FEBRUARY 19, ‘25 // teacher with an air of professionalism, leaving Blimi stuck for words to keep the conversation going, at least enough for the other parents to see that she is a serios mother. “So she is, um, okay? Huh?” Blimi racks her brains for something smarter to say. “Very ok. No problems,” answers the teacher, her eyes looking over Blimi’s shoulders, as if the consultation is over and she is inviting the next in line. Some waiting mothers, stand with papers in their hand and look as if they prepared for a long discussion with the teachers. Blimi makes another feeble attempt to prove herself as a very thorough and caring mother. “You, er, mentioned about her motor skills, well….” She begins timidly and is about to diatribe that it is not in place for an educational institution to push the children so much, and anyway, what normal Yiddish girl will end up running a gas station or fixing cars. “Why are you teaching motor skills to a four-year-old?” Blimi asks emphatically. “Oh that!” The teacher waves her hand. “Don’t worry too much about it. She does colour out of the line sometimes, but she handles a scissor very well.” A little embarrassed, Blimi tries another thrust. “And why do you want to socially integrate my child. Isn’t this an Orthodox school?” The teacher smiles, understanding that Blimi is most probably trying to be funny. “All we want is that they get along with one another. Sometimes your Gitele crawls into the playhouse for the day and announces that nobody’s home. But it is not so bad lately, she has been allowing visitors. There is definitely hope that she will adapt socially in the near future.” “In my time this was called ‘veohavto lereyacho kemoicho” Blimi answers patronizingly desperate to have the last word and avoid being crushed entirely. Now, as Blimi stands face to face with Shoshana, explaining which vegetables to choose for her letcho, she is appeased. She observes the difficulty which which Shoshana tries to control her curious child who has thrown himself into a public tantrum. Blimi talks to the child. The child responds to the tone and language. Blimi has the experience as well as the intuition to handle it and Shoshana is very grateful for the practical on hand guidance. They part ways amiably each with their purchases, A refreshed self worth lifts Blimi who can barely feel the weight of the bulging shopping bags as she dances home on air, realizing that after all, she is as socially astute as anyone else - even Shoshana. Write it, Pen it …. Or WOW IT!!! Express yourself with poems, essays, documents… with a unique twist. Chana Lebovits 514 2734047 ozer514@gmail.com you about...” Gitele: Mommy, did he drown? Huh? Mommy? Did he? Blimi: Drown? Of course not, I am only washing his face? Giteleh: (Close to tears) “No, I mean the tzadik!” Blimi: Oh, the TZADIK. Well.... (doorbell rings) “go tzadikel! Answer the door. (Giteleh runs to the door. End of story time.) Her first PTA meeting is a challenge. Blimi studies the report and notices that Gitele is graded on subjects with exotic titles, such as Primary Motor Skills, for which she has a C+. Confused, Blimi wonders if it is a precursor to the study of engineering. For Social Integration, Gitele is graded with F. The low mark does not bother Blimi. “If I wanted my daughter to integrate, I would send her to public school.” She adamantly declares, while making a mental note to complain to the principal. “Really! Who is behind all these new subjects? What do they want of these children?” She stands in line watching knowledgeable parents discuss their children’s progress and racks her brains to say something worthy of attention. She comes up with nothing better than asking the one in line before her for a recipe for spicy salmon, for which she trades her own recipe for broccoli dip. When her turn comes up, Blimi pastes a smile. “So how is my daughter doing?” “Gitele is doing just fine,” answers the 190
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