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D. None of the above

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Kite. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The visitor comes unexpectedly sneaking around corners, invisible in the air even if you’re staring directly at him.

He is particularly welcome in the summer, when it’s so hot that the sweat on your skin only makes you wet and clammy, without providing much relief.

A cold drink might help, you think. As your fingers take respite from the moisture on the cup, your lips, tongue and mouth journey far from the heat, giving your brain the chance to ignore the signals the rest of your body is sending about how hot and miserable you are.

Short as this comfort is, it’s nothing compared to the effect this guest brings.

I tend to make an odd face when I get too hot, curling my short, thick tongue into my slightly larger lower palate and waiting, as patiently as possible, for the fall to bring cooler temperatures, Halloween costumes, pumpkin pie and, down the road, maybe a snowman that’s taller than me and my son who years ago started bending down to hug his father.

Today, however, during that most amazing of now moments, the guest has arrived, offering the kind of cooling and refreshing massage that lasts much longer than an hour. He charges nothing for his services.

He has an open invitation, of course, but he doesn’t always accept the offer, particularly when he’s traveling elsewhere.

He makes the horseflies scatter and alters the surface of the water, causing the kind of rippling pattern that may inspire a young mathematician eager to find a formula to explain what she sees.

He can interrupt even the most heated of discussions, debates and disagreements. It’s hard to be angry or to make an aggressive point when he’s around. And, in case you ignore him, he has a way of making his presence felt, knocking that stylish hat off your head and into the Long Island Sound, causing that expensive silk scarf to ruffle toward your face, or loosening those carefully tucked bangs.

Powerful as the sun and heat are, he can offer a counterbalance.

He can be cruel, knocking a bird’s nests out of the trees. He can also topple a table filled with carefully cooked cuisine, turning the mouth watering meal into a mess. When he feels like attending a baseball game, he can turn a home run into a fly ball and vice versa.

Ah, but go with him when you’re sailing, flying a kite or just sitting on a hot beach, and he brings the kind of cleansing magic to the air that water brings to a parched plate.

He helps send a kite high into the air, tugging on a line that causes the kite to dart, dive, dip and climb.

On a sailboat, he is the copilot, willing your ship, no matter its size, faster. You don’t need a motor when he’s around and you may not even need to drink that iced tea, lemonade, ice cold beer or soft drink you brought along with you.

After a sail, even on some of the hottest days, but particularly around dusk, he provides cool comfort in much the same way a blanket offers warmth during the coolest nights of the winter.

As he climbs through the nearby trees, he seems to ask you to “shhh.” Then, he waltzes past chimes, tapping each sound singularly and together, singing a unique summer melody that changes with each of his appearances.

He is an equal opportunity flag waver, indifferent to the political leanings of the people who hoisted the revered cloth to the top of a pole.

One of my favorite companions during the summer, I celebrate the cherished breeze, not only for the comfort he affords but for the way he alters the landscape and offers a respite from the heat.

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Lucas Films

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

When times are tough, we can use nostalgia as a bittersweet salve.

Nostalgia serves as both a source of comfort, allowing us to step out of our current situations, while also providing a longing for something that may be impossible to find or rediscover.

To that end, I’d like to share a nostalgic and a not nostalgic list.

— Being out of touch. I know that may seem odd, particularly for someone whose job involves keeping people in touch with information, but I miss the days when people couldn’t find me. I remember getting a beeper for the first time and thinking this was a slippery slope to nonstop accountability.

— Snow days. In the most intense heat of the summer, it’s easy to become nostalgic for the unplanned gift of a day off from school and, way back when, for some time at home with my parents. The night before a snow day, I would go to a particular window in the backyard, turn on the light and assess the size of the snowflakes. If they were too big, the temperature was likely far too warm and the snow would likely turn into rain. Smaller and super numerous snowflakes, like a colony of termites building a home, could work their magic overnight, causing the trees to bend in front of my window.

— Cultural excitement. We are so divided on so many issues these days, but I miss the general excitement that comes from blockbuster movies. I remember the experience of seeing the movie “Star Wars” in a packed theater and the excited conversation from people as the John Williams music sent them home happy.

