Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Dad is an extrovert. He's friendly, and open to new people and experiences. I am too, though becoming frum has really tamed that for me.
Today he went for a walk, and was gone for a couple of hours. I finally caught up with him after carpool, and he says, "You'll never believe who I met today." "Who?" He pulled something from his bag - Jews for J literature. My eyes flew open in horror. "Not now, Dad!" I glanced around the car to make sure none of the kids saw. "Okay," he shrugged. "I'll tell you later."
So while everyone was at the dinner table, I snuck into his room. "Sorry Dad," I whispered, as I rummaged through his bag. When I found the brochure, I slipped it into the waistband of my skirt. I made a beeline for my bathroom, where I tore it to shreds.
Yaakov met me in the kitchen. "Where'd you just go?" I lowerered my voice. "Dad had some Jews for J literature." Yaakov freaked. "Get it out of here NOW!" he said, his hands in the air like chassidic stop signs. "I did already. I snuck into his bedroom and tore it up." He sighed. "Oh good."
Dad hasn't mentioned it, and I can't help but wonder if he forgot the incident entirely. Sometimes drugs are really helpful.