I do not know at what age my Christmas memories began, but I do remember being very young and in awe of a very large – and very well decorated – Christmas tree in our family room. I even remember peeking down the stairs late one evening and seeing my mother standing extremely close to Santa Claus. OK, you might not find that an unusual memory, except my family is Jewish.
Apparently, my parents thought it was easier to decorate and give gifts for both Chanukah and Christmas than to try and explain why religiously they only celebrated the "smaller" holiday, although I must have sensed that. (Children usually do.)
And, I remember exactly when I came to the realization that Santa was not real. I was five years old and in the hospital with pneumonia and in the middle of the night, a Santa came by giving out Christmas gifts. I must have sensed his presence because when he arrived at the foot of my bed, I sat up and immediately told him that I could not have any Christmas gifts. He questioned why not (maybe thinking I was going to state I had not been good all year, which probably would have been an accurate statement), and I told him it was because I was Jewish.
He leaned over my bed, pulled away his fake beard, and whispered in my ear, "It's ok – so am I." And without his beard, I immediately recognized him as one of the doctors who had checked on me several times during my stay. We smiled at each other, knowing that we had a special bond, and he left me a gift.
Now, older and wiser, I have come to the conclusion … Santa does exist. You just have to believe …
Another year, another Masters golf tournament! Now, it’s been decades since I was glued to the TV watching golf every weekend. But this year, even though I barely recognize the names of the top Masters contenders, I can’t wait to watch the first foursome tee off. That might not seem to make sense, but the Masters always features an honorary starter, and this year it’s my favorite golfer, Tom Watson. And while my favorite Masters memory is of meeting Arnold Palmer (see below), my favorite golf memory is when my dad and I watched the 1977 British Open at Turnberry and Tom Watson beat Jack Nicklaus (by one stroke).
For golfers, spring means another Masters golf tournament. Last year, everyone talked about the 35th anniversary of Jack Nicklaus’s amazing come-from-behind victory to claim his 18th major championship. What made it even more amazing was that, at 46, no one thought he would ever win another major. This year, the talk’s all about Tiger Woods (now 46) competing on the 25th anniversary of his first Masters win. It’s a comeback story straight out of Hollywood as a serious car accident 14 months ago initially left people wondering if he would survive, let alone ever play golf again. (Which is reminiscent of when Ben Hogan, one of golf’s all-time greats, came back after a horrific car accident in 1949 to win The U.S. Open in 1950.)
For most golf fans and lovers of great sports comebacks stories, those are inspirational examples of never giving up. And although I was in the crowd around the 18th hole in 1986 when Jack Nicklaus raised his putter in triumph, that was my second favorite Masters memory. And my greatest memory at the Masters didn’t actually take place at the Masters. Well, not at the golf course, anyway.
But first, I want to explain how I was able to go to the final round of the Masters that Sunday. It was due to the generosity and kindness of a total stranger that lived down the block from Augusta National Golf Club, home to the Masters. I met him that Saturday when I asked if I could possibly park in his driveway, as I was hoping to walk around and somehow find a ticket for sale. Later in the day, when I told him that I had no success, he said I could have his for Sunday. (To this day, I still shake my head in disbelief, but it does qualify as my third best Masters memory.)
So, what was my favorite memory? It’s when Jesse Haddock, the legendary golf coach at Wake Forest University (where I had graduated with a theater degree in 1984), replied to my letter saying that while he couldn’t help me get a ticket to the Masters, I was invited to Wake Forest’s annual golf alumni reception they always held during Masters week. I decided that alone was worth the plane ticket and a few nights at a motel, so off I went, thinking that perhaps I’d meet PGA players (and Wake Forest alums) Jay Haas or Curtis Strange or even Lanny Wadkins. Never dreaming that my expectations were, well, set a bit low,
Shortly after Jesse introduces himself and gives me a hug, he takes me by the elbow and tells me there’s someone he’d love for me to meet. An instant later, all I can think of is how much I can’t wait to call my dad later that night. (This was in the days before cell phones.) However, first I have to smile and pose for a photo, as I’m now standing between one of the greatest college golf coaches of all time and certainly the greatest Wake Forest alumni golfer, not to mention one of the world’s greatest golfers, ever, Arnold Palmer.
It’s Groundhog Day. Again! A day that reminds me of a great movie with a great message (see my thoughts below). Again. And this year, it reminds me that I have great friends. Now, you may wonder, what does that have to do with Groundhog Day? Well, a few years ago, I visited one of my dearest friends when she was living in Woodstock, IL, where the movie, “Groundhog Day” was filmed. Standing in the town square on a snowy night with one of my best friends is a day (well, technically a night) I’d be happy to repeat. Again and again.