— The meaningful sitcom. “M*A*S*H” somehow combined humor and drama, blending comedy with intense situations in an army hospital in the Korean War. The sitcom “Mom,” which deals with addiction, friendship, familial issues and loss, brought the same impressive acting to difficult situations softened by humor.

— Eating less healthy food. I miss the ability to eat a burger, fries and onion rings at one of my favorite restaurants (RIP The Good Steer) without having that food interrupt my sleep, create unfortunate digestive experiences or contribute to an expanding girth.

— Letting our dog roam the neighborhood. Our current dog is rarely off his leash. Decades ago, we’d ask our dog if he wanted to go out, he’d run to the door and return to play when he heard us outside or to have his evening meal and play at night. He walked himself.

— My dad. My father had the uncanny ability to make me laugh, even and especially when I was frustrated. Seeing my sour face, he’d come toward me in a battle of wills he knew he’d win. He’d make a strange face or do something unpredictable, forcing me to smile despite myself.

Okay, so, how about a few things for which I am not nostalgic.

— The rear-facing seat of a station wagon. The seat often didn’t have much room, because we also packed bags and suitcases back there, and was facing the wrong way, which meant that nausea, particularly on tight turns, was a constant companion.

— The Yankees around 1990. With a respectful nod to Don Mattingly, those teams were pretty close to unwatchable. 

— Marching band practice. I loved so many parts of my musical upbringing, but marching band doesn’t make the list. We sweat for hours on hot fields. During performances, our heavy, unflattering uniforms trapped heat and felt stiffer than denim that had dried too quickly.

— Going to the airport to change tickets. Awful as today’s airline experiences are, we drove to the airport and waited in line to change tickets. Today, we can go online, where systems are busy and the airlines tells us to try back later.

— Waiting for carpools. To borrow from J.D. Salinger and William Golding, waiting for exhausted parents to pick up a collection of teenagers dripping with Holden Caulfield angst was akin to living through a sociological “Lord of the Flies” experiment.

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wedding table

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The son of my wife’s sister, my nephew, is older than I was when I met him.

It’s not so surprising, then, that he would be getting married, especially not after a long-term relationship that transitioned years ago from a matter of if to when in terms of marriage.

Still, it’s hard to imagine the next generation entering these milestone moments when I feel like my wife and I only recently got married, which clearly wasn’t such a recent event.

One of my first memories of my nephew, who was six years old when I babysat for his younger brother while he and his parents went to see “The Lion King” on Broadway, was of this enthusiastic child who wanted to participate in adult conversations.

On his way out the door, he promised to give me a thorough review of the show. While he was gone, his brother and I called my future wife. His younger brother pretended he was me and kept asking me what to say. Fortunately for him, my wife is as playful as he, and went along with the gag for a giggle-fest of a conversation.

A few years later, my sister-in-law told me she overheard her children discussing my marriage to their aunt. Her younger son was excited to add the title “uncle” to my name, while the older one wasn’t sure he wanted to call me “uncle.”

Not eager to stand on ceremony, I told him he could continue to call me “Dan,” although the uncle title quickly became a natural part of our interactions.

Over the years, I have reveled in his achievements, enjoyed hearing about his adventures, travels and jobs and have admired the joy he feels when he spends time with his fiancée.

He laughs, shares stories and dances with her at family parties.

With their wedding approaching in the next few days, it’s hard to believe that my wife and I will be members of the older generation.

Unlike my uncles and aunts, who attended my brother’s wedding in the summer and, generally, passed on my wedding in the winter, my wife and I have every intention of spending most of the wedding on the dance floor.

Yes, we’re older, and we likely won’t have the same modern dance moves that the next generation will likely display, but we love a great party and, what’s more, we love to celebrate life together.

As I did when we had a party for our daughter’s 16th birthday, I will likely sweat through my button down shirt and will probably drape my suit jacket over the back of the chair and won’t touch it until we’re clearing out the room.

At some point, someone with a video camera may come over to my wife and me, asking us to share our thoughts on this auspicious occasion.

I’m sure I will think about my antediluvian uncle, who was asked a similar question at my brother’s wedding.

