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D. None of the above

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President Joe Biden walks to the Oval Office with President-elect Donald Trump, Wednesday, November 13, 2024. (Official White House Photo by Adam Schultz) Wikimedia Commons Public Domain

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Here we are, teetering on the precipice of the transition from Joseph Biden back to Donald Trump at the White House.

What better time than now to ponder some random facts, such as birth order, about the presidency? I used a Potus Presidential Facts website that included siblings and half-siblings for the first part of this column and a host of other websites, including Wikipedia for the second part.

For starters, none of the men (it’s a men’s only club so far) who were the commander in chief were only children. Three presidents, meanwhile, had only one sibling. That list includes Calvin Coolidge, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan.

Now, I figured that more presidents were first children than subsequent children, in part because first children often rule the roost, as primogeniture would suggest. But I was wrong.

Yes, first children are well represented, as 11 presidents were the oldest in their families.

First born children who would go on to become president started with John Adams and James Madison and included Lyndon Baines Johnson, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, George W. Bush (43) and the soon-to be ex-president Joseph Biden, among others.

Second children, however, constituted the greatest number of presidents. After a lifetime of being described as number two, I now realize what a compliment such a designation is, at least in terms of presidential history, where number two is number one.

Starting with James Monroe, that list includes such luminaries as Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry Truman, John F. Kennedy and, well, Richard Nixon. Okay, so, Nixon didn’t exactly cover himself in glory, resigning in disgrace after the Watergate Scandal, but he doesn’t bring all second children down.

First and second children constitute 56 percent of the presidents.

Going to the presidents who had numerous older siblings, the three presidents who were born seventh all shared the same first name: William. The seventh born commanders in chief were William Henry Harrison, William McKinley and William Howard Taft. If history is any guide, that means a seventh born William, assuming somehow your parents didn’t choose the name for any of your older siblings, has a path to the presidency.

Four presidents were born sixth, starting with George Washington. Joining the first president in the number six club are Martin Van Buren, John Tyler and Franklin Pierce.

The fifth born list only has three entrants: James Garfield, Chester A. Arthur and Grover Cleveland, who shares the distinction of being the only president elected in two non-consecutive terms with Trump.

Fourth born presidents also have three members, starting with Zachary Taylor, continuing with Rutherford B. Hayes and going to Trump.

And, finally, seven presidents were born third in their families. The list started with Thomas Jefferson and included Andrew Jackson, Andrew Johnson, Woodrow Wilson, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama.

Now, seven presidents were the youngest child, including Herbert Hoover, Ronald Reagan, Andrew Jackson, Andrew Johnson, Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield and William Henry Harrison.

On average, presidents had a little over five siblings. Biden had three siblings and Trump had four, making him the penultimate child.

James Madison, who served as the fourth president, had the most siblings, at 11.

While similar lists for first ladies are harder to find (at least for me), I did find some interesting factoids about a few first ladies.

During the war of 1812, Dolley Madison, whose first name originally had an “e” then didn’t in historical records and then did again as of 1958, rescued artifacts from the White House before the British burned it down. Frances Cleveland, meanwhile, was the youngest first lady and the only one who got married in the White House. At 21, she wed 49-year old Grover Cleveland.

Helen Taft was the first to ride with her husband in the inaugural parade and the first to ensure staff were treated equally in the White House. She planted the first of 3,000 cherry trees Tokyo had sent as a gift, helping to establish cherry trees as a staple along the Potomac river.

As for pets, Trump, James K. Polk and Andrew Johnson were the only White House occupants who didn’t have pets, according to Wikipedia. I’m guessing that some of the Secret Service members bitten by Biden’s dog Commander would have preferred that the incumbent didn’t own a canine.

Teddy Roosevelt had numerous pets when he was president, including snakes, dogs, cats, a badger, birds, and guinea pigs.

Numerous presidents received larger animals that they sent elsewhere. Eisenhower, for example, received a baby Forest Elephant from the French Community of African Republics that he shipped to the National Zoo.

