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D: None of the Above

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

When our children were young, a friend recently told me, she viewed the parents of people she met through a binary process.

A mom of two boys, she figured she had a better chance, at least in the first 10 years or so of her sons’ lives, of interacting with the parents of other boys. When she met girls and their families, she was polite and friendly, without putting too much effort into getting to know them.

Fast forward almost two decades, and her children, like mine, are out of the house. She and her husband have an adorable small dog that they dote on, transferring their abundant parenting attention to a canine companion.

Nowadays, my friend said, she sees people through a similar lens. She takes her small dog to a dog park, where a fence separates pets under 40 pounds from the bigger, heavier versions. When she meets someone outside the park with a dog, she’s more likely to pay attention to their names and their stories if they have a small dog.

As I considered what she said about the parents of boys and girls, as well as the owners of dogs of different sizes, I wondered about the metaphorical fences we create.

Sure, those fences make it easier for us to find people who have similar interests and opinions and who might not challenge us or disagree with us in our decision-making. Those fences also, however, separate us from others with whom we might have even more connections or common interests than we thought, especially if the filter for our “in” and “out” groups is as arbitrary as having sons, daughters or small dogs.

What if a man with a large dog worked in a similar field, had two children about my friend’s offspring’s ages, and went to the same college at the same time? Then again, what if a woman on the other side of the fence had nothing in common with my friend? She had no children, grew up in another country, worked in a completely different field, and didn’t see any of the same movies or read the same books? Would that make her less or more interesting? Perhaps that woman might be fascinating for her life experiences, compelling for her opinions, and amazing in her own way.

Recently, I sat in the window seat of a plane next to a large man who was stuck in the middle. An army veteran, he laughed as we reached our destination, saying he was unaccustomed to landing in planes. I took the bait, asking him why. He said he’d made over 150 jumps out of airplanes. 

He and his unit jumped out of planes at 800 feet, although he didn’t need to do much jumping, as he felt as if a hand pulled him out when he got to the opening. He never had to pull a chord, as the parachute automatically started opening within a second of leaving the plane.

On one type of plane, he stepped out and immediately started falling. Another had a small “bubble” outside the entrance, where he and others stood before leaving the plane. One of his army unit once forgot about the platform, took a small hop on the landing, and then rolled along the entire side of the plane. The others heard as his body scraped the airplane all the way to the back. Fortunately, the impact didn’t cause severe injuries.

One of the many instructions he received was to keep his chin on his chest as he exited. On his first jump, he didn’t, which caused enough discomfort that he never made that mistake again. He reached the ground at 38 miles per hour, at which point he was supposed to tuck and roll, ending on his back. Once, a crosswind turned him upside down and he landed on his head, cracking his helmet and causing a concussion.

Listening to his stories, I learned about something I will likely never do and connected with someone I will likely never see again. He did, however, expand my horizons and share his compelling life experiences, among other stories. I appreciated the opportunity to connect with someone who lives outside whatever fences I intentionally or unintentionally put up around me.

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Pixabay photos

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Even as we study evolution, we ourselves evolve over time. No, we don’t learn to fly or to breathe underwater. We change over the decades, in part because of social pressure and in part because, well, our cells, organs and experiences align to make us different decadal versions of ourselves. With that in mind, I’d like to share some snapshots from my life.

First decade:

Likes: I adored my parents (most of the time). I also appreciated the opportunity to make new friends and to play any game that involved chasing a ball.

Dislikes: long distances running, homework, dark nights, losing electricity, sitting in the middle of a station wagon with my legs cramped under me. 

Favorite food: pizza and grilled cheese with ketchup. It’s not for everyone, but I loved it.

Favorite sport to play: basketball.

Favorite sport to watch: baseball.

Biggest worry: finding parents.

Second decade:

Likes: time with friends, the freedom to drive somewhere on my own (later in the decade, of course).

Dislikes: tough teachers eager to teach me too many lessons, rejections from friends, and too many questions from parents. Waiting for parents to pick me up (until I could drive). Developing an intolerance to dairy, which removed pizza, ice cream and mac and cheese from food options.

Favorite food: Good Steer burger supremes with a root beer and ballpark hot dogs.

Favorite sport to play: baseball

Favorite sport to watch: baseball.

Biggest worry: Losing parents. Getting into college.

