemed colleague, Rabbi Yakov Schorr came over, and properly installed the battery-- something one would thing a college educated, ordained rabbi like myself could figure out how to do by himself. 

       For the next day and a half, as I made the kids lunches and cooked them dinners, (as my devoted tweeter followers know, I made them one night, fries and hashbrowns), I realized how awesome it was to be able to give so intensely to my kids, whom I love more than anything in the world. I felt closer to them than ever before, being able to give so much to them, who were relying exclusively on me. And it just confirmed to me something that our rabbis teach-- That the Torah requires that each person love their neighbor like they love themselves. The obvious question is, how in world can the Torah require an emotion? Either you love someone, or, you don't! One answer given is that the hebrew word for love is "AHAV." The word "hav" also means "give". So we learn that when someone wants to love someone, they should give to them, and they will come to love them. I never saw a more profound example of this, than when I was providing so much for my precious children. It made me feel so close and connected to them. I wanted to be a fly on the wall, to watch their little faces when they discovered the treats I snuck in their lunches. It made me feel something that I didn't think was possible-- an even deeper, and more profound love for those precious little buggers. 

      Henry, you have been a good listener. But I am not done. But this piece is already to long. So the rest will have to wait-- and it will have to: TO BE CONTINUED.....

                    Sincerely,

                    Danny Wolfe, AKA Rabbi D TRAIN aka Rabbi D UNIT

Mi K'Amcha Yisroel-- Who is Like You Oh Israel- Reflection on a KidneyTransplant

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Dear Henry,
       I know that usually, when I write to you, I have a tendency to use a light, almost humorous tone. Let me warn you, dear Henry, that today will be a bit more of a serious tone. I wanted to write to you about an experience, as I escorted my friend to the hospital as he donated his kidney to a person he had never before met. My experience undoubtedly was one of the most profound experiences of my entire life.
      The profoundness of the day actually began as soon as we walked into the hospital. As I sat with my buddy in the waiting room, I looked around at everyone around me, wondering why was each one of them there. Some were undoubtedly awaiting the results of very risky surgeries. As I looked around and saw the agony and suffering in their faces, I began to get an inkling of how much we take our lives for granted. Some of us complain because we have a lot of stress in our lives. Some of us looking for jobs; others stressed out about term papers or tests. Spending time in a hospital waiting room is all that one needs to do to realize the triviality of it all. Spending time in a hospital is all it takes for one to wake up, and actually appreciate all of the gifts that one really does have.
    The most powerful moments of my life has been the first moment I met each one of my children. Standing in a hospital room, with my wife, and a nurse, three of us in total, and then, all of the sudden, when there is that cry from my baby, and now suddenly, there are four of us in the room-- that moment is beyond words, and is to me, a clear proof of G-ds incredible existence. However, right up there, as one of the most meaningful moments of my life, was when I had the privilege to watch my friend meet the recipient and his lovely wife and children, for the first time, shortly before the surgery. My friends incredible heart-felt love for this man was palpable-- as was his, and his family's-- love for my friend. Everyone around had tears streaming down their faces as we realized in this world of pain and suffering, what man is capable of. We realized, as one family member observed, that G-d has angels that He uses to carry out His plan, and my friend, is one such angel. I later tried to describe this interaction to someone else, but could not get the words out, as I became too emotional.
    I was further impacted on this day, after my buddy and I went to a different type of waiting room, called the "bikur cholim." Shortly after arriving at the hospital, they told us we could go wait in the bikur cholim. The Bikur cholim is a lounge which is stocked daily from donations of various Orthodox Jewish communities around the NYC area. It is food that the community donates for the sake of the sick patients, and the family members. In addition, there is a synagogue, with daily minyanim (prayer quorums of 10 men) which is made up of patients, family members, and Torah-observant doctors. It was here that I stayed throughout the duration of the 5 hour surgery, praying for my friend's successful surgery. Seeing this Bikur Cholim, and seeing the volunteers constantly returning to restock the fridge and the supplies reminded me of how special our People is-- a nation unlike any other.