 

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

It’s hard to come up with a short list of the pros or cons of skiing. The experience, with everything from getting there, to being there, to trekking home, is filled with, if you’ll pardon the pun, ups and downs.

I’d like to share a few observations from our recent venture to the slopes.

For starters, just being in the mountains is extraordinary. The air is fresh, clear and clean and the views of snow-capped peaks and valleys are inspiring. Of course, you have to get to those mountains, which can require anything from a long drive to a flight filled with challenges and delays.

On a recent trip, our flight to those magnificent mountains involved sitting in a row on the plane that was exceedingly hot. When I asked the flight attendant why the plane was so warm, she explained that we were likely sitting near the engines.

The way home was no picnic either, because those wonderful winter storms that bring snow caused us to have a five hour delay, coupled with another hot ride home that suggested that the entire plane must have been sitting too close to the engines. Other passengers complained that they were wearing tank tops and jeans and sweat through their pants.

Back to the positive, the chairlift experience often is an opportunity to meet interesting and compelling people during a short but jovial journey. In one such conversation, I met a precocious nine-year old boy named Stephen, who told me he and his family, including his mother with whom we rode the lift, had recently visited London and Paris. He said he liked the food better in Paris, but that the food in London had improved over the years.

“And how would you know that?” his flabbergasted and amused mother asked. 

He shrugged.

“My mom travels a lot for her work, so she’s not always around,” Stephen said. “Sometimes, we get to go with her to fun places, though.” That statement seemed to offer an interesting window into the dynamic in their household.

Those chair lift rides, however, can take longer to board and to ride than expected. The lifts can  stop at inopportune times, near a snow gun that blankets skiers and snowboarders with snow we’d prefer were beneath our feet rather than trickling down our necks. Other times, people on those lifts swing their legs back and forth, making me feel as if I’m on someone else’s suspended rocking chair.

On a trip down the slopes, the speed and movement can be exhilarating. The swishing sound of the snow and the speed of the wind, without any mechanical noise from an engine, can allow us to experience the world at higher speeds, as the sound of rushing air and sliding skis combine to form a whispering symphony. At the bottom, our tired but rejuvenated muscles can relive the excitement from our self-directed ride.

We are not the only ones on the slopes and, while we might enjoy the thrill of a high speed run, we may also brace ourselves for the possibility that other skiers or snowboarders might push themselves beyond their limits. We could become bowling pins on a mountain, as others lose control, barrel into us and knock us down.

In the moment, the great unknown over the next plateau presents the opportunity to anticipate and embrace the terrain ahead. Perhaps the untrodden snow just past the peak has perfectly packed powder, the mogul (or bump, in modern parlance) is the right height and dimensions to catch some air, or the width and steepness of the slopes is exactly as we imagine when we dream of the ideal slope.

The other side of that peak, however, may have thin cover, with grass or even exposed rock, while someone may have taken a spill just beyond what we can see, turning them into obstacles we have to avoid.

While the pieces of equipment makes it possible for us to traverse snow covered mountains deftly, they are not designed for everyday maneuvering. Walking through a parking lot in ski boots can be torture for our shins, which may take days or more to forgive us for our skiing indulgence.

And, finally, the weather can offer the kind of glorious sunshine that transports us into an Ansel Adams poster or inserts us into picture postcard, with light shimmering off the tops of mountains, causing snow covered trees to glow. Then again, Mother Nature doesn’t care how much you spent on lift tickets and is perfectly happy to throw wind, rain, sleet and snow at you from every direction.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Words, ideas, and concepts mean different things in different contexts. Some of those differences depend on the audience. The phrase “Santa Claus is coming to town,” for example, conjures different images, ideas and reactions depending on who is hearing it. Let’s consider the reaction of different audiences:

— A group of first graders whose families celebrate Christmas: These children might immediately wonder “when, when, when” this jolly man in a red suit is going to shimmy down the chimney and deliver what they hope are their favorite presents. It can’t be soon enough for many of these children.