Third decade

Likes: getting a job where someone not only paid me to do something I wasn’t sure I was qualified to do, but also sent me on planes to do it. Spending time with friends. Going on vacations with friends and family.

Dislikes: working on weekends and holidays. Going on horrible dates with people who were a little too eager to see fights where teeth got knocked out during hockey games. Then again, some of those unsuccessful dates still bring a smile to my face.

Favorite food: Thai food at a restaurant on the Upper East Side.

Favorite sport to play: volleyball.

Favorite sport to watch: baseball.

Biggest worry: Finding enough time to exercise.

Fourth decade:

Likes: enjoying the miraculous connection that comes from meeting girlfriend/wife. Listening to my wife laugh and seeing her smile. Holding my son and daughter and feeling them relax enough to go to sleep.

Dislikes: trying to figure out how to handle when children got sick, needing something we didn’t have, and packing enough stuff in the diaper bag and the car for needy children.

Favorite food: Who tastes food at this point? We inhaled it in between picking up the food the kids spilled on the floor or in the car.

Favorite sport to play: softball in Central Park.

Favorite sport to watch: my daughter’s active and exciting volleyball matches and my son’s soccer games. I knew nothing about soccer, so I could just be a supportive father and fan without offering unwelcome and unhelpful advice.

Biggest worry: How to keep kids healthy.

Fifth decade:

Likes: holidays, vacations and not needing to stand over the kids when they got too close to the water. Hooray for independent swimming.

Dislikes: driving everywhere with kids and their friends who made the car stink so badly at times that I opened windows in freezing temperatures. Watching kids disappear into their cell phones.

Favorite food: fresh fish on vacations.

Favorite sport to play: I barely played anything. I coached kids and bobbed and weaved between the entitled requests from parents.

Favorite sport to watch: daughter’s volleyball and son’s baseball.

Biggest worry: helping steer kids in the right direction.

Sixth decade:

Likes: time with family and friends, days when pain in my hip stays the same or, rarely, is less than the day before.

Dislikes: not knowing how to handle important technology, an awareness that I’m older than my friend’s parents were when I was growing up, and I thought they were old.

Favorite food: anything that doesn’t keep me up at night.

Favorite sport to play: baseball or anything that doesn’t cause pain the next day.

Favorite sport to watch: baseball.

Biggest worry: the speed at which each day, month and year passes. The prevalence of anger for its own sake and the health of the planet our children are inheriting.

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Photo from Wikimedia Commons

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I heard from a friend, who heard from another friend whose neighbor’s cousin is the babysitter of someone who works in Congress. So, it has to be true.

Here’s the deal: I know some of the concessions Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) made to become speaker of the house.

The person who heard it fourth hand was in the bathroom, minding his own business, trying, from what I understand, to make his best guesses at Wordle on his phone while battling an upset stomach when three of the principal negotiators in the process entered the bathroom and spoke in whispers.

The first concession is that McCarthy must begin each day by saying the words “we are all equal, but some are more equal than others,” at which point he’s supposed to subtly make the letters G and O in sign language with his hands to show that he’s thinking about “Animal Farm” author George Orwell.

Then, he has to look at the audience carefully to see if Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-FL) has had a bad night. If Gaetz gives him a particular signal, he’s not allowed to bang his gavel too loudly, to prevent a headache from getting worse.

Once he’s gotten everyone’s attention, he then agreed that he’ll lead the house in the Pledge of Allegiance, pausing when he reached the “under God” section to make it clear that religion is not only okay, but that many people, particularly those who might not have otherwise voted for him, believe in God.

When President Joe Biden (D) gives his state of the union address, he will give at least 15 head shakes, five winces and nine arched eyebrows. At the end of the speech, to defend former president Donald Trump (R), he plans to take a page out of the previous speaker’s playbook by picking up the copy of Biden’s speech and tearing it up in disgust as it were the first chapter of a book he’d like to ban from libraries around the country.

Speaking of beyond belief, McCarthy has then agreed that if Rep. George Santos (R-NY), whose name might have changed by the time this is relevant, is still in the house, McCarthy should ask him to sing a few songs.

For starters, according to Santos’s resume, he has won at least three Grammy awards, which means he has a wonderful and lyrical singing voice.

