I’ve lived in my house for 30 years, but it’s getting too big for me now. I know that. I know I have to downsize. But when I look around, all I see are stories, a lifetime of memories—a knife from Jordan, a walking stick from Halifax—and so many are tied to my wife, who’s no longer with us. Sometimes I look around and catch myself saying, “That’s coming to my next home. That’s gotta go.”
One thing I know I’m going to take is my cricket paddle.
I remember I saw an announcement in the newspaper that said something like, “Do you play cricket? We’re trying to get an American team together for the Maccabiah Games in Israel.” The Maccabiah Games are like the Jewish Olympics. I’d played a little cricket in college, so I thought, Sure. What the hell!?!
At the opening ceremonies we marched into the stadium behind the American flag, with teams from South America, from Europe, everywhere. It was a spectacle. This was a big, big event in my life. It was 1973, and I was 40 years old, one of the oldest guys on the team. I knew it wasn’t going to happen again for me.
We hadn’t had much by way of practice and we lost every game. It didn’t matter. I made it to Israel, played, met some great guys, the New York Times wrote about us. And I got this cricket bat. We each did. It’s maybe 10 inches high, and we all signed each other’s. This was literally half a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then. And so much never happened. It was a magical time in my life.
~ Bernard Shapiro, retired lawyer, Sherman Oaks, CA