Josh Stern's Blog, page 159

The circle jerk of life

My Bar Mitzvah was 41 years ago today….I remember Daddy coming home on the cusp of Shabbos and shutting the front door at 118 like a pack of arctic wolves had been chasing him up from Churchill- Man did he look happy to get to home base. Before he could take off his double-breasted winter coat with the super high lapel, he just blurted out ‘We almost lost everything today! The bank wanted to take it all back.”

'Was that even possible?” was my first thought…

I can still remember my cavalier attitude towards both M+D back then, that of course they’ll always figure it out, why even bother to give it a moment’s thought? Geez, I mean really! And the night before my Bar Mitzvah, how could that even be mentioned as if it were anything important? I had a whole ‘parsha’ to recite tomorrow in front of the whole congregation at Synago-go…I was liable to explode at any moment…

Wow do I miss those days…Mummy had picked out a charcoal grey flannel suit- with super wide lapels and flared legs…I think it was from Morrie Heft on Queen Mary. Something that squarely conservative would never had been in my top ten picks for a Superfly Jr like myself…it was so ‘Freddie’s dead” when I wanted to be the ‘Pusher Man’ song in the soundtrack….. I think they both worked on tenderizing me for a few days before I finally relented, but I stood my ground on accessorizing!

I got a pair of crinkled black patent leather loafers with a gold horse bit, again I had to horse trade with Mummy to try to ‘pimp my ensemble’ and this was the compromise…from there it was a sit-trot to a long collared blue shirt and raiding Daddy’s tie hanger from the pale wooded drawers of his closet for a choice Brisson &Brisson black tie with a repeating pattern of blue and yellow gold…

Looking back it was a tight look to gird my loins with; doing battle week in-week out during that heady time of jukebox Bar Mitzvahs- always with the same songs: ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’, ‘Back Off Bugaloo’ ‘Claire’ ‘Popcorn’ ‘Cracklin’ Rosie’ and ‘Your Momma Don’t Dance’…and through it all I looked resplendent thanks to Mummy.

I felt sorry for the poor blighters whose BMs came later on in the year, before they got the golden ticket bar mitzvah suit, so in the interim they were forced to fend for themselves in last year’s style, or worse yet, a relative’s hand me downs…A Nehru jacket from ‘68 would mean instant social ostracism, just adding to incipient puberty’s rich pageant of humiliation

After the semi-victorious recital of my Bar Mitzvah portion of the Torah, where I mysteriously only hit High ‘C’ a few times and only some chandeliers in the main sanctuary came toppling down, and only caused some minor casualties…There was a evening party to celebrate the glorious win for the Fatherland. A glorious event for any snot-nosed kid not to appreciate, aside from the ice cream bar and caricaturist….. and no girls…

Basically it was a ‘Gay Bar Mitzvah’ which under the circumstances is hilarious considering the impending lifestyle choices of some of the boy Sibs’, for whom upon further reflection in later years for their rites of passage, ‘The Parents That Be’ decided to lift the ban.

I can remember Moss hoofing it up with cousin Connie to the syncopated strains of the Michael Shore Band downstairs in the basement; which had been recently remodeled for this night. And my bedroom, with it’s rainbow graphic on the walls and ceiling and visible from the street when the multi-colored patchwork drapes weren’t closed…that also had a white leather bed cover and an Eames inspired leather chair an ottoman and…. looking back, I swear I think I was seriously being groomed to be a pimp…probably payback for being forced to go to french immersion/ballet school when I was four…again, an odd choice to encourage…A school uniform consisting of a white turtleneck and black leotards and pale blue ballet shoes that even a retarded 4 year old like myself knew couldn’t be from the boy’s department of Eaton’s

Funny thing though,apropos to self-prophesizing endeavors as a little kid, My older cousin Jonathan would mercilessly tease me about my leotards and he grew up to be a shithead…what were the odds?

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