When things get too tense during deliberations with other Republicans, let alone the Democrats who are ruining the government and the country, McCarthy has a playlist for Santos. He’s going to sing the Meghan Trainor song, “Lips are Movin,” with a slight modification in the wording.“If my lips are moving, then I’m lyin’, lyin’, lyin’, baby.”

If things continue to be tense for hours, as a politician continues grandstanding, Santos can provide a Billy Joel encore, again with a slight tweak:

“Honesty is such a lonely word

I am certainly so untrue

Honestly is hardly ever heard

And rarely what I give to you.”

Following the example of Trump, McCarthy also agreed to hug a flag in public at least three times a year, to normalize the behavior and to demonstrate his commitment to America and the country’s values.

He also promised to support at least 13, for the original colonies, investigations in his first year as speaker, with a commitment to at least another dozen in his second.

Finally, in a subtle gesture meant to celebrate the political right, he planned to stand to the right of the podium and only to hit the gavel with his right hand while pausing to emphasize the word “right” every time he utters it.

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Ukrainian flag. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

As we round out the second week of December, I’d like to offer some suggestions for a 2022 time capsule.

— A Ukrainian flag. Ukraine, with help from Americans and many other nations, has fended off Russia’s ongoing military assault. The question for 2023 will be whether they can continue to defend the country amid a potential decline in international support.

— A waterlogged dollar. With inflation at decades-high levels, the dollar isn’t buying as much as it had been.

— Florida man makes announcement. I would include a copy of the New York Post front page the day after former president Donald Trump, to no one’s surprise, announced he would be running for president in 2024. A previous ardent supporter of the former president, the Post may be leading the charge in another political direction to find a new standard bearer for the GOP.

— A red dot. Certainly, the Republicans taking over the majority in the house will have important consequences, with numerous investigations and a divided government on the horizon, but Republicans didn’t win as many national elections as anticipated.

— A miniature replica of the Supreme Court, with the words Dobbs vs. Jackson Women’s Health Organization in front of it. The Supreme Court case, which reversed the Roe v. Wade decision, removed the federal right to an abortion, enabling states to pass new laws and contributing, in part, to smaller midterm wins for Republicans.

On the much smaller personal front:

— Throat lozenges. I got COVID-19 for the first time this year and my throat was so painful for a week that I couldn’t talk. The lozenges didn’t work, but they would highlight numerous efforts to reduce pain from a virus that was worse than any flu I’ve ever had.

— The number 62. This, yet again, wasn’t the year the New York Yankees won the World Series. Nope, they didn’t even get there, yet again falling, this time without winning a single game, to the Houston Astros. It was, however, a wonderful chase for the American League home run record by Aaron Judge, who just signed a $360 million extension with the Yankees.

— Wedding bells and a tiny nerf football. For the first time in years, my wife and I attended two family weddings this year. We loved the chance to dance, catch up with relatives, eat great food, and run across a college baseball field with a $7 nerf football we purchased from the hotel lobby store.

— A miniature swamp boat. On one of the more memorable trips to New Orleans to visit our son, my wife and I saw numerous alligators and heard memorable Louisiana tales from Reggie Domangue, whose anecdotes and personal style became the model for the firefly in the Disney movie “The Princess and the Frog.”

— A shark tooth. During the summer, Long Islanders worried about local sharks, who bit several area swimmers. The apex predator, which is always in the area, likely had higher numbers amid a recovery in the numbers of their prey, which are menhaden, also known as bunker fish and, despite the prevalence of the music from the movie “Jaws,” does not include humans.

— A Good Steer napkin. My favorite restaurant from my childhood closed after 65 years, leaving behind an onion ring void and shuttering the backdrop to numerous happy family outings. If I had a way to retire expressions the way baseball teams  retire numbers, I would retire the words “Burger Supreme” on a food version of Monument Park.

— A giant question mark. Scientists throughout Long Island (and the world )constantly ask important questions. Some researchers will invent technology we may use all day long, like cell phones. Others may make discoveries that lead to life-saving drugs. Let’s celebrate great questions.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

As we reach the beginning of December, we are only a month away from the inevitable promises to shed unwanted pounds.

Today, however, only a few days after our journeys to visit friends and families for Thanksgiving, I’d like to urge you to consider shedding unwanted baggage.

