"You mean for the Jew Boy?"

  A young receptionist greeted me at the old remodeled Horton Hotel on Island and Fourth Street. It was Saturday, another Sabbath day for me. But this day was different, it was the day before Father's Day. The old hotel had pictures on the wall of the previous owners, or the ones who profited from it. At one time, the hotel showered their guests with good food and a place to rest, while outside, their horses were stabled and fed.
   Two hours earlier, I had showered, shaved, and bolted out the door of the downtown YMCA. I didn't wish to miss bible study at the little store front Jewish House of Worship.  The plans made, I showered, shaved and bolted out of the YMCA at about eight thirty. I did not wish to miss Shlomo's Bible study class.    A week filled with Ballroom dance gave my legs and an extra bounce. The morning was overcast, but there were signs of another sunny day in San Diego. My legs crossed over a few streets until I arrived at Island and Third. A  message on the store front synagogue directed me to the next street and the Horton Hotel. Jeffery's Bar Mitzvah was today, and not next week.
   Can you direct me to the where Jeffery's Bar Mitzvah would be held.?
    "You mean for the Jew Boy? It is through that door." The clerk's badge had Emma written on it.
    Thank you Emma for these directions.
  My god has told me not to react to one so dumb or prejudice. Many people think her way, but are coy enough to hide it. Many tell me "their best friend is Jewish". Hashem or my God's program is to maximize my joy each day. In no way would I allow Emma's 'idol' words toss my my salad to floor me. I would simply table her remarks for awhile. Hell, this was my first Bar Mitzva in over fifty years.
 Sabbath is here in San Diego. My daughter, and her husband are traveling from Long Beach to San Diego to celebrate Fathers' Day with me. It is the seventeenth, the day before Fathers' Day - but what the hell - who will know the difference. Olivia is my first Grandchild. 
   This weekend is special. I need to pray and thank Him for the direction he has given me. Now I walk in His shoes. We are to meet at twelve and I will forgo the noon lunch to join them. It has always felt good to pray and allow the old time Jewish rhythms entertain my soul and bring me closer to Him.
   A large reception room graced the ceremony inside the Regent room. In the front stood an Ark with the Torah inside From a back table I removed a Yarmulke and prayer shawl. Some small trees separated the men from the women - that is the tradition of the Orthodox Jews.
   My heart filled with the trumpets of joy when I saw Cantor Shlomo belt out songs from the prayer book. This occasion brought out the best in this Libyan  hero the Israel wars against the Arabs. He reminded me of Enrico Caruso or Frank Sinatra. Smiles filled the faces of Jeffery's proud family. Jeffery's Dad kissed everyone in kissing distance.
  But why wasn't my Bar Mitzvah like this one? Why...Why...Why? My mind travels to another time. Over sixty years ago it was my turn on the pulpit. My Rabbi pointed to the words and I marshaled them out. Yet I could not breath or smile then. I gasped for air and my legs shook. Thirteen year old Jeffery turns into me. In front of me I see the silhouettes of my  Dad Harry and my Mom Edith. My Grandma Rachel has brought her sister all the way from Montreal to see this event.
   I see thirteen year old George, scared to death. My mind returns to the present. Jeffery is confident and happy. A chill envelopes me. My drip tears. Embarrassed, I hide under my prayer shawl. My nose runs unabated removing the poisons of the past. But the Hebrew chants of long ago rivet inside my soul. Yesterday's tragedy is replaced by today's serenity. Something hits me. Can it be my Mom's broom?
   My Mom swiped at me again. I turned around to see some idiot with a stroller I scream "s..t" to this intruder. I apologize and continue to sway, back and forth. The dam stroller hits me again with no "I'm sorry's".
  I would be a proud Jew the entire day. My concentration tested, I retreat to the rear and return the religious garments. Now I wish to stay for the reception. My stomach years for good food. Employees are setting up tables of the best Jewish food God's worshipers can buy. My tongue can taste the food. I wish to telephone my daughter to come later.

  In the lobby Emma is still there. I am in a tranquil mood and have forgotten the bad beginning.
   Emma, can I use your phone?
   "Is it Local?"
    It is an emergency!
   Emma still does not budge, but this proud Jew does not badger her. I decide to make it a day and leave the food for another day. My food today would be Olivia and her parents. We would go to Balboa Park
They picked me up and it was Olivia who had quite a day with Balboa Park's Lily Pond. She tried to enter the pool and grab the yellow wish but her Dad would have nothing of it.

 It was,  an remains,  the greatest Father's Day any father could ever have.

 
   I must inform the reader these stories don't come out of the air. After a Huevos Ranchero breakfast at  Perry's in Old Town, I had driven to the Harbor Sheraton Hotel. The old story popped of a clip board discarded a over a year ago.  A story written two Fathers' Day ago lit up my eyes  at the Sheraton Harbor hotel on Saturday. I had already eaten  after.