As I race into the house the odor of freshly baked “challah”(bread) mingles with the roast chicken smell invade my nostrils. That will be the high light of my “Shabbas (Sabbath)” dinner. Man, I wish I could put butter on the bread. That would make it really yummy. But, all I can use is “schmaltz (chicken fat)” Mom wont let me mix “milchidik (dairy)” with “fleischdik (meat)” Wish she wasn’t so strict about that kosher business. But, what harm is there in chicken fat?

“Sorry, I’m late, mom. The ball game went into extra innings.”

“Take your bath. Don’t get into your good “Shabbas (Sabbath)”clothes until after dinner. You know how your clothes like my food better than you do. Put a bathrobe on over your underwear.”

“OK mom”.

The bread smell follows me into the bathroom. I fill the bathtub with warm water as I take off my dirty clothes and throw them into the clothes hamper. I moan aloud, Why do I have to go to “Shul (Synagogue)” with my father? I’m only ten I’ve got three more years til I get Bar Mitva’d. Then, I’ll have the rest of my life to go to “Shul”. Gimme a break.

I slide into the warm soapy water. It feels so good and silky- smooth. As I rub my body with the soap I think about school. It is my first week in the fifth grade. I think about the new teacher, Miss Allen. Wow ! She’s so pretty. That black shinny hair tied in a bun and a red ribbon. My thoughts roam as I begin to indulge in a rite of puberty.

“Paul, “mach shnall (make it quick)” My mother’s voice brings me out of my dream.
I finish my bath.

The ritual of the meal is automatic. My father says the blessing over the wine . Grape juice is substituted for my wine. The blessing as the “challah” is being cut is the next order of business followed by chicken soup with matzoth balls, gefilte fish, roast chicken, and string beans. A fruit compote of stewed prunes, apricots and raisins complete the meal

“Why do I have to go to “shul” tonight”? I ask my father in a whining voice. And what about my big brothers.”? “They are sixteen and eighteen years old. I’m just a kid. I don’t understand the prayers. They are all in Hebrew. All the men talk in Yiddish which I also don’t understand and …..”

“Are you finished, Paul? You need to know the prayers for you Bar Mitzvah. Your brothers have to go to their school football game and they already had their Bar Mitzvah. When you reach their age you can go to the football games.”

Reluctantly, I finish supper. Get dressed in my special “shul” clothes and accompany my father to the synagogue.. It is boring and I lip synch the prayers.
There are better things to think about than words that I don’t understand. Might as well as be reading and speaking Latin. Hey, my friend, Buster Troutman says his prayers are all in Latin. Maybe, I haven’t got it so bad.

My mind wanders and almost immediately focuses on my new teacher, Miss Allen. I hope that I can make a good impression on her. That beautiful white skin………

We get home where my mother offers me some Ovaltine and “mundel broit (similar to biscotti)”. There’s no school the next day so I get to listen to some radio shows. Then, it’s bed time to which I eagerly look forward. Maybe, I’ll dream about Miss Allen.. That’s one subject I won’t talk about to my mother or father.