Metaphorically, we all lug unwanted baggage with us — remembering the spot where a girlfriend or boyfriend broke up with us; the moment we decided to substitute the wrong player in a game we were coaching; and the time our teacher gave someone else partial credit for the same answer on which we received no credit.

Some of that baggage is constructive, giving us the tools and the memory to learn from our mistakes and to have a perspective on the things that happen to us.

We might, for example, learn to cope with losses on the athletic field more gracefully when recalling how we felt the time we shouted at a coach, an umpire or an opposing player. Days, weeks, or years later, we might realize that we have the tools and the distance to understand the moment better and to develop a grace we might not have possessed when we were younger.

Extending the baggage metaphor, it seems that the more we carry with us everywhere, the harder it is to move forward. Baggage, like those unwanted pounds that make it harder to hike up a hill or to climb stairs, keeps us in place, preventing us from improving and moving forward.

Shedding pounds, which isn’t so easy itself, has a prescribed collection of patterns, often involving an attention to the foods we might mindlessly eat and a dedication to exercise.

But how do we get rid of the emotional baggage that gets in our way? What do we do to move forward when the burdens around us weigh us down?

For starters, we might learn to forgive people for whatever they did that annoys or puts us down. Forgiveness isn’t easy, of course. We sometimes hold onto those slights as if they are a part of our identity, becoming a doctor to show our biology teacher who didn’t believe in us that we are capable and competent or developing into a trained athlete after a neighbor insulted us.

Holding onto those insults gives other people unnecessary power over us. We can and should set and achieve our goals because of what we want and not because we continue to overcome limits other people tried to set for us.

We also might feel weighed down by our own self-doubt. As I’ve told my children, their peers and many of their teammates, we shouldn’t help our competitors beat us. Believing the best about ourselves is difficult.

We also don’t, and won’t, always win. It’s easier to carry the memories of the times we failed a test or when we didn’t reach the top of the mountain on a hike. Carrying those setbacks around with us for anything other than motivation to try again or to go further than we did before makes it harder to succeed.

Now is the time to set down that baggage, to walk, jog or even run forward, unencumbered by everything that might make us doubt ourselves and our abilities and that might make it harder to achieve our goals. While all that baggage might feel familiar in our hands, it also digs into our palms, twists our fingers and slows our feet.

Even before we resolve to eat better, to exercise, to lose weight and to look our best, let’s check or even cast aside our emotional and psychological luggage. Maybe dropping that baggage in the last month of the year will make achieving and keeping our New Year’s resolutions that much easier.

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Photo from Unsplash
Daniel Dunaief

By Daniel Dunaief

Yes! Republicans have retaken the house.

Now, we can really get down to some important, democracy building and unifying investigations. Undoubtedly, these investigations will get to the bottom of some important political questions that people absolutely want answered.

Hunter Biden is and will be a prime target. How can he not be? If you look at some of the pictures of him that newspapers have found, he looks guilty, and that should be more than enough. Besides, who doesn’t like a few insightful, incisive and critical First Family questions?

Once they finish — assuming they can get it done in two years — with the important questions, I have ideas for investigations that I’d like to lob in as well. They range from the obvious, to the quirky to the frivolous, but, I figured I might as well make my suggestions now.

I’m going to write it here because you know it’s inevitable. Hillary Clinton. She might be a private citizen now, and she might have run for office six years ago, but she’s got to be responsible for something. Maybe she knocked the nose off the sphinx. Or maybe she tilted the Tower of Pisa. Come on, she’s got to have done something wrong.

I’d like to know why my email fills with stuff I talk about, but don’t type into my computer. Is someone listening? My wife and I might discuss a trip to Bora Bora and then, the next morning, I find an invitation to visit. Is someone listening all the time?

Jose Altuve. The Houston Astros star second baseman, whom baseball fans in other stadiums, particularly Yankee Stadium, love to hate, still seems to be operating under a cloud of suspicion. Did he cheat? Did he have a tattoo that he didn’t want anyone to see when his teammates seemed poised to tear off his jersey many years ago against the Yankees? Is it safe for purist baseball fans to root for him again? Will he be eligible for the Hall of Fame someday?

Open Water. Did you see the movie? It was incredibly popular. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but, well, I’m going to do it anyway. These two people suffer through endless torment and fear after their boat leaves them behind while they are scuba diving. It’s not a feel good movie. Injured, cold and miserable, they try to fight off sharks — guess who wins that one? Afterward, I overheard someone say, “seriously? I watched those people for two hours for that?”