    As I sat there, awaiting the results of the surgery, I thought to myself how appropriate it is that this happened right now, a week before Passover. During the Passover seder we say, "B'Chol Dor vador chayav adam liros es atzmo k'ilu hu yatzah m'mitzrayim." "In every generation a person is required to view himself as if he himself left Egypt." Therefore- on the seder night, each one of us has a mitzvah to experience a transformation whereby we leave from a state of bondage to a state of freedom. Our great Rabbis teach us that this is very difficult to achieve-- to relive the exodus. We are currently living in the comfort of the 21st Century, with tremendous freedom. How are we supposed to relive the exodus? I thought to myself, that each one of us has our own personal Egypt- we all have our personal struggles and challenges and our job is to overcome them. Then I thought, that for this recipient- this amazing man-- what would he be thinking on Pesach? Perhaps it would be easier for him to relate to this mitzvah-- he is leaving the misery and pain of life on constant dialysis- tremendous suffering and repeated hospital visits. This Pesach- he can G-d willing experience, a true form of physical freedom- a true personal redemption.
     Yet another profoundly impactful  moment was watching the doctor relay to the family the good news that the operation was successful. That sight is a sight I never want to forget- seeing the pure joyful exuberance and delight, and the demeanor of all of the family members. Such pure, unadulterated joy and delight. And I thought about it, and I asked myself, what are they rejoicing over? They are rejoicing over the fact that G-d-willing their holy father and husband will be granted a longer life, and a life with no more pain and physical anguish. Then I asked myself- do we ever take pleasure, joy and delight in the mere fact that we are alive? Do we take pleasure in the fact that we are not constantly experiencing physical pain and anguish? Do we ever actively celebrate the fact that our kidneys function properly, and we are able to relieve ourselves unassisted? In Judaism we have a blessing called Asher Yatzar, which thanks G-d for the ability to go to the bathroom. How often do we say this blessing? For those of us who do, do we feel the exuberance that should naturally come with it?
    On a similar note, another impactful moment was the first question my friend asked me in the recovery room, when he was drugged, and in pain-- "Did the transplant work? Is the other man okay?" His only concern was not with himself, but with the person to whom he gave his kidney.
    I had the zechus (merit) to assist my buddy in the hospital the night after the operation. I slept pretty well on a reclining chair, and the next day my friend told me what a miserable night of sleep he had. He told me that because of the incision, he was physically unable to sit up, when he couldn't sleep-- so he was stuck, laying on his back, waiting for the long night to end. The next morning he told me, that he never in his life was so appreciative for the ability to physically sit up. He told me how terrifying it was to be confined to his back, how helpless it was to not be able to move. And I realized, that as a rabbi, I often teach people how to appreciate everything we have. But even I never considered the enormous blessing we have with the ability to sit up in bed. What would a paraplegic give for the opportunity to sit up? Have I ever stopped to appreciate the awesomeness that comes with being able to move my limbs and my body? How fortunate are we for this incredible gift?
    As the man who runs this organization that facilitated the transplant left home at about 8 PM, (after having facilitated two transplants that day) I though about the conversation he would have with his wife that evening. "Hi honey, what did you do at work today? "Not too much- just saved two lives today." We should all do work that we can take pride in, and that gives us joy and satisfaction.
     Yet another impactful moment, actually occurred several times, as new nurses and doctors entered the room. They asked my friend, how do you know the person to whom you donated your kidney? My friend told them, he did not know him-- he was merely a fellow Jew. Seeing their faces of surprise and incredible admiration was very touching. For as Jews, we are one family, and when one of us suffers, we all suffer. When a family member needs something, wouldn't we run and do anything we can to help them?
    The Holy Temple was destroyed beause of baseless hatred. We should all follow my friend's lead-- and baselessly love each other, and this Passover we should all find ourselves back in our Holy Land, celebrating Moshiach's arrival, may it be speedily and soon.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe
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Where have all the Towels Gone?

