I had been a little put-out at my mom’s family lately. We have a pair of bat mitzvahs in my family this weekend. There are, of course, associated festivities, dinners, etc.. The biggest of these is tonight after services.
Wick, Joseph and I are not invited. I am the first cousin of a parent of each of the young ladies in question, and that isn’t close enough to warrant invitation in their book. I’m more used to this than not, as they’ve been excluding me for about 30 years now wherever they could. But it upsets my mother every time it happens, and that upsets me. I had been in a bad mood over the whole petty thing for a while.
But last night my son – the only great-grandchild my granddad got to know really well – climbed into my lap, asked me to tell him a story about how his great-grandpa played with him when he was a toddler, and then drifted off to sleep in my arms. It was wonderful. And it put everything into perspective. My aunt and uncle and their kids, my first cousins, can be as petty as they want to. It’s their loss. I have everything I need.