Jan. 6th. There’s likely to be a committee investigating the committee investigating the riots. Fine. But wouldn’t it throw Democrats, Republicans and conspiracy theorists for a loop if another committee then investigated the committee that investigated the original committee? It’d be like seeing images several times in a combination of mirrors.

Tom Brady. Okay, I know he’s not having his usual spectacular world-beating season, but the guy is 45 and strong, muscular, athletic 20-year-olds are putting everything they have into throwing him to the ground. How is he still functioning? He’s not playing golf. Did someone replace him with a robot? Has he discovered some magical diet or fountain of youth that makes it possible to compete at such a high level when he’s at such an advanced age? I throw a ball with my son, and it takes me a week for my arm to recover. The world needs to hear his secrets.

Socks. I’m not particular about my socks. White ones that go above my ankle are fine. Most of the time, I buy socks that look like the ones I already own, which makes matching them pretty easy. And yet, somehow, I wind up with an odd sock more often than not. Where is that missing sock? Is someone stealing socks from dryers?

Asparagus. I kind of like the taste, but I’d prefer that my pee didn’t smell later. Can’t someone do something about it? It’s the only vegetable that has that effect. Let’s figure out a better-smelling asparagus.

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Photo from METRO

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Even months after we emerged from our Covid caves, I still appreciate the wonder and joy of getting out again, of seeing people, of making plans, and of going on a date with my wife.

Recently, we went to see “Hadestown.”

We didn’t know much about it, except that it had won several awards. As soon as we sat down, we fell on the playbill, reading about the origins of the story, checking out the cast, and immersing ourselves in the experience.

I will admit, sheepishly, that we also used our TV app to watch a few minutes of the Jeopardy! Tournament of Champions. Our son thinks our addiction to that show is laughable and he didn’t even see the movie “Rainman,” in which Dustin Hoffman’s character is addicted to the show “The People’s Court.”

Anyway, after Jeopardy! ended, we took in the room. We studied the arrangement of the set, where it was clear the musicians would be on stage. When I was in high school, I thoroughly enjoyed playing in the pit orchestras of “West Side Story” and “The Wizard of Oz.” One of the wonders of the experience was the opportunity to dress casually, as we played in a true, recessed pit where we were heard and not seen.

As we got closer to the start of “Hadestown,” the auditorium filled with people sporting a wide range of attire, from casual to festive.

In the first few moments of the show, we were transported, as a colorful Hermes pranced around the stage, interacting with the other actors and reaching out to the audience.

The appreciative guests lapped up his over-the-top gestures and movements, as he introduced us to some of the characters and the band, who filled the stage with vitality, music and movement.

During intermission, I watched two women in the row in front of me. One was talking, while the other nodded absent-mindedly while playing solitaire. Perhaps that’s a carry over from too much time at home. Then again, who am I to complain? We watched a TV show in the moments before “Hadestown” started, so we’re also accustomed to our isolated entertainment.

To my left, two women with bright blonde hair opened a ziplock bag filled with small sugar cookies. After they each ate one, the woman holding the bag dropped a cookie on the floor. I felt it hit my shoe before it settled on the ground.

Now, I am a bit OCD with germs. Okay, fine, that’s like being a bit pregnant. I’m OCD and have been known to wash my hands so often in the winter that my skin becomes incredibly dry, cracks and bleeds.

So, what would I have done with that cookie? I would have picked it up, put it in my coat pocket, forgotten about it for about two weeks and, upon rediscovering it, would have thrown it in the garbage and, of course, washed my hands immediately afterwards.

What did she do? The woman picked it up, briefly scraped off the parts she imagined must have touched the floor and my shoe, blew on it and broke it in half. She gave her companion one half, she kept the other, and they both, gulp, ate it.

I laughed nervously and made a mental note, not that I ever need one, to wash my hands just because, well, yuck!

In the second half of “Hadestown,” the show followed a similar pattern, as one sad, longing song gave way to another.

At the critical moment of the story, the woman who had been playing solitaire in front of us objected to the tragic turn of events.“Oh no, don’t do it!” she shouted.

While I wasn’t surprised by the ending to a story filled with mournful songs and that Hermes told us was sad, I chuckled as she tried to change the script from the balcony.

