Sad Songs
My Brooklyn memories are mostly happy ones. That changed in adolescence. It had nothing to do with Brooklyn; it had to do with adolescence. Everyone at that time of life got hooked on sad songs. Was it, “Tell Laura I Love Her?” or maybe “Teen Angel?” There were dozens of them, each one more morose than the other and seemingly the more morose they were the higher on the charts they rose.
Life throws one curves. What did we say? “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger?” Someone poisoned my dog and I watched him die in agony.
My iconic, erratic, beloved grandfather died and at the funeral the rabbi forgot his name. “We are here to celebrate the life of…er…” and with that began a mad scramble through pockets and folders. It was seconds; it seemed like forever. Finally, “er….Louis Feinstein.” I was crushed.