I Had No Idea
I was twelve, and it was my first week in my new school. The teacher said when we were finished our work, we could choose an activity, and as the first one finished, I choose to paint. I worked alone, and when it was time to clean up and I was washing the brushes at the sink, I was surprised to have a tall boy with curly hair stand up and bring me a towel to wipe my hands. He took my hand and gently dabbed the water from it.
To say I was surprised would miss the mark. I was numb with shock. He held my hand, and I held my breath. I was in a trance. When we finally returned to our respective seats, I sat there wondering what had just happened.
As I was leaving to go home for lunch, another boy came up to me and said, “Don’t you know he’s a kike?” Again, I said nothing. I had no idea what he meant. This was a very strange school!
I asked my parents over lunch, “What is a kike?”
“Where did you hear that word?” my mother demanded.
“At school. A boy said another boy was a kike.”
“Never say that word! It’s a mean word. He meant the boy was Jewish.”
For the next two years Marty and I were classmates but not really friends the way I was friends with Carl and Sharon, and while I liked him I was more interested in the “bad” boys like Jack, for instance, and the other boys who rode their bikes to the playground in the evenings and like me, played scrub and rode around the neighbourhood. I never saw Marty after school.
I got to know him at school, though. He and I were rivals, friendly rivals, for top marks. We occasionally talked and I learned his mother was a painter. His family owned a ladies clothing store, but I learned that from my mother.
When we were in grade eight, the class had to choose the valedictorian and the MC for our graduation. We all wrote speeches, and the teacher chose a few to be presented to the class. Marty and I were in the running for those two positions.
Now, I dreaded the idea of standing up in front of the whole school, and all the parents, and delivering a speech from memory! So when it was my turn to show the class what I could do, I spoke in a strange voice, a sarcastic, silly voice. Needless to say, they chose Marty and his speech.
Did Marty think I did that so he could be the valedictorian? If so, he was wrong. It was so I wouldn’t be. So they gave me the job of MC. All I had to do was introduce people. Not a problem.
I dressed carefully for my big night. I wore a pretty aqua dress, and my long dark hair was shiny and turned under at the bottom just the way I liked it. And to top it off, I wore a large, aurora borealis cross I had bought at Kresge’s for the occasion. It hung around my neck all shiny and sparkly and I felt beautiful wearing it.
The evening went as planned. Marty gave his speech, to great applause. I made my introductions graciously, my cross sparkling under the lights.
It was the following day that Marty came to me and said, “I think you should see your own people.”
Again, to say I was surprised would be greatly understating it. I was dumbfounded. I just nodded because I had no words. I wasn’t “seeing” anyone. I had no “people.” What did he mean? “I’m going to stick to my friends. I hope you’ll be happy with yours.”
He walked away and I stood there, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
Years later, I’ve imagined what had happened that night in the Samuels house. I think Marty really liked me and had spoken to his parents about this girl at school who was smart and liked to paint, and they were curious to see me. I must have been their worst nightmare.
“This is the girl you like?” his father would ask him that night. “This shiksa with a crucifix around her neck??”
“Not a crucifix, Dad. A cross.”
“Cross, crucifix, who cares if there’s a dead man hanging on it or not? She’s a Christian. And she’s so proud of it she wears a gigantic cross around her neck!”
“Your bubby was crying,” his mother said. “She couldn’t believe it! Aren’t there any nice, smart girls at your schul? I can name at least five, daughters of friends, so pretty and such lovely girls. “
“So this is what you meant when you said now that you’ll be in high school you want to date girls? Shiksas? With big crosses?” his father continued.
“Is she a Catholic?” his mother asked.
“No. I think Lutheran.”
“Lutheran! That church where they speak German? German? You want to go out with a German girl?” his father roared.
“No, Marty. It won’t work,” his mother insisted. “Stick to your own people. She can stick to hers. You tell her, as soon as you see her again. “
“Your mother is right! It’s for the best, Marty. You’ll kill your bubby if you date girls with big crosses around their necks. And German!” He walks away holding his head.
Marty is crying. “But I like her, Mom. I don’t want to hurt her! She likes me, too. I know it.”
“Better hurt her now than later, Marty. Tell her right out. She can stick to her people and you’ll be sticking to yours.” She holds her son close, comforting him.
And so, without knowing it, I had declared myself to be a Christian, a Lutheran, and not suitable to be dating a boy of the Jewish faith. And I had no idea.
Amber Harvey
October 26, 2020
1000 words