— Parents of those first graders: These dedicated mothers and fathers might feel pressure to produce the kind of holiday they had or the kind they wish they had when they were young. The words might trigger some anxiety, as the approaching jolly man might mean they have limited time to generate holiday joy. Where, they might wonder, are they supposed to find some of the gifts their children crave and how can these presents arrive without causing their children to wonder about the boxes at the front door?

— Retailers: Store owners are likely to start feeling cautiously optimistic, as they are every year, that Santa and his minions will shop at their stores, helping drive their bottom lines and making it possible for them to afford to provide the kind of holiday treats their own children desire.

— Workers in retail stores: They may find the phrase charming and endearing initially, and may even enjoy the endless loop of holiday songs for a while. At some point, when they can’t get a particular song out of their head, they may crave other music and other sounds that don’t remind them of twitchy children who, like me, seem to be a perfect fit for a size the store doesn’t have at that time or that doesn’t exist because it’s between two typical sizes.

— Music teachers: These people, who put in extra hours every year that often extend well beyond any contracts or employment agreements, may be trying to find ways to coax the best sounds out of young voices or out of young musicians who are learning how to play their instruments without squeaking or hitting a wrong note. This year, they may also have tried to bring something original and new to the holiday concert, either by adding a new march or song or by offering their own take on the classic, which runs the risk of alienating audiences who come to hear the familiar version.

— TV networks: While many of us are a click or two away from new movies or streaming shows that we can binge watch, some people continue to watch ongoing holiday programming. The Santa Claus song may remind them of their stock of holiday movies, as they maneuver between old favorites like “It’s a Wonderful Life” and more modern comedies, like “Elf.”

— Dentists: Okay, so I’m a little obsessed about teeth lately. If you don’t know why, check out my column from last week. Anyway, given the propensity for cookies, cakes and candy, dentists may hear those words and picture ways to help people clean their teeth in the early months of the new year.

— Health club owners: Owners of gyms may hear these six words and immediately think about all the New Year’s resolutions that follow the holidays. They may hope that the desire for a sound mind in a sound body brings more people to their gyms, where people can use their equipment to sculpt and tone their bodies or to burn off some of the desserts that topped off a family meal.

— Narcissists: These people know who they are and are probably annoyed that it took me this long to think about them. They have better things to do than to read all the way towards the end of my column. Anyway, they would like to know when someone will be as good to them as they are to everyone else. 

— People who run charities: The arrival of Santa Claus may remind people to help those less fortunate, giving them an opportunity to provide something meaningful. These dedicated residents who focus on community service may hope to bring out the kind of holiday spirit and joy that enabled Dr. Seuss’s Whos of Whoville to celebrate even without their presents.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

You can’t win.

I don’t have to tell you that. One way or another, in one context or another, you already know.

You see, I floss my teeth religiously. I mean, I don’t do it while praying or to some funky weird sounding music that you might hear in a massage parlor, where they speak in whispers and the room smells like scented candles.

No, my wife and I, and sometimes a good friend or two, will take out floss and work through our teeth. I’m not sure how it became a social activity, but we enjoy it and feel virtuous at the same time.

I’ve become so good at it and it’s become so routine that I know the space, or lack thereof, between my teeth better than I know the back of my hand, which, at the moment is cracking and dry because of the cold air and the dry weather.

I try to suppress a smirk when I go to the dentist and a hygienist tries to work floss between my teeth. I could tell them, like a tooth GPS system, where to go, how hard to push and at what angle.

Sooner or later, they get that piece of floss in between my teeth.

So, now to the you-can’t-win-part. You see, I was flossing my teeth in bed the other day, sitting next to my wife as we navigated back and forth between TV stations, one with a Knicks game and the other with a game show.

Like a concert pianist, I worked the top teeth, gliding along the keys and opening my mouth just enough to get my fingers into position. I use much more floss than my wife, as I wrap rows of floss around my fingers and try not to reuse the same piece between teeth.

After moving to a new section of floss, it was on to the bottom, weaving around the misaligned center of the bottom teeth, which, despite a general straightening thanks to Invisalign from a few years ago, is still unwilling to form a perfect line.

