Yesterday, Sunday Morning kind of loving conversation?

How do you feel about your weight?

I didn’t say, what do you mean by that? Somehow you knew by my silence. I lament the limitation age makes on our communication, but it is part of learning respect for elders and sensitivity to the “weaker vessels”.

Oh how the antipathy to children questioning is somewhat inherited and somewhat imitated. We were never to ask a single question of the elders in our lives. There was always a hand to the mouth coming here and there at questions like that. Not your weight, he quickly corrected, the weight that I found for you. You haven’t used your weights in a while, have you. You don’t have more than one do you? That is when the look on my face was his block that we used to have both hands in front of the face, when we asked those kinds of questions should we ever have had the temerity to converse with the elders on such things.

Gram, how old was Aunt Iva in that picture? I said this with Baby Ethan in my hands. The women took on the spirit of the Brooklyn hoodlums, from which we all have sprung. Never mind. I see that I am still not woman enough to ask such things. I didn’t realize that it was such a serious error.

Thank you for finding my weight and thank you for tripping the switch to my unmortified hoodlum woman, so that I could see her in stark reality. I love you for seeing her and for loving me anyway.