Dear Henry,
      As a life-long vegetarian (except on Purim) hailing from the majestic Rocky Mountains, I am, by nature, a man of nature. Heck, my tweeter photograph (follow me at dannywolfe1) is of me sniffing a blossoming yellow dandelion in the Holiest of all lands. My idea of a good time, is to frolic and prance in a Peruvian Meadow,  or a Kazakstani rain forest in the midst of the summer. As such a man of nature, I am all for the international trend of going Green. It is a good idea. Natural is better.
      But Henry, I ask you, AT WHAT COST?!?! You see, dear Henry, I recently moved to cloudy Albany, the capital of this lovely little state of ours. I spend my days sitting in the wonderful campus center, and I love every part of my day: Sitting at the tables, speaking with the most inspirational students, occasionally watching Stephen A Smith go at it with Skip Bayless  on ESPN, and eating a bagel from Dreidels. I even recently discovered an amazing store called Outakes, where they sell me hot cups of water for my Super Duper, life changing fast lane tea for 25 cents, and they even sell odwalla energy bars for 99 cents. There is one, or two parts of my day, however, that I absolutely dread. Heck, I dread it more than a Panda Bear Cub dreads coming out of the Arctic Sea on a wintry Alaskan morning. What is it, exactly, oh Henry, that I dread? Henry, I dread going to the bathroom. Why, you might ask? Because there is a widely accepted American custom to wash ones hands after going potty. And for some reason, Henry, unbeknownst to me, the sinks do not provide one with the option of controlling the water temperature. Thus, the water comes out scorching hot--hotter even, than a mid-summers hike in Ein Gedi. Hotter than the Chicago Blackhawks, and even hotter than burning hot. Henry, if these sinks had what we would call "knobs" then I would go ahead and turn on the colder side so as not to burn my precious little hands.
       BUT,  Henry, and this is the big but-- these sinks have no such knobs. And what is worse, is that after one burns one's hands, one lacks the theoretical option of drying them, with an old fashion device called "paper towels." There are no paper towels in Albany, Henry. Rather, all there is is an automatic dryer which promises that "Your hands will be dry in 12 seconds or less." I wish this was true. It is not. It is a filthy lie. My hands don't get dry in 12 seconds. Perhaps if I left them in for thirty seconds. However, if I had this handy dandy little tool called "paper towels" I would have dry hands in three seconds or less. Thus, every time I go to the bathroom, I cringe at the thought of burning my hands, and then being unable to properly dry them, after they have been thoroughly scorched.
      The Talmud teaches us, "Who is rich? The one who is happy with what he has." Judaism teaches that the key to happiness is to appreciate what we do have. Many times in life we don't appreciate what we have, until it is gone. After all, they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot. I never cherish my nose, for example, until its so stuffed up with mucous (Perhaps too graphic of a description) that I cannot fully appreciate the taste of my wife's deliciously delicious food she has cooked, especially for me. Have you ever realized how valuable our nose is, for the culinary enjoyment of eating? We never appreciate the state of not having a headache, until we have a horrific pounding migraine, and we would do ANYTHING to have our heads return to feeing normal. Do we only call out to G-d when we are in most dire need, or do we stop, and thank G-d even when the going is good? Judaism teaches that the first thing we do every morning when we wake up is thank G-d for returning our souls to us. When we pray, three times a day, every day, we thank G-d for the blessings He has bestowed upon us.  I never realized how special paper towels were, until they disappeared from my life in Albany. I took them for granted. Now that they are gone, I long for them. When I am in my own home, not in the UAlbany bathrooms, I take ENORMOUS pleasure in turning on the cold water knob, and then proceeding to dry my hands with a good old fashion paper towel. I have learned to be more appreciative if mundane, precious gifts G-d has given us.
       Life is like a paper towel in Albany. Precious. We sure as heck better cherish it while we have it.

Yours truly,
Danny Wolfe

Life lessons from a "Humble Virtual Assistant"

Life lessons from a "Humble Virtual Assistant"

2-12-13

Dear Henry,

       I am sorry it's been so long since I have written. I imagine your devoted readers have been anxiously awaiting for the next post, in the same way that a young beaver cub anxiously awaits his mama to return from a long days work in the frigid Icelandian meadows. Heck, I even bet they have been anxiously awaiting the next blogg post in the same way that Fitty aka Fifty Cents is anxiously awaiting for his track to explode. 

       I have been doing well, thanks for asking. It's taken so long to post since I am simply, Thank G-d very busy, not because I have forgotten about you. There are a few topics on my mind that I want to discuss, but since time is short, I will bli neder leave writing about my aversion to automatic hand dryers for another blogg post. Instead, today, I plan to discuss an incident I had with my IPad and Iphone 4s. 