As I got to the bottom left, I gave a tug and, poof! Out came half of a tooth. I thought it might be some larger piece of food that was hiding back there, but, no, the density, size and sharpness on my tongue suggested I shouldn’t swallow it.

“Hey,” I said to my wife, “I just broke a tooth.”

On further review with the piece in my hand, it was clearly a broken tooth.

Flossing, which should be as healthy and helpful as sit ups, stretching or overall general maintenance, shouldn’t be hazardous.

Then again, the previous week, a friend told me he had to have surgery because he brushed his teeth too vigorously. He described how a dentist took a piece of the roof of his mouth and transferred it to his gums. Fortunately, I don’t have the same aggressive brushing technique.

So, the next day, I called my dentist and described the problem. She fit me into her busy schedule.

When she came in the room and asked me to open my mouth, she flinched.

“Yup, that’s going to need a crown,” she offered, trying to keep her voice from reflecting the surprise at the size of the missing piece.

While she was numbing my mouth, a TV next to me was showing a food network competition. That seemed ironic. With a numbed jaw, eating even hours afterwards wasn’t much of an option. Watching people prepare food and hearing critiques of the way the food exploded in their mouths was like driving by a field of magnificent flowers with a bad head cold.

So, now that I’m back from the dentist with a temporary crown and numbness that spreads from my cheek around my lower jaw, I am left to wonder whether flossing is all it’s cracked up to be. Then again, I have had root canal for gum problems. That’s no picnic, either.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

My initials suited me well before I was old enough to care.

You see, I don’t drink, so the idea of a DD, or designated driver, works for me.

Over the years, not drinking alcohol has triggered an even wider range of responses from adults than discussing my food allergies, which, in themselves, typically start unusual conversations. It seems odd to discuss painful digestive responses to consuming food with people who are about to eat.

Anyway, alcohol is supposed to be some kind of rite of passage, a bonding experience, a chance to celebrate and let loose, and something of a national past time.

I don’t mind when other people drink, but I’ve never been all that tempted to throw down a few beers or to end a tough day with a stiff drink.

When I don’t order a drink, I get a range of questions. “Are you in recovery?” “Are you taking medicine?” “Are you very religious?” “Are you sure you’re human?”

Alcohol is as much of a ritual in the country when adults celebrate as sugary treats are when our children attend another birthday party.

Athletes douse each other with champagne, beer, and other beverages when their teams win rounds of a playoff or championships. People toast each other and the start of a new year with adult beverages.

It’d be funny to see a baseball team retreat to the clubhouse after dog piling at the pitcher’s mound and eat a tray of cookies and milk (which I also can’t drink and, no, I don’t feel like describing what happens if I do). Can you imagine them sitting back with a tray of their favorite vegetables, a towel around their necks and a satisfied smile on their faces?

When I was younger, I held cups of alcohol and laughed with a group that became progressively louder. I would search for water or root beer, which was and still is my favorite soda.

I was tempted to order a scotch and soda, but hold the scotch or, perhaps, a rum and coke without the rum.

The early teens were my drinking sweet spot, literally. I could go through three or four Shirley Temples without seeming to develop too much of a sugar high. No doubt the milk and cookies, the ice cream and the chocolate sprinkles helped me build up a sugar tolerance.

I received my first bottle of wine from a friend in college, who was sharing it with me out of genuine appreciation and was, undoubtedly, following in his parents’ footsteps in offering me an adult gift.

Over the years, I have accumulated a collection of wines that have likely increased in value. At the end of coaching a long, hot baseball, softball or basketball season, grateful parents acknowledged the hours I put into running practices or preparing lineups for games for the team with a bottle of wine.

I did try drinking more than a few sips of alcohol a few times. Once, my wife took me out for my birthday, where I had about a cup of wine. I wasn’t drunk, but I was surprisingly tired and was much more ready for bed than for celebrating.

When my children reached their early teens, we ordered three Shirley Temples for the table.

Recently, I attended a bring your own booze holiday party. We brought some alcoholic drinks and a pecan pie.

