By the time you read this, I’ll be finished celebrating my son’s Bar Mitzvah. It’s coming up this Sunday, and I’ve rarely felt such mixed emotions.
On the one hand, I can’t wait for this to happen. Since my son has always hated serious events, we’re having his celebration on the Jewish holiday of Purim. It’s the closest thing we have to a Mardi Gras carnival: costumes, craziness, even a religious injunction to drink so much you can’t tell if you’re booing Haman (the villain in the story) or cheering for Mordechai (the hero) or Esther (the heroine). (Note to purists: the injunction doesn’t mention Esther–but I’m a feminist, and I say she’s in.)
Did I say this was a carnival? Then bring on the costumes! I’ll be in a 17th-century courtier’s outfit, purple with gold brocade. My wife, an active, churchgoing Catholic, is going as a nun. She and our rabbi used to haunt the same punk clubs in LA, and he’s promised to get a Mohawk for the occasion. (By the time you read this, we’ll know whether he came through or chickened out.) Our synagogue has a “Purim family service” on Sunday morning, and all the little kids from Sunday school will be there to hear my boy talk about the holiday that teaches us, as his sermon says, that “sometimes you’ve just got to break the rules.” It will be a madhouse, and we can’t wait.
But as we grown-ups know, breaking the rules has its price.
Almost everyone we’ve invited is thrilled that we’re going our own way. But one or two have seemed, right from the start, put off by how different our celebration will be. I’m not entirely sure what’s disappointing them. The lack of a big evening party afterward, at a country club or hotel? The small guest list, which means they won’t get to visit with cousin X or Y? The air of informality at the service itself? Whatever the reason, it hurts, and the contrast between their grudging response and the joyful encouragement we’re getting from others, Jewish and Catholic alike, makes it all the harder.
“So, nu?” you ask. “Enough about the Bar Mitzvah! Where does the romance fit in?”
Thursday night, after a talk with my wife, I realized why everything felt so askew. The part of the family that would have loved all this as much as we do–the part that would have gotten it, and helped me negotiate the trickiest family straits–is missing. Eight years ago, when my father died, the balance between tradition and cosmopolitanism, piety and free-thinking, freedom and family duty got all out of whack, and none of us in the family is quite sure how to restore it. My dad wasn’t as young as Edmund, the father whose sudden death forms the backstory of Julia Quinn’s The Viscount Who Loved Me. But the more we talked, the more I felt like Anthony, his eldest son, the hero of that novel, who spends most of the book dealing with the aftershocks of that loss. I pulled out the book and read a while, discovering for the first time that as well as being a very funny book, it’s a real tearjerker, too.
For twenty-five years, R and I have run interference for one another this way. It’s not just that, like Kate and Anthony, we’ve talked each other through tough spots; just as often, like Min Dobbs and Cal Morrisey, in Jennifer Crusie’s Bet Me, we’ve faced down or stood up to each other’s family, too. One reason that novel remains my favorite romance–one of many!–is the pair of scenes, a chapter apart, where Cal takes on Min’s family, and vice versa. “‘For the record, she is not too big for the dress. The dress is too small for her. She’s perfect.’ Cal buttered a roll and passed it over to Min. ‘Eat.’” Gets me every time.
By the time you read this, it will all be over. If I know my family, everything will work out fine. We’ll win over the skeptics, have a blast, and wonder how we could have thought it could have gone any other way. Among the happy memories, though, that talk the other night will have a special place in my heart: staying up late, reading Viscount and Bet Me, knowing that yet again we were there for each other when it counted. Here’s hoping that my son finds someone, as the years go by, who’ll talk him down, buck him up, and generally help him to deal with the headaches his mom and I will give him.
L’chaim!
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Balancing family is difficult, no doubt. Personally, I think your celebration sounds so much more fun than a stuffy formal party.
Do leave in the comment if Rabbi got Mohawk!
Omigoodness, that sounds like so much fun and congratulations to your son!
Don’t worry. I’ve noticed families ‘mature’ just as individuals do. You’ll find your path and the balance, especially since you’re actually looking for it.
Oh, good grief. Did I forget to make Hamentaschen? Again? The kids grow up and leave, and things seem to skip through the cracks.
My cousin had her kids much later in life than I did (and she’s younger as well). Thank goodness I didn’t live near enough to have to deal with her panic about her daughter’s Bat Mitzvah, and then her son’s Bar Mitzvah a few years later. I think my own wedding and the two I ‘orchestrated’ for my daughters were calmer. (OK, she does go over the top obsessing about everything, but the parties were WAY over the top, IMHO).
Sounds like you did the right thing.
Mazel Tov!! My son became Bar Mitzvah last year and we have another next year. It’s enough to exhaust you, no? I also keenly felt my dad’s loss. But, I also felt him there with us, and I hope that you were able to feel the same.
And how wonderful that you celebrated your simcha on Purim. What a fun way to do it!
Congratulations to your son, Eric! I hope you all had a lovely day. I guess family gatherings are always tricky, no matter what. The most important thing is that you chose to celebrate your son’s Bar Mitzvah in a way that was fun for him.
The underlying themes in many romances — which sometimes get lost in the rippling abs
— include building community, learning to compromise, and strengthening each other. What better lessons could there be?
Congrats on this milestone for your family!
Mazel Tov! Congratulations on celebrating this milestone. Juggling families is always a challenge…hope all went well.
And please, do tell…did he Mohawk?
Hi, everyone! First things first: the rabbi did NOT get a Mohawk, although he did suit up like Bono in a very impressive way. My son went up to him before the service and said, “You know, all the other rabbis got Mohawks this year. What happened?” Cracked me up. (I’m thinking his wife said something like “You promised Eric what?” and that was the end of that.)
Everything went splendidly, I’m happy to say: my son was happy, his friends loved it, and the sight of my rabbi and wife dancing together after the service was truly delicious. (”One week I’m doing a marriage with a priest, the next week I’m dancing with a nun,” he told me. “It’s a slippery slope.”) And as soon as I get some good pictures from the service I’m changing my profile picture–the purple & gold outfit was a smash.
I just finished “Bet Me” and wrote a review of it on my blog but I have to say here how much I loved it. Min and Cal – weren’t they fabulous? And I loved the whole Cal wanting to put that look on Min’s face as she dove into fresh bread was hot, wasn’t it?
Sounds like a wonderful, happy occasion. Families sticking together through thick and thin is what it’s about whether it’s a family by love or marriage. Did you ever read Dear Abby? At least once a week there’s a letter from a newly wed about the spouse not standing by him/her when the clash is with family. How can such a marriage work? I’m glad romance writers get that part right every time.
Eric,
Mazel Tov! It’s a wonderful, joyous occasion! And you managed to work in two of my absolute favorite romances while discussing it!
What a great story! Thanks for sharing. I was really disappointed in the epilogue… no mohawk. How depressing. Thanks for mentioning Bet Me. I love Jennifer Crusie, and I didn’t realize it was out in paperback now, so I can afford it. Off to the store…