A LETTER TO MY GRANDSON, STEVE GREENBERG

February 26, 2001

Dear Steve,

Most people, when describing their close family, use the expression "I am blessed." Who blessed them?  The Pope?  The Chief Rabbi?  The Ayatollah?  The Shaman? Who gave them the power, the right to instill a special privilege?  And since this is not my style, and my belief in a personal deity, who gives special privileges to some and not to others, does not exist, I must fall back on the expression, "Good Fortune."

Yes, my grandson, I have the very good fortune of having a small, good, loving, diversified family.  I love them because not only are they my own warm group of people (I call them my tribe), but also for being good people.

Once we were a bigger tribe, but through two world wars the insanity of men decimated a great number of us.  What we have now is a group of people of intellect; stable citizens of our civilization who strive to maintain an involvement in the environment and the health of humanity in what is still a turbulent society.

I love them deeply, and I am grateful for the attention and respect that they give me.

I am especially happy with my grandchildren, and their children.

I will not write about my three children now.  You know how proud I am of them and their position in life and our society.

But I will write about the grandchildren, starting with the youngest, Sara.  At this time, she does not want to stay in touch with us and it hurts, but I am patient.   Hopefully in time she will understand us better, and wish to reestablish some degree of contact.

Then we have Jeff.  He is truly good, efficient, attentive, and constantly working at improving himself.  Jeff is making his mark in the radio field in Sacramento.  He is married to Samantha, a true gem,  and they are raising their two daughters with intelligence and sensitivity, and teaching them the value of family ties.

Next comes Mandi, who since childhood declared that she wanted to grow up to be a mother and a teacher.  She has merged the two, and lives in the Delta in a small quiet town.  Her husband Mike, who is mechanically talented, works with his analytical mind and hands, and together they provide comfort and peace to their two daughters who are growing up in grace and love in an enriched and varied  atmosphere.

And our Lisa, sweet, smart Lisa.  I never heard her complain about anything.  Her work is difficult  – an advisor and helper to abused women and children who come to the attention of the police department where she is employed.  Her many years of work there are highly appreciated and respected.  She and her husband, Jim, are raising two sons, now well prepared, through education and example, to live in the contemporary world.  She is a great help to and supporter of Jim, who not only is an accomplished psychologist, but is also a talented actor in local productions.

The three mentioned grandchildren are rooted in their communities, are seemingly highly respected, liked, and comfortable with the world, and their position in their societies.  They live comfortable lives, and are the foundations of what is called "The American Way." 

They all bring me love, pride, and respect.  

And next, my oldest, you, Steve.

Somehow you don’t fit into the same mold.  You grew up in a hurry; always wanting to do something before the "normal" time for accomplishment.

I will never forget your first birthday.  You were living in Belmont.  We came to celebrate, and you did not let us down.  You were fully aware of the circumstances.  I can still see you in your father’s arms, singing God Bless America.  The two of you were harmonizing.

Again, at age three, still in Belmont, you took my hand and we went for a walk in the neighborhood.  We passed a construction site and you started to read out the names of the builders, their specialties, and their addresses.

Incredible –"Why do you memorize all this information?" I asked.

"Because it is written, and I can read," you modestly answered.

"So read this,"  I pointed out the printed words on the sacks of sand, pebbles, and cement.  You read every word correctly!

I soon found out that even as a 3 year old, you tried to read the daily newspapers and every book that you could find.

And from then on, new surprises.  You were involved with the world.  Together with our family you marched to protest the injustice of the world – the war in Vietnam.

You became the rebel – you dressed differently, you grew a beard, had your ears pierced, and wore a little earring given to you by your grandmother.

We find you in the Height-Asbury.  We see you with your future wife-companion.  You drive yourself to be educated and to be involved.  You live near us and have dinner in our home about three times a week.  I am astonished to watch your drive and involvement, and political savvy.

When it came time to go to college, although you could have gone to some more conventional university, somehow you ended up on a brand new campus of the University of California system in Santa Cruz.  It was a breeze for you, and we came to the graduation.  Not only were you the valedictorian, you made everyone laugh as you walked away with honors and prizes.

Time to settle down???  Not you, not yet.  You still didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life.  Oh, to be an attorney.  That would be useful for the world, and for you.  Although you were highly qualified to gain entry to well known