They did it!
My father bursts in the shop,
his hands black with dried roofing tar.
The Giants lost to the Padres, but they’re still in first!
He grabs me tightly,
lifts me up, and spins me around.
He smells like he’s worked all day.
We’re going to the National League Championships
Wednesday night against the Cubs.
I think we got this.
He sets me down,
takes a breath, looks around.
Hey, he says. What’s all this?
His eyes lock with my grandfather’s,
his hands slowly ball into fists.
He walks to where
the jars
sit side by side,
and for a while
no one says anything,
the dim light of the jewelry shop
sitting heavily on the three of us.
I feel the words in my body,
still strong, working their way
out of me like they haven’t for such a long time.
Dad, it’s okay,
Grandpa was showing me
all of this stuff …
My father’s eyes grow large
and he puts his hand to his mouth,
like he can’t believe it.
I haven’t seen that jar
since I …
since Ma …
But he stops there.
I see a tear in the corner of his eye.
He shakes it off.
You know, I tried to use some of that clay once.
When I was a kid, younger than you,
some of the other kids in my school
told me that my dad was a “dirty immigrant,”
called me names for being Jewish.
Your grandfather talked to the school,
the school talked to their parents,
but nothing helped.
So I took the clay from the box.
My eyes get wide.
I actually tried to make a golem.
I wanted it to protect us from those bullies
the way it did in your grandfather’s stories.
I used almost all the clay,
tried to make the golem
on the front stoop of our building.
You know what happened?
My grandfather walks closer to him.
My father takes a step back.
It rained,
and the clay washed away down the street.