One of my favorite times of the year is Passover. I used to defrost a few lamb chops from my mom’s freezer and rub them on the door bucks. I would eat the meat later after she cooked it, but I wouldn’t tell her why the chops looked so beat up. I wouldn’t do that nowadays for health code reasons. Instead I cut a few strips of red electrical tape and affix them to my apartment door.
The symbolism aside Passover is fun because for at least one evening I am not a douchebag to the rest of my family. I humble myself before GOD and give thanks for being amongst loved ones. Since I am the eldest I realize how blessed I am that GOD hasn’t come for my azz. With my dad no longer around I have to be the one to recant the story of my family’s exodus from our old Queens, N.Y. neighborhood. My nephew gets the chance to experience a family dinner without the usual profanity and backbiting that occurs when we are all together.
I think I will prepare dinner as well. Lamb chops and applesauce. I am saving the bread for another day. Don’t let that stop you if you want to challah back. O.K. I know that was corny.
One hundred.