After a long, reflective pause and with his customary flat affect, he looked directly into the camera. “It’s a sense o’ hyum’ah,” he suggested.

Listening to his wife whose voice cut through concrete as she exclaimed about everything from how much she loved my younger brother the best to how wonderful and delicious the food at any event was, I could see the importance of humor.

While my wife and I have reveled in making each other laugh, I don’t think I’ll repeat that line, even if it does apply, in part because it belongs to my uncle.

Instead, I may tell them to dance as often as they can and to enjoy the little moments, like the sound of a child’s laughter or the excited review of a Broadway show from a six-year-old.

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Baseball game Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I was born in March, so, of course, I wished I were born in the summer.

My brothers were both born in the heat of the summer, which means they could go to a warm beach on their birthdays, sail across some waterway around Long Island, and celebrate the passage of another year without a midterm on their big day or, even worse, the day after their birthday.

But, the real reason I wished my birthday came during the summer was so that I could attend a Yankees game.

When my birthday rolled around, pitchers and catchers were often reporting to spring training, getting ready for the marathon of each baseball season.

When my son was born in July, sandwiched between a host of other family birthdays on both sides of the family, I figured he would have the chance to pursue the kind of unfulfilled baseball fantasy that I could only imagine as I was memorizing facts, figures and formulas for another set of tests before, during and immediately after my annual rite of passage.

Recently, we celebrated his birthday by going to one of the last few Yankees games before the All-Star break. 

We had the privilege of attending a weekend game, when neither of us felt the need to work or meet a deadline.

My son is taking a summer course for which he was supposed to have a virtual test the day before we went to a game. The computer system crashed that day, and the professor suggested everyone take it the next day.

The system, however, continued not to work, perhaps obeying a secret wish my son made over his customized birthday cake, giving him the opportunity to enjoy the entire day with little to no responsibility other than to reply to all the well wishers and to compliment them on their melodic singing.

The game itself became a blowout early, as the Yankees scored run after run, and the Red Sox seemed to retreat to the safety of the dugout soon after coming up to bat.

Both of us ate more than we normally do in a day, celebrating the outing and reveling in the moment, high-fiving each other and the reveling strangers in Yankees jerseys in front of us.

While the packed stadium started to clear out when the game seemed out of reach for the visitors, we remained in our seats until the last pitch, soaking up the sun, predicting the outcomes of each pitcher-hitter match up and observing the small games-within-a-game that comes from watching the defense change its positioning for each hitter.

It still confounds me that a team could leave the third base line completely open, shift all the infielders towards right field, and still, the hitter won’t push the ball in a place where he could get a single or double. After all, if they heeded the advice of Hall of Famer Willie Keeler who suggested they “hit it where they ain’t,” these batters could get a hit, raise their batting average and contribute to a rally just by pushing the ball to a huge expanse of open and unprotected grass in fair territory.

Amid the many relaxing and enjoyable moments of connection with my son, he shared that he kind of wished he had born in the winter. After all, he said, he loves hockey and always imagined going to an NHL game on his birthday.

I suppose the grass is always greener, even on your birthday.

To be fair, though, he did add that wasn’t a genuine wish, as he was thrilled to attend baseball games on his actual birthday, and he was pleased that, in every other year, he didn’t have to worry about exams.

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Mice. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The English language makes no sense. As soon as you create a rule, exceptions crop up like mushrooms colonizing an open field.

Let’s start with the plural form of nouns.

“Add an ‘s’ and be done with it,” you might say. While that’s a simple solution, the language laughs in the face of such elegant simplicity.

Take the words “chief” and “thief.” Chief” becomes “chiefs” easily enough, as Kansas City football fans will readily tell you.

But then thief changes everything. The plural becomes “thieves,” as if someone robbed the word of its “f” and replaced it with something that sounds more vile and villainous.

The plural for hoof, as in the bottom of a horse’s foot, is hooves, but the acceptable plural for roof, which also only has one different letter way at the start of the word, is roofs. Yes, I know people say “rooves,” but that doesn’t make it accurate.

A root at the bottom of the tree that draws nutrients from the ground becomes roots. A single owl calling to another across the treetops utters a hoot. Several owls responding reply in hoots. So far, so good.