We considered purchasing a large bottle of water for me, but figured there’d be a pitcher of water somewhere.

Walking from room to room, I didn’t find water and didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable searching for it or trying to accommodate my request. When I returned home, I was happy to fill my reusable water bottle.

Professionally, not drinking alcohol is not quite as limiting as not playing golf. Back in the days when I covered investment banking, foregoing golf outings meant making fewer connections and gathering less information.

In those days, I was never invited to a batting cage to practice hitting baseballs, which I would have readily accepted.

These days, when neighbors offer to share a few cocktails on their porches, I smile and nod, without making any declarations. It’s harder to argue that I’m not drinking because I’m the designated driver when they live a few hundred feet away. Maybe I’ll bring my own water and will tell them my DD religion doesn’t allow alcohol.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The federal government? Yeah, of course. Heavy eye roll, shake of the head, shrug of the shoulders, palms to the sky and deep sigh. Oh, I almost forgot: quick puff of air directed upwards that lifts any hair hanging near a forehead.

No doubt the powerful tandem of Tesla creator Elon Musk and primary disruptor and climate change minimizer Vivek Ramaswamy will find plenty of ways to increase the efficiency and cut the budget from the federal government. I’m sure they will to trim redundant functions, shrink bureaucracy and cut costs, turning the behemoth into a well-oiled machine, filled with productive, engaged and excited workers and a smooth outward-facing electronic interface that enables quick and effective engagement between the people and their government.

But, hey, after the two weeks it takes to fix everything — okay, maybe it’ll take a bit longer — the tandem may be looking for other outlets for their efficiency efforts. I have a few suggestions.

Now, for the list:

— The DMV. I have interacted with some amazingly efficient and even accommodating workers at the DMV. Still, any time I go there, I recognize that I might spend several hours or more only to have to return again.

— Doctor’s offices. Regardless of whether the Affordable Care Act changes, is revised or becomes something new, doctor’s offices are also not brimming with efficiency, particularly regarding time. These visits are not predictable exchanges, in which doctors know exactly how long each diagnosis will take. Still, waiting for a doctor can take the good part of a morning or afternoon.

— Airlines: It’s hard to come up with just one area that could use help here. Just try getting an actual person on the phone. But it seems especially aggravating when the airport doesn’t have available gates when we land. We have sat on tarmacs for close to an hour while pilots apologize to those people with connecting flights. How could the plane’s arrival be that much of a surprise? Didn’t the airline share the list of flights and approximate landing times? 

— Shopping. Here’s some inefficiency. We put everything in a cart, to take it out so we can pay, and then put it back in the cart. Wouldn’t it be easier if solar powered smart carts auto scanned products that we put in the cart and then wheeled directly to our cars? 

— Trimming movies. Let’s face it: some of these movies are good, but just don’t hold our attention for the entire film. After the EV treatment, they could cut these films from over two hours to under an hour and a half or even under an hour. Maybe artificial intelligence could help determine which scenes become tedious and nonessential to the plot. The Liam Neeson film “Taken,” for example, is a 93-minute film that packs quite a few punches without dragging.

— Awards shows. Pick an award show, any show. It’s typically too long. Emcees of these shows often lengthen the shows by talking about how long they are or how far behind they’ve fallen. The EV treatment could turn the Academy Awards into a tidy 90 minutes or less. We might miss a few of the oddball sketches or interviews, but speeding things up could get the guests to their after parties more quickly and could help people determine whose predictions were the most accurate.

— Breaking up. Yes, it’s hard to do, but with the EV approach, they might go beyond the “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” routine to something truly special and reassuring that also doesn’t take too much time or emotional effort. Surely they can turn the process of the on-again, off-again relationship into an opportunity for both people to move on and live their lives.

— Fall leaves. Every year, leaves fall on yards, creating work for homeowners, superintendents and landscapers. Perhaps the efficiency tandem could create a leaf attractant system that pulls the leaves into a pile. Then again, the mix of orange, yellow, red and brown on the ground offers an artistic, pleasing and unique array of colors. Maybe not everything needs greater efficiency.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

My wife and I have visited with another couple, whom I’ll call Ben and Jill, several times through the years. We’ve attended sporting events and chatted at meals in different cities.