Yes, I know that Groundhog Day was last week. But truth be told, on the actual day, I almost forgot that it was Groundhog Day. Until Black, on our morning phone call (we talk almost every morning – sometimes specific Red & Black items, sometimes current events, sometimes just "life") wishes me, "Happy Groundhog Day." Well, these days, every day feels like Groundhog Day, so I thought she was just being sarcastic, which wouldn't be unusual. When I started to reply with something like "yeah, same ole, same ole", I paused, because I realized, it really was Groundhog Day.
But even if Black hadn't brought it to my attention, there was still no escaping Groundhog Day, as beside it being mentioned on the morning shows, I noticed that one of the movie channels had the movie "Groundhog Day" on all day. Literally all day, as in on a loop (which seemed appropriate). It was ok with me, as it's one of my all-time favorite movies.
For me, the movie has everything. A great cast (Bill Murray was true perfection and I hope they never, ever do a remake because no one can top him), a great script that somehow made a very simple storyline come alive, and subtle messaging. Yes, each day is the same. Sounds boring. But no, because even with the same day every day there are nuances of humor, of sadness, of happiness, of goodness, of badness. And decisions to be made, or not made. Do you do the right thing, the easy thing, the unexpected thing? Do you think about yourself or others?
Yes, I know, my theater degree is showing. (Something Black claims I rarely use, except when I'm being, well, theatrical.) But it's an accurate analysis, and when I watched "Groundhog Day" for the umpteenth time this Groundhog Day, it was through the lens of the last year and the coronavirus. When I thought every day was the same. But watching the movie, again, made me realize it really isn't. Because each day gives us new opportunities to make decisions, both big and small. Each day, in its own way, is a gift. And although almost every day this last year has felt like we're living our own personal "Groundhog Day", at the same time it has taught us so much.
And this time, even though I've seen the ending countless times, it really made me stop and think …
That if we're lucky, maybe, like Bill Murray's character, who ultimately found patience and then happiness in appreciating what was there, not tomorrow, but today … that we find happiness today but also see that our "Groundhog Days" will one day be over. And that all our "todays" are making opportunities for tomorrow's new beginnings.
| Shoes. Seemingly endless shoes. That’s all I can think about. |
| I know you cannot be talking about my closet. |
| Far from it! It’s an image that’s forever burned in my memory. A pile of shoes, each one representing a life lost. Each one a story onto itself. Each one proof of something we should never forget. |
| Normally, I would ask you to tell me what you are talking about or accuse you of being overly dramatic. But, not this time. |
| When you sent me the article about the United Nations recently issuing a strong message against the denial or the distortion of the facts surrounding the Holocaust – the first thought that came to my mind was the shoes. How can you ignore the piles of victims’ shoes?! |
| The same way you can ignore the documentary footage of the liberation of the concentration camps, and all the horrible evidence that was left behind. How do you ignore the many books on the subject, not to mention the first-hand accounts of survivors? |
| I’m not saying that can be ignored. It’s almost unimaginable and horrible and heartbreaking. But there’s a difference between learning about history and literally standing feet away from thousands of shoes that had been worn by the victims, each representing not only a life but a family, a community. |
| I understand. I read The Diary of Anne Frank in school, but when I walked through the actual house in Amsterdam, it became real. And overwhelming. That is why there are Holocaust Museums and memorials around the world. And, unfortunately, there were enough victims’ shoes to allow them to be displayed in many places. |
| I remember the first time I went to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. It was only a few weeks after it opened in 1993, and although I was 30 years old and had learned about the Holocaust in school, it was still overwhelming. I’ll never forget that the exhibit with the shoes was filled with visitors, yet it had an eerie silence. |
| Yes, it is a haunting experience. I remember you telling me, decades later, that after you and Sawyer visited the museum, of everything on display, that also was what struck her the most. And, I am guessing she probably heard less about the Holocaust in school than we did. |
| Growing up, I remember hearing about the loss of 6 million Jews during the Holocaust, and that the world should “ never forget .” But it seems that people are not only forgetting, but many are now denying it ever happened! Why else would the United Nations have to issue a statement?! |
| A statement that also urges social media platforms to take active measures to combat antisemitism and Holocaust denial or distortion. |
| What scares me the most is that the more people deny the Holocaust ever happened, the more likely such horrors can happen again. That history will repeat itself. |
| You are the lover of history, not me, and for years have told me that not acknowledging history dooms you to repeat the mistakes. But, that is also true of all of us. If we do not acknowledge mistakes, then we are apt to repeat them. |
| Fine, but how do you combat not only hate, but lies, lies that are accepted as truth. Tell me how you do that. |
| There is no easy answer. That may be why there is an International Holocaust Remembrance Day . But, one day a year is not enough for each of us to focus on seeking the truth, and not repeating things if we are not sure they are true. And, sharing what we know to be true. |
| Like the overwhelming emotion brought on by piles and piles of victim’s shoes? Shoes that scream out, “Never forget“ or, maybe more accurately, “Never forget me.” |
| The only way to make sure we “never forget” is for us to “always remember” and help others do the same. |