       You see, dear Henry, that as my iPad is in my backpack, sometimes, some mysterious lady named Suri, who my lovely colleague Nadine introduced to me, (whom I refer to by her Yiddish full-name of Surele) starts talking to me. Apparently, she is on my new, fancy shmancy I phone 4S as well. As I pulled my car Sally-the Santa-Fe into my garage--I decided I should ask Surele what the weather is going to be for that particular moment, on that particular day. So as I turned off the car, I dramatically looked to my left-- and then, like James Bond himself, gaze to my right-- to make sure no one was going to witness me speaking to my some-what imaginary friend Surele. When I saw the coast was clear, I went ahead and I pressed the little button on the front of my Iphone 4s, and said, "Suri, what is the weather today?" She responded, without missing a beat, "Its not looking good-- Going to be cold until Monday." Then I said, "Thank you Suri!" She responded, "Just doin' my job." To this, I replied, "Really Surele, you're really great! I appreciate the help." At this point, she responded, "Who is Surele?!" I answered, "That is you silly! Anyways thanks for all the help!" To this, she answered-- "I am just putting myself to the fullest possible use." 

     As I sat there, speaking to Suri, I couldn't help but reflect on her powerful words. When I asked her what she was, she told me she is, and now, Henry, I quote,  "just a humble virtual assistant." I thought about how when I tried thanking her, she deflected the praise, and told me she is just doing her job. I then thought about what she meant when she told me just tries to put herself to her fullest possible use. 

     She actually reminded me a lot of what I have studied in our timeless volume on ethics called Pirkei Avos-- Judaism's book of ethics given by G-d at Mt. Sinai, passed on to us from generation to generation. Pirkei Avos has many tremendous lines, like "Mo Money Mo Problems," for example. However, after speaking to Suri I see that she also was well versed in Pirkei Avos. Pirkei Avos  teaches us "If you have learned a lot of Torah, don't think you are so special, because that is why you were created." In other words, if someone comes and gives me props for being such an accomplished Torah Scholar, my response, is meant to be like Suri's: "Just doin' my job!" It says elsewhere in Pirkei Avos-- "If I will not be for myself, who will be for me? And EVEN If I am for myself, what am I?"  In other words-- even if I am accomplishing a lot, and doing good work-- just like the good folks on Central Ave who take care of Sally when she goes in for an oil change, and even if I am fighting the good fight, just like a gang of ugly grey squirrels just tryin' to make it through the winter--Still, oh Henry, what does that amount to, in light of what I am CAPABLE of doing?  If I have the potential to be a .300 hitter for YOUR Colorado Rockies, and I instead am batting .275, what the heck am I accomplishing, compared to what I am meant to be doing? If I decided to be a super-model instead of a world renowned rabbi capable of inspiring millions, should I feel good about myself? If I ran a quarter marathon, when everyone knows I could easily run 2 marathons blind-folded--much like my future brother in law-- should I be proud of my accomplishments? Or, should I realize that that is only the tip of the tip of the tippy top of the icey- iceberg of what I am capable of accomplishing? Are we, G-d forbid, selling ourselves short? Or, are we like Suri, putting ourselves to the fullest possible use? 

      My blessing to all of us, is that we should strive to be like my new imaginary friend Surele, and we should settle for nothing less than living according to our maximal potential. And even when we are meeting our potential, let us retain Suri's humility, and realize that we are merely doing our job, and ultimately, nothing more, than  "simple, virtual assistants."