They are both pleasant and agreeable and seem pleased to reconnect with us each time.

Recently, we had an unhurried dinner where the stories went from the routine to the sublime.

Jill is worried about her second son, who is working incredibly long hours and doesn’t seem to have much, or any, work-life balance.

Her husband Ben, who is in a similar line of work to their son, worked incredibly long hours in the first years of their marriage, too.

Indeed, back in his day, Ben would work all day, come home to take a shower while a car service waited outside and then would return to work, without so much as a meal or a rest.

“I wasn’t as worried about Ben,” she said, as she spent her waking hours taking care of three children who required her considerable attention.

Like many other parents of children in the 30-ish range, Jill is eagerly waiting for her oldest son, who has been in a relationship for years, has purchased a house with his girlfriend and shares custody of a dog, to take those next steps that would not only net her a daughter-in-law but would also bring her grandchildren.

“Honestly,” she shrugged, “I thought I’d be a grandparent by now.”

Speaking of grandparents and grandchildren, Jill shared that her grandfather died last year at the age of 105.

Doing quick math, I realized that he was born the year before the Spanish Influenza of 1919 and died after the end of Covid, which means that he was one of probably a select few who lived through two pandemics in different centuries.

He had served in World War II in Washington state as a code breaker and was a widower for the last few decades of his life.

When her grandfather was 90, he needed heart surgery. Doctors wouldn’t normally perform such a procedure on a 90-year old, but they said he was much more like a typical, healthy 80 year-old.

They put a device in his heart that was supposed to last 10 years. When her grandfather reached 101, the device faltered and he had sepsis. This, the family thought, could be the end of his long life. He rebounded, however, and lived another four years, enduring vision limited in part by reduced visits to the ophthalmologist during Covid.

The conversation turned to baseball, as Ben and Jill are avid Mets fans.

I told them my memories from Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, when I was living in the Boston area and was surrounded by giddy Red Sox fans on the verge of their first championship since 1918.

Ben’s eyes lit up and he told us that he and Jill attended Game 7 of that series.

No, they hadn’t purchased tickets. They knew two people who had worked at Shea Stadium as vendors, but hadn’t worked in a while. They borrowed their vendor badges, which didn’t have their names or pictures on them, arrived at Shea two hours before the game started, and casually walked through the gate.

When they sat down in left field seats, a security guard asked them what they were doing there and they said they worked at the ice cream vendor in left field. The security guard informed them that there were no ice cream vendors in that area. They considered leaving, but instead hid in a stair well until the crowds came in.

They found an usher who allowed them to sit on the concrete steps — empty seats were unlikely in a winner-take-all game — and watched the Mets come back to clinch the title.

Whenever anyone asks Ben to share something people don’t know about him, he relates the story of their bold and successful effort to watch live the last Mets team to win a World Series.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Many people had an enormous stake in the election.

Beyond the policies, the ideas, the rallies and all the other hoopla around the hotly contested Election of 2024, people contributed significant amounts of money to back their favorite candidate or candidates.

OpenSecrets predicted that the 2024 federal election cycle would be the costliest on record, at $15.9 billion.

That’s a lot of advertisements funded by people who felt compelled to offer their financial support to candidates they thought would be the best for them, their counties, their states and the country.

So, what did we get for all that money?

Well, for starters, we had advertisements that decried the unqualified or awful nature of the other candidate. Sure, I suppose there’s some value in that.

But as a die-hard Yankees fan — a fitting phrase this year after the Bronx Bombers committed the kind of errors my son described as U8 mistakes — I’m not sure I’d want my team to spend so much time and effort trash talking, beating up or insulting their opponents.

Yes, I get it. Sports and politics aren’t the same, and yet, we the fans, supporters and general public invest in people in these arenas, hoping for the best from them.