But then, what’s wrong with those things that are important for walking and that smell up a room when they sweat too much? How is it that foot, which also only differs in the initial letter, becomes feet?

Then there are the plural forms of animals. A mouse hunting for food with his rodent pals becomes mice, while a moose eating in a field with his family becomes, well, moose.

The moose, however, hasn’t cornered the market on words that describe an individual and a group. Deer, sheep, salmon and trout also don’t budge when switching from one to several. 

And why are the words for a group of animals different? Couldn’t they all be packs, herds, groups or schools?

Wolves banding together to hunt, live and howl form a pack. A family of giraffes is, fittingly, called a tower. That seems appropriate for animals that are born 6 feet tall.

But what about a collection of bears? They’re a sleuth, while a group of bats is a cloud.

One goose pooping on a field is inconvenient and messy, but is still a goose. Two of them are geese. A group of them walking on the ground is a gaggle, while those same birds in flight become a skein.

People often describe the challenge of bringing people together as akin to herding cats. While the verb is accurate, the name for a group of cats is not: they are a clutter, a glaring or a pounce, although numerous other words also describe a cat confab.

Now, more than one dolphin, those adorable marine mammals that make cool clicking sounds and perform at aquariums, becomes a school, which is also true of more than one fish, even though other marine mammals, such as walruses become herds or pods

When several ducks get together, they aren’t a flock, despite the fact that they are birds. They are a raft, perhaps reflecting the fact that they look like independent floats sitting on the water. Sea lions also become rafts when they’re together in the water.

Returning to those hooting owls, they become a parliament. Sure, that makes sense.

A group of hippos is called a bloat. While hippos average 3,310 pounds as an adult, the same word doesn’t apply to the larger elephant, which is part of a herd.

A number of crows is a murder, reflecting, perhaps, their ominous role in literature.

Penguins may take the word group crown, having a wide array of terms for them when they get together. A group is called a colony, rookery or huddles. It doesn’t end there. Swimming penguins, like ducks, are a raft. More likely than not, you might guess the name for walking penguins: they are a waddle.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I read bumper stickers, buttons, fortune cookies and messages on T-shirts. They are a form of poetry that captures a moment, an approach, an attitude, and a message in fewer words than some of the soupier birthday cards.

Like birthday cards, sometimes these messages work, are amusing, evoke a reaction, or make me laugh for intentional and unintentional reasons.

In the modern world, in which so many interactions seem less than optimal or contrary to the intentions, I have some suggested messages that reflect the current state of customer service and civility, or lack thereof.

— Please don’t interrupt. I’m in the middle of looking busy. When I started working many years ago, someone told me to balance between looking busy and being under control. She suggested I walk quickly and purposefully, even if just to the bathroom, to suggest that I’m too busy to tackle something new that might involve lots of administrative work.

— Yes, I am talking to you. Those of you old enough to have seen the Robert De Niro film “Raging Bull” will understand this one instantly. This message captures the prevalence of confrontations.

— I have no idea what’s good. I don’t eat here. Diners often ask waiters and waitresses, “what’s good.” More often than not, they tell people what’s popular dishes or their specials. The subtext here is that some of them don’t, can’t or wouldn’t eat where you’re eating, especially after spending considerable time in the kitchen.

— Everything and nothing is special today. Keeping with the dining theme, while blending in some grade inflation, waiters could provide something philosophical for their diners to consume.

— I believe in building suspense. The assignment, the job, or even the entree may be later than someone wanted. This message could suggest the tardiness was deliberate and was designed to enhance appreciation and add drama. So, you’re welcome.

— Sure, you can ask. I like the buttons people wear at Yankees games that encourage fans to ask a question. On a day when these customer service professionals are feeling tired or hung over, they could don messages that encourage people to move along or to figure out how to drive home to Pennsylvania from the Bronx on their own.

— How can I appear to help you? Life is all about optics. Yes, we should be helping and yes, people are paid to help each other, in person, on phone and on the Internet. Sometimes, the person (or artificial intelligence programs) that is offering assistance isn’t delivering much.