1-20-2013
Dear Henry,
As I am currently in the middle of a seven hour journey, and am now somewhere over the middle of the United States of America, en route to California, I figure this is as good a time as any to check in. How have you been? As you know, I was recently in Israel, so I wasn't able to maintain my blogg while away. Anyways, while, in the Holy Land, I had many powerfully powerful experiences. Heck I even had several moving experiences- more moving in fact, than a U-haul truck in the streets of Boston on a brisk yet autumn mid-morning. One of these movingly-moving experiences took place, of all places, at a farm at a kibbutz in the South. Growing up in the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains, where I would go cow tippin' to stay out of trouble on the weekends, and where I would ski to school, and then put on my cowboy boots, with the metal spurs on the outside, wearing my jean-blue overalls, I always did view myself as a country-boy. But even though I viewed myself as a country-boy, I still never got into the whole gardening thing. Heck, in recent years I have made fun of my father, whose new passion is his garden. Truth be told, I never was so interested in his garden, even though I try to pretend to be interested when I hear about the new developments and how he is growing tulips. My uncle is even worse- each time I step in his apartment, the first thing he does is take me outside to his balcony garden, where he has baby lemons growing. I find this about as interesting as watching the traffic light turn green outside my house, and then red again, and then green. I find it about as interesting as watching my fingernails grow over the course of a 7 hour journey across the vast breadth of this great country of ours. Truth be told, dear Henry, I figured my father and uncle took such interest in their gardens, because, to put it bluntly, they are entering the middle of Middle-agedness. They aren't young any more, Henry. Cow tippin' just doesn't get it done any more- so I figure, they have this newfound interest in the garden.
And then, Henry, something unexpectedly unexpected happened. Despite my rapidly receding hairline- which is receding rapidlier than a Colorado stage 7 rapid-- I came to appreciate what uncle, and dad sees in their garden. While on this kibbutz, about 5 miles from Gaza, I came to appreciate the garden. You see Henry, as a Jew, anytime I eat a fruit or veggie, I thank G-d for the food with a blessing: Blessed are you, King of the Universe who Created the fruit of the tree. Honestly, I usually say this blessing without even stopping to think about what the Heck I am saying- kind of like a robot who is trained to do whatever it is that he does. But, Henry, when I stood at the foot of a tomato vine, and plucked -a plush red tomato, redder than strawberry koolaid, I had one of those special moments. I declared the blessing, thanking G-d for creating the fruit of the ground, and I dug my tea-stained teeth into this tomato. I realized how awesome it was- at some point a tiny little seed became this morbidy obese tomato, and now, it was gift-wrapped to me, from G-d himself. No packaging, no additives, just a tomato from its vine, just for me. G-d's awesomely Awesomeness hit very hard at that moment, and I now appreciate what my older-but wiser father and uncle see in their gardens. They see Godliness, and His Incredible natural wonders. it is now up to me, oh Henry, to have this concentration and intent everything I eat-- not just when I eat from the tree. Whatever food comes to my mouth, did so as a gift from G-d to me. And even though it is harder to sense this when I am not standing in the garden, it is every bit as true. The garden, dear Henry, is an expression and paradigm for Godliness in the world, and His steady presence at all times, even when it is hard to discern. to that end, Oh Henry, we should all be gardeners.
Indeed, We should all be gardeners.
Forever yours,
Danny Wolfe

1-8-2013

Dear Henry,
      I am admittedly an emotional fellow- heck, I dare say I might even be more emotional than my precious, adorable, absolutely delicious two year old daughter is after I say no to her when she asks me for her fourth cookie. I am more emotional even, than a panda bear is when he leaves his Panda cub family to disembark on a great journey to the Wild West. Years ago,  I have been known to cry during my favorite episodes of One Tree Hill. More recently, I recall sitting in Batteries Plus, bawling while reading Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis's "A Committed Life."
         Most recently, however, I felt the emotions while sitting on an airplane, approaching the Spiritual Center of the Universe. As I watched the video screen ahead of me, showing the tiny, kind of cute little airplane inching its way to the Land of Israel, I felt very real goosebumps develop on my skin- goosebumps larger than the highest moguls on your typical east coast "ski resort." I hadn't experienced goosebumps such as these since Tim Tebow's glorious strike to Demaryius Thomas in last years AFC Wild Card Showdown.
       And then, on this airplane, unannounced, even though I have been to Israel many times, as I stared at this little tv screen in front of me, I felt tears filling my eyes. Real, salty, wet tears. Tears every bit as real as Ray Lewis's tears will be after he plays his final NFL game in Denver this weekend.  And I realized how awesome, and special it is, to have the opportunity to be in the land of Israel. What would my great grandparents- murdered in the Polish deathcamps have done to have this opportunity? What would Moshe Rabainu- the greatest leader in Jewish History-- have done to tread foot in the Holy Land? The Torah tells us, he prayed to G-d 515 times for that exact opportunity.
      As we approached the runway, I thought how awesome it is to live in the times we find ourselves in, and I found myself longing for the day when I will be returning forever-- not only with my immediate family, but with the entire Jewish people, to celebrate the final rebuilding of our Holy Temple-- may it be rebuilt speedily and soon.