Yes, it was great to be out and to appreciate the show, the music, and the other guests.

All the world, as Shakespeare suggested, is a stage, including for the appreciative members of the audience.

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Eye test. METRO Photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Have you ever sat in the eye doctor’s chair and had them shift from one lens to another, asking you if A or B is better or if 1 or 2 is clearer?

I did that many times growing up, particularly because my father was an ophthalmologist.

Oftentimes, even now, I’m not exactly sure whether the first image or second is better. In fact, I asked my father to let me see them again. I could hear him groan as I said, “One, no, no, two, no, wait, one.”

The same subtle differences sometimes define who we are and how we see ourselves.

Sometimes, the question of our identity is simple, at least to us. Are we American and do we live in the Middle Atlantic States?

Other questions also might elicit reflective responses. Are we religious and, if so, do we celebrate Christmas, Hannukah, or Kwanza? Or, maybe we’re not religious at all, and we think of life and ourselves outside the structure of an organized religion.

We also might define ourselves by our race or our combination of races. I had a close friend in college who was so many races that she said she could check off every box on each survey to reflect her mixed heritage. 

But, then, when we define ourselves as part of a group, whether it’s a race, religion, political affiliation or other, what does it mean to meet someone or interact with someone from a different group? If we’re a Republican and someone else is a Democrat, should we behave as if we are the Montagues and the Capulets?

Does the fact that they are different mean we don’t have to be respectful of them or that we need to protect our own first before considering their needs?

Surely, such insular, tribal and protective thinking should violate our sense of right and wrong. Can we prejudge people or suggest that we care less about them because they weren’t born with some of the same elements that define us?

Several of the ways we identify ourselves don’t typically involve choices. I can’t choose to be much taller, even if I might want to be, and I can’t choose to be Taiwanese, even if I have many close friends who trace their roots to Taiwan.

We have choices in our identity that affect our behavior and define us.

We might, for example, choose not to be a bystander, but, rather a defender. People don’t, or shouldn’t, wake up in the morning and hope to witness someone bully someone else and feel gratified that they observed cruelty.

Perhaps, we might consider ourselves protectors or active community members. Remembering this part of our identity, we might be more inclined to help.

We might also choose to identify ourselves as grateful. We might choose a host of adjectives to describe ourselves — smart, flexible, sympathetic, understanding. Ultimately, through our thoughts, words and actions, we can demonstrate whether those descriptions apply or whether our self-identification is a mismatch with our behaviors.

Conflicts arise in us when one part of our identity is at odds with another. We might, for example, want to help others, even though we might realize doing so comes with risk to ourselves.

Standing up for someone at the lower end of the social pecking order might cause a bully to turn his attention to us. We might run the risk of injury or worse by trying to help others in dangerous situations.

At those moments, we can be grateful to those among us who protect us against all kinds of threats, who join the armed forces, or the police or firefighters.

On this, the day before Veterans Day and two weeks before Thanksgiving, we can be thankful for all those people who contribute to our lives and to our country.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I’ve been on a long journey that’s taken me around the world for more than two and a half years. Many hosts have provided for me, enabling me to grow and, in some cases, make changes.

I don’t recall the beginning. The first host I remember was an incredibly kind doctor. She spent countless hours caring for others, looking into their eyes, assuring them she would do everything she could for them.

She was so focused on helping others that she didn’t even know she was hosting me. I stayed quiet just long enough to make the jump to a famous American actor who was working in Australia.

He and his wife didn’t enjoy their time with me. They warned the world about me and my extended family.

My next host was a businessman. He had been in a hospital with his son, who had a broken leg. The businessman stayed in the waiting room for hours, trying to do his work but unable to focus because he was so concerned about his boy.

Finally, after hours of surgery, the doctor came out to talk to him and that’s when I found a new host.

This businessman worked hard. Once he discovered his son was safe, he ignored me and my needs.

I developed without anyone noticing me. At one point, I heard someone come looking for me, but I hid just far enough away. I traveled a great distance on a plane with him. Once we were in a new country, I had so many choices.

Realizing it was time to go, I jumped to an elderly bus driver. He was a gentle man. The lighter laugh lines near his eyes looked like waves approaching the shore on his dark chocolate skin.

Before he collapsed into bed the second evening we were together, he seemed to be staring directly at me. In his house, I had a choice of other possible hosts, but decided to hitch a ride with his son.