— I brought my own questions, thanks. I would love it if a politician wore this button to a debate. On one level, it could suggest the candidate has questions that are hopefully substantive for his or her opponent. On the other, it could be an honest way of acknowledging the disconnect between a question about the environment and an answer about the person’s commitment to family.

— What can you do for me? This is a way of turning the tables, literally, on a hostile or inappropriate customer. It also discourages people from asking too much of someone who is not eager to deliver.

— Is there anything else I can’t do for you? I’ve been on numerous calls with people who haven’t done anything, particularly when dealing with traveling details, who then ask if there’s anything else they can help me with. When they haven’t helped me with the first question, it’s hard to imagine they can help with a second. A more honest message might suggest that they also anticipate not being able to provide any help with a second problem or question.

— What did you get me for my birthday? People often want, or expect, something, even from strangers, on their birthday. They don’t often consider that the person from whom they expect service, help or extra treatment had a birthday they likely missed.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We don’t usually go to bed thinking, “what if I’m wrong?” We don’t get up asking ourselves the same question.

We develop our beliefs, stick with them and, as time goes on, we defend them or push for change based on something we think, or are fairly certain, we know.

But it’s worth considering the possibility that we might be wrong, particularly in connection with something as important as the only habitable planet we know.

If you don’t believe climate change is a threat and you think rules restricting environmental pollution are unnecessary and a federal government overreach, have you considered the consequences of being wrong?

I won’t trot out all the climate science experts who have what they consider incontrovertible proof that the climate is warming based on years of data.

You’d probably come back with the argument that the data can be interpreted in other ways or that science itself rarely has complete certainty.

You might even suggest that a warmer climate would mean we wouldn’t need to use as much heat during the winter months and that some crops might grow better during a longer, hotter growing season.

While I don’t ascribe to those thoughts —which a headline grabbing Republican recently espoused — because of the danger to so many staple crops from a warmer season that could include droughts and storms that cripple cities and destroy crops, I want those who don’t believe climate change is real to consider what might happen if they are wrong.

At the time of this writing, the Supreme Court hadn’t ruled on West Virginia vs. Environmental Protection Agency. If the conservative majority, who have been reshaping the political and legal landscape at a rapid pace, rules as expected, the EPA will have less authority to regulate power plant pollution.

That would mean power plants won’t have to comply with federal rules that limit the gases they emit into the environment and the pollutants they send into the air.

These companies may be able to make more money by continuing to operate as they had in the past. Yay for them? Right? Well, not so fast.

What’s the risk if they are wrong? We all make decisions when weighing risks, whether it’s the types of stocks we invest in, the places we go that might be dangerous at night, or the undercooked foods we eat.

So, if they’re wrong, the world continues to heat up, storms such as hurricanes move more slowly, dumping more rain on any one area, crops get destroyed, glaciers continue to melt causing sea levels to rise, and biodiversity declines, wiping out species that might have otherwise led to cures for disease or provide future food sources.

Some areas also become uninhabitable.

Our children, grandchildren and future generations can’t come back to tell us who was right. What we do or don’t do, however, will undoubtedly affect them.

Using the same logic climate change deniers use to suggest that nothing is certain, it seems critical to hedge their bets, protecting us from a future they believe is possible but unlikely.

Even if the Supreme Court acts (or acted, depending on the timing) as expected, we don’t have to be fatalistic or cynical about the next steps in the battle against our own gaseous waste.

Utilities and other companies that produce these gases have to take responsibility for their actions, regardless of what the Supreme Court says or does. Even reluctant legislators have to consider what might happen if they are wrong. Yes, leaders have numerous other problems.

We can’t ignore the Earth. If some people consider the consequences of freeing up companies to send carbon dioxide into the only air we have, they might be making a one-way mistake. They must consider what will happen if they are wrong.

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The White House. METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Dear President Biden,

In an ideal world, everyone would be rooting for you. After all, as the leader of the country, your success is our success.

That’s certainly how the late George H.W. Bush (41, not 43) felt when he left a supportive note for Bill Clinton, the politician who defeated him.