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe

1-4-2013

Dear Henry,

       As you know, I attempted to write a blogg 4 years ago, for my lovely wife's  web design project in her class at FIT. I figured my devoted readers would want to see this piece I published 4 years ago. Here you go.

Have a wonderful Shabbos. 

Forever yours,

Danny Wolfe

March 27, 2009

Dear Henry,

Since I don’t understand really how blogs work, and I do not read them, I think I will view it as the diary I never had. I always thought it would be fun to have a diary to whom I confided in everything, yet I never did. This is my chance. I am going to call you Henry. I think that’s a pretty sweet name for a diary.

Anyways, I wanted to share with you a little about my day yesterday. Yesterday, March 26, 2009 was an unprecedented day in my year and a half stay in New York this far. The day began like any other—except for the fact that I was able to walk outdoors for the first time in months without a coat—it was like any other day. As I strolled down the wide sidewalk on Bennett Avenue, I couldn’t help but marvel at the rather mild weather. I had a feeling that somehow, someway, for some reason, by hook or by crook, or even by crook or by hook, today would be special. And special it was. As I approached 184th I was faced with the dilemma I face every day: What should I listen to on Sara’s pretty, bright pink ipod? Should I listen to some Baruch Levine? Or should I listen to a shiur? On this particular day, at this particular time, at this particular moment, I opted for the latter, as opposed to the former. I approached the shuttle, and as I did, I pressed the play button the ipod on the shiur that I had decided on. Upon opening the door, I took a quick look, and saw that the only open seats available were in the back. So to the back I went. And that was precisely when everything changed. As I approached my seat, I admittedly was not expecting what was to follow. Before my very own pretty green eyes, I would witness something unprecedented. I was to witness something I had not witnessed in an extremely long time. There was no way I could have guessed what was to come—it was simply unfathomable. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for what I was about to see, in front of my beautiful sparkling green eyes. No one could have pictured that this would happen, because I believe that this had in fact never before happened. In my older age, I admittedly have come to expect the unexpected, but what was to come, is beyond unexpected. It was simply unheard of. What was to follow simply could not be pictured by the mind: As I approached my seat there was a fellow who looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s. He had a nice goutee that I wish I could grow—except for the fact that my family is incapable of producing such facial hair—and I knew I liked this guy from the beginning. As I settled into my seat, I saw he was moving his lips as if he were talking. As I was listening to my shuir, he just seemed like a talking, goateed man. I wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking. But then I realized the unrealizable: Maybe he was speaking to me: Despite the fact that I was a perfect stranger, and we had never met before, and it was 9:00 in the morning. I turned down the ipod. And yes, he was talking to me. At first I didn’t know what to think. Two immediate options came to mind: A) He was on something, or B) He was from out of town. After thinking for a couple seconds, I realized the latter was more likely, as opposed to the former. It was 9:00, and he looked like a respectable goateed man on his way to work. He must be from out of town. That would be the only logical explanation for how he could have started speaking to me. Indeed, he was from the great state of Texas. During the 5 minutes that were to follow, we talked about a myriad of topics. We discussed the intricate details of life, and why the world was created, what is the meaning of life, etc… If there is a topic, we covered it, all in 5 minutes.

That van ride brought me back to my youth, where I was raised in the great, majestic Rocky Mountains. It reminded my of when we had a group of us who would ski to school, and we would talk while skiing. It brought me back to the day my father first told me I could put spurs on my cowboy boots. It brought me back to the times we went to go tip cows on the farm across the way. It reminded me that neighbors used to convene on the street to talk about life. It reminded me of old roller hockey games and interactions with people that we do not get here. As I carry on this city, the City that never sleeps, I indeed will sleep better knowing this Texan fighting the good fight. As I disembarked from the van on that splendid day, on that momentous moment, at that wondrous time, I marveled at the miracles we see every day.

Forever yours,
Danny