That one almost cost me my life. His son soon realized I was there, and he stayed away from everyone. I was curled up alone with him. He barely moved for long periods of time, except when he coughed or sat up and sent text messages and emails. One night, when he was finally sleeping, a man came into his room to clean it. That’s when I escaped.

This man didn’t even know he hosted me. He wasn’t stuck in bed, and he didn’t cough. I traveled with him to several events. After other trips, I found an important politician. We took a ride in a helicopter and went to a hospital where doctors provided all kinds of new medicines.

I became like a game of telephone, passing along from one person to the next. And, like a game of telephone, the message changed, as I demanded different things from my host.

I found myself at a concert with a young woman who sang and danced for hours. She looked so vibrant and full of life.

She was a friendly enough host, until I set up camp with her mother. Then, she shouted at me, praying to keep me away. She took me to a hotel, where she seemed to stare at me while she prayed.

When someone delivered food and walked in the room to wait for payment, I made the jump to him. During the day, he was a student with a full and busy life. I didn’t stay long, moving on to his girlfriend, her roommate, and, eventually, to a professor.

I stayed with the professor for over a week. She spent considerable time grading papers, writing at her computer, talking to family members, and taking medicine.

I have made some changes along the way. I don’t travel with as much baggage as I used to. I know people think I’m not as much of a burden as I was in the early days. My most recent host would disagree. He couldn’t talk, had trouble sleeping and was exhausted all the time. I’m getting ready to travel the world again this fall and winter. You can ignore me all you want, but I’m still here, making changes and preparing to find more hosts.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In tougher days before our son had a driver’s license and I had to pick him up from school, I brought the dog in the car. I’d see my son walking from school, head down, shoulders slumped, with the equivalent of a teenage angst enveloping him.

He’d get to the car, ready to throw himself into the seat next to me, to tell me his day was “fine” or that he “didn’t want to talk about anything,” and then he’d see the dog, wagging and prancing in the back seat and he was helpless against such charm and unbridled joy.

Our dog would throw his head into his hands, letting our son know that anything and everything our son did, particularly when he pet our dog’s ears, was welcome and appreciated.

While I know many people love puppies, with their fluffy fur and their playful demeanor, I have become increasingly attached and fond of our dog as he has aged.

And, as my wife has said, the feeling appears to be mutual.

When he was younger, our dog rarely came when I called him. He seemed fine with my petting him, but he didn’t go out of his way to get up from a comfortable nap.

But, then, something happened in the last year. Maybe it’s because we’ve traveled to visit family and friends for weddings and we haven’t taken him on each of our trips, or because he suddenly figured out that I feed him, provide water and take him for his necessary walks.

Whatever the case, he’s as happy to see me as I am to see him. At the same time, he’s become increasingly sensitive to the stress I’m feeling. When I get off the phone after an exasperating call with a customer service representative, he comes wagging over as if to say, “Yeah, that was annoying, but you’ll be fine and I’m still incredibly soft. Don’t you want to check?”

Recently, I contracted COVID-19. My wife, who hasn’t been feeling too well herself, took incredible care of me, picking up food and medicine while I shivered in bed and struggled to swallow through the razor blades dangling in the back of my throat.

In addition to the necessary and helpful support from my wife and brothers, I received encouragement from our dog, who seemed to recognize something was amiss. He came to the side of the bed and leaned his head into my hand. He put his paw up near my arm as well, wagging cautiously and looking into my eyes.

He reminded me of our dog from my childhood. Also, a golden retriever, our earlier dog raced to the kitchen door to be let out (yes, that was a different time). He used to return when he was ready and after he’d visited the neighbors and tended to his physical needs.

In my junior year of high school, I developed a migraine that limited my ability to see and gave me a horrific headache. At the same time, all physical contact was uncomfortable, from my friend touching my hand to guide me to the nurse to my mother escorting me to the car.

When I returned home, I lay in a dark room, miserable under the searing pain. The dog, who wasn’t used to having me home during the day, stayed in my room all day. He didn’t move or make a sound and, more amazingly, he never tried to touch my hand.

He finally went outside after I got up and felt better. He stood guard all those years ago, just as our pets do now, protecting us against strangers and offering support in our lowest and most emotionally vulnerable moments.

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