We don’t live in that world. People are actively rooting against you, many of them American and many of them eager for power, influence and opportunity. Against that backdrop, I’m sure it’s challenging to get out in front of any story or narrative. You can’t control gas prices, right? You can’t control the weather, the global economy, the war in Ukraine or anything else that’s casting a pall over the nation and the world.

And yet, your job requires a certain level of messaging, communicating and leadership. You might not feel you can do much about the litany of problems you face — Republicans won’t let you, inflation is cutting everyone’s pay, and Covid continues to make people sick.

But here’s the thing: you need to get out in front of something. You need to step up and tell us how things will get better. We want to believe you because everyone wants happier days.

That starts with you. In the midst of some heated tension with the Soviet Union, Ronald Reagan offered the country the kind of reassurance that you haven’t provided. Despite the collection of nuclear missiles pointed at us, Reagan suggested that we were safe and should sleep well.

Look, I get it. People pounce on every syllable you say that might be a bit hard to follow. You’ve had a long history of verbal gaffes. But you can’t let fear of saying the wrong thing keep you from saying anything. Americans see you periodically, but you rarely tell us anything memorable or offer us a digestible helping of hope.

Your administration as a whole seems to be following your lead. No one in your cabinet has given us the sense that things will get better soon or, for lack of a better phrase, “you got this.” You have the largest bully pulpit in the world. The press follows your every move. Use that to your advantage. Seize the narrative. Give us a Project Hope or a positive message. Celebrate Americans doing good for their country.

The talking heads on both sides have given Americans an enormous dose of anger every day. It’s become an outlet for their energy and a way to keep Americans glued to their screens, waiting for the latest outrage and the newest opportunity to be disgusted by the other side.

When you ran for office, you assured us that we would return to normalcy and that you’d bring some measure of civility and decency back to the oval office. Here we are, the clock is ticking, and the anger machines from our two parties are in full gear.

Show the kind of leadership the situations demand. You don’t have to solve everything at the same time, but give us a regular update or an idea of what you know will work.

We need you to show us you have ideas we can support and that you have a plan you’re putting into action.

I understand your plan is to run for office in 2024. Why? How would that help the country? We know Republicans in the house, outraged on behalf of the two impeachments of your predecessor, may launch a host of investigations into you and your son if, as expected, they take the majority in the upcoming midterms.

When that process starts, being angry and outraged will only throw your own fury on the fire. We, and you, need positive and effective leadership now. Talk to Americans, share your plan for a better today and tomorrow. We need you to succeed. While what you’ve done so far might be undervalued and undercovered, we need visible wins. Break this pattern and give us reasons to believe in you and in the future.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Even as I type this, I’m sure my mom, and the parents of people in their 40s and 50s, are going to laugh.

You see, my daughter turned 21 recently. For me, her age comes as a bit of a shock, a take-stock moment and a time warp enigma.

I get it. She’s lived 21 years, but, somehow, her reaching that age seems to have happened suddenly.

I know it’s not all about me, but it is in this column, so, hang with me for a few more minutes.

I don’t remember many of my birthdays when I was younger. At her third birthday, I’m pretty sure I didn’t stop and say to myself, “When I turned three, I was wishing with all my might for a Big Wheel.”

That probably was what I wanted, but I don’t remember thinking that. In fact, I don’t recall other landmark birthdays all that vividly, even though my parents invited my friends over, sang to me, and insisted that I make a “really good wish” before I blew out the candles.

What I remember from that age was my ambivalence. I was uncomfortable with all the attention, but I enjoyed the excitement of opening new presents. One year, all I wanted was basketballs, so I got three of them from my obliging social group.

So, back to our daughter. She earned this milestone birthday, leaving behind a trail of bread crumb memories.

On the day of our daughter’s birth, my wife insisted that I stay with her in the hospital no matter what was happening with my wife, so that we brought home the baby that had been “cooking” as we called it, for all those months.

It wasn’t hard to find our daughter, who has a distinctive birthmark and was exactly twice the weight of the baby next to her in the pediatric unit.

She went through numerous stages on the journey from that first miraculous day to now. When we moved out to a suburb from Manhattan, she took a walk through a nearby wooded path. An inchworm dangled from a tree and landed on her small, thin outstretched finger.