Talking about how bad the competition is doesn’t make you better. It can scare people into voting for you, I suppose, but that doesn’t seem like a particularly honorable way to win. It also doesn’t set the tone for our children, who watch these advertisements or hear the words from would-be political leaders and wonder why they should exercise restraint on the playground after they’ve heard political leaders call each other names or insult each other. 

I suppose all those horrible words and a readiness to “fight” is far preferable to the historic human way of changing government regimes. In previous generations and in non-democratic societies, people shed blood to create a new government or bring in new leaders.

In theory, every four years, We the People can go to the ballot box and alter the direction of the country with our vote.

That brings me back to the money. Beyond the contribution to our candidate, what do we get back for the money we spend?

To borrow from Wall Street, what’s the return on our investment? Can we ask to speak with some of these leaders? Can we send ideas to improve the way government works?

No matter who wins any election, that person has a duty and responsibility to represent everyone, including those people who didn’t vote for them and their adversaries in the election cycle. The once and future president, whether he likes it or not, represents his constituents and his adversaries.

Getting elected doesn’t just give them power: it places enormous responsibility on their shoulders.

They came to us, electronic palms outstretched, asking for money and we gave it to them, despite concerns about our economic future, our desire to save for ourselves and our children and our need to invest in ourselves.

How else could we have spent that money? Could we have taken classes that enabled us to find other jobs? Could we have sent that money to charity to provide for the basic needs of people who are struggling to survive?

Now that donations helped fill many of those seats, those politicians, on day one, should make sure they listen to people, should affect positive changes and policies, and should work to ensure that they reward the public with effective leadership.

Let’s hope that money backed the right candidates, which can and should benefit the entire country.

Is it too much to ask that, one day, we all see a reasonable return on these investments?

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I recently attended a wonderful 65th birthday celebration for Jeff that included his wife, children and their significant others and his 90-something father.

As I looked across the table at Jeff, who was sitting beneath large helium balloons with the number 65, I thought about how remarkably young he looked and about these kinds of celebrations for him throughout the years.

“What’s your first birthday memory?” I asked through the festive noises around us in a crowded Queens restaurant.

He recalled how his parents bought him a glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume, which he not only got to wear on his birthday with his friends, but also several days later on Halloween. 

The costume party-birthday party combination worked so well for him that he had similar such festivities over the years.

In fact, many years later, I attended one of his birthday parties in which he asked people to come dressed as one of his favorite things. Several people dressed as M&M’s, one came as a bottle of ketchup and I dressed as Yoda, reflecting his love for Star Wars.

As with any other day, birthday memories are not only festive and joyful, but can also involve the same kinds of feelings that reside in the brains of the characters in the Pixar movie “Inside Out.”

“I vividly remember steering a ferry, sitting on a fire truck and sounding the horn on a train in the same day!” said Michael, who was four during this momentous event.

Benji, meanwhile, ran around in costume outside for one of his early birthdays. Born in the spring, he wondered whether he, like Jeff, should have been born closer to Halloween.

Every year since she was three, Heidi enjoyed her mom’s home cooked noodles and meatballs with string beans, followed by a Friendly’s Jubilee Roll. She always wished for a Palomino horse and was happy to live later in life on a farm that boarded horses in Nissequogue.

Speaking of horses, Mandi, who is a twin, recalls having ponies come to her house during an early birthday. Her pony stopped to drink and her mother said, “You can lead a horse to water…” At the time, Mandi didn’t know what that meant.  Amid the pleasant parts of her birthday, she also recalled hating that she was born in July, which meant she couldn’t bring cupcakes to school.

Some people weren’t sure whether they remembered particular events around their birthdays or whether they had turned the pictures they have seen over the years and the stories they heard into a virtual, story-driven memory.

Rebecca recalled her fourth and fifth birthday confabs at a gymnastics studio, where she raced around over and through various gymnastics apparatuses.

Greg recalled having extensive birthday plans outdoors. Rain, however, prevented him from bringing everyone outside. He recalled pressing his nose against the screen door, looking out at the raindrops that altered his plans.