She carried it, slowly and carefully back to our house, offering to show this miracle to our new neighbors. Having lived their entire short lives in the suburbs, they didn’t relate to this city girl’s fascination with small samples of nature and returned to their driveway activities.

She took us with her on a journey that included brief visits to ballet studios (that ended abruptly) and to gymnastics floors (that also didn’t take). We spent considerably more time on hot softball fields and in confined volleyball gymnasiums, where ear-piercing whistles blended with teams celebrating the end of each point.

We also attended numerous concerts, including jazz bands, where she overcame stage fright to play a tenor saxophone solo.

We went through phases where nothing I said was right, funny or even worth sharing. The silent treatment, the lack of communication and the dubiousness with which she interacted with us helped prepare us for the moment when her younger brother exercised his own need to push us away and assert his independence.

So, here she is, at 21, driving a car, preparing for her senior year of college, making friends, gainfully employed during the summer, and filled with so much of the same wonder that defined her earlier years. In fact, these days, instead of carrying inchworms on her now manicured hands, she maintains several ecospheres filled with snails on a small table in her room.

When children act out, parents sometimes caution them that they may one day have a child just like them. In her case, I certainly hope so. I couldn’t wish anything better for our now 21-year-old.

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Wedding. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We’re finally here.

These poor couples have had to wait for days, months and years to tie the knot in front of family and friends. It’s such a relief that we can all gather again, celebrating the love that binds two people forever and that may, if it hasn’t already, lead to children.

It seems that the list of dos and don’ts for weddings has changed, just as so many other parts of modern reality have altered the way we go about our lives.

Here are a few of the dos and don’ts, starting with the don’ts.

— Cough. Ever. If you have to cough, swallow it or make it sound like a strange laugh. No one wants to hear a cough, least of all at a wedding. Go outside to cough. Cough in the car. Cough into your hand like you’re saying something private and being discrete. Go to the edge of the parking lot and cough.

— Chew with your mouth open. No one wants to see the food you’re eating, especially not in the third year of COVID-19.

—  Point to the food and say how much better you could make it. Look, we know that you’ve lost a step on your social graces from being home so often. We know that you’ve spent a great deal of time cooking meals to your satisfaction. We know that you are a great admirer of your own food, your own voice, and your own way of doing things. Appreciate that someone else has made the food and will clean it up and that they do things differently than you do. You can have food you know you love as soon as you walk back into your fortress of solitude.

— Talk about politics. You’re not going to convince anyone who doesn’t agree with you already of your views. So, why bring it up? This isn’t the time to try to make a reasoned argument with relatives who only share genes and nothing else. Smile if they bring something up you find disagreeable.

— Complain about the weather. The bride, groom and the extended family have no control over the weather. If it’s too hot, get a drink. If it’s too cold, shift back and forth from one foot to the other or bring a sweater. The weather is either perfect, dramatic, lovely or dynamic.

— Talk about your own wedding. If people were there, they remember. If not, they don’t need you to compare what’s going on to what you did. Your wedding may have been lovely, but you’re not there right now.

— Point to someone else’s mask and ask them why they’re wearing it. Do whatever is comfortable for you. Don’t tell anyone else what to do because, well, that doesn’t work and it gets people angry. They do their thing, you do yours.

— Binge watch shows while you’re waiting for the ceremony to start. Yes, the invitation said the party would start at 7 p.m. and it’s now 7:18 p.m. So what? You’re there to celebrate other people and to witness this lovely moment. Netflix and other shows can wait. Live your life.

— Show pictures of your pet. Many of us added dogs, cats and fish, particularly during the pandemic.

Okay, so, here is a short list of dos:

— Give other people a chance to talk. Silence, periodically, is okay. You don’t need to fill every quiet moment, if there are any, with your opinions, thoughts and experiences.

— Ask someone to dance who seems eager for a partner. Grab your mother-in-law, your brother-in-law, or your something-in-law by the hand, lead him or her to the floor, smile, and appreciate the chance to dance.

— Remember that you won’t have to see many of these people until the next blessed event, whenever that is.

— Thank the bride, groom and their families for a lovely event. Even if you hated it, you’ve got some good stories to share and you gave your wonderful pets a short break from you.

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