Larry recalled a first or second grade party when he had a cake shaped and decorated as a train engine. Before the group sang happy birthday, he plucked off the Lifesaver wheels. “Mom scolded me and I was upset during the whole party,” he remembered.

Julia shared how her brother tortured her at every birthday celebration, diminishing the enjoyment of the gathering.

Some people struggled to recall any of their earlier birthday parties.

Jill’s earliest birthday party memory was of her fifth grade celebration, when her mom made a pink and green alligator cake, reflecting the IZOD phase of life, and she went roller skating.

Sue, who works in a supermarket, remembered a part when she turned 12. Her parents invited her girlfriends over and they made soup for dinner and cake for dessert. The girls stayed up late, playing and chatting long into the evening.

Megan sat around the dining room table after dinner and had cake with her immediate family, who sang to her. At around seven, she got a host of presents and remembered receiving pens, which she really wanted, among the gifts.

Rachel, meanwhile, enjoyed two backyard barbecues each year: one with her friends and one with family and family friends.

Adam enjoyed a sports birthday party that his considerably older cousin and his cousin’s close friend ran at a local gym, where he wore a sports jersey and played basketball and deck hockey.

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MetroCreative Photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

My wife and I have been voting early for several years. We like the convenience of early voting and find that we don’t tend to have to wait too long through the potential long lines of Election Day.

This election day, in particular, seemed problematic to us, as talk of unofficial and party-trained monitors, some of whom are watching over the elections themselves while others are observing the actions of other monitors, are poised to pollute the process.

We drove to the early site, looking carefully from the road at the number of cars in the parking lot and the length of the line out of the building.

If the line exceeded a certain visual marker, we would have returned at another day and time. When we were sure the queue was shorter than our maximum, we pulled into the parking lot, where we immediately found a spot.

Standing outside in an organized, relaxed and respectful crowd, we opened our phones to take a last look at the backgrounds of some of the down ballot candidates and at the experiences of would-be officials who were unaffiliated with either major party.

An elderly black woman appeared behind us, holding a tiny bijou cream-colored dog inside her coat.

“I hope that dog has an official ID,” I offered, as she smiled at me. “Which way is she leaning this year?”

The woman shared a broad and welcoming grin and said her dog’s papers were up to date.

As other voters joined the line or exited the polling place, several people came over and chatted with her about her dog.

“I miss my dog so much,” a man said, as he asked if he could pet her puppy.

She said he was welcome to visit.

“I lost my dog a few months after I lost my wife,” the man said, barely holding back tears.

The rest of us offered sympathetic glances at the man, who, despite sharing a palpable and visible grief, had come out to vote.

The line continued to build, with a 30-something man in scrubs standing next to the woman with the dog.

As others waited for their turn behind us, almost everyone grinned at the dog whose calm demeanor and charm could easily have won him votes if he were running for office.

Once inside the building, the election official with a name tag that read Sarah asked a woman to dispose of an almost empty drink container in the nearby restroom. Sarah promised to hold the woman’s spot, while the voter deposited her trash.

When my wife and I got to the front, Sarah asked the woman behind us if her dog was a service dog. The woman hesitated and then said she had a bad ankle and would have to carry the dog all the way back to the car.

Sarah apologized and also planned to hold her spot. I walked to the open check in desk, handed over my driver’s license and was asked to pronounce my last name. I was directed to another line, where I waited until another official took me to a voting machine.

The woman who returned her dog to her car was standing at a desk. She said she had considered describing her dog as a service animal, but thought better of lying.

Once at a voting machine, I started making my choices.

“Kamala Harris, Kamala Harris, Kamala Harris,” a Black girl who was about 10 years old shouted in a loud crescendo as her mother stood in the machine next to mine.

“So sorry,” her mother sighed, smiling at me, as she tried to contain her daughter’s excitement.

This young girl clearly didn’t share any of the fear, name calling, or anger of this election. She read a name she knew and was overflowing with unbridled enthusiasm.

As a parent, I wished I had told that woman to videotape her daughter’s delight, not only for the historic nature of the moment, but also to capture the sound of an enthralled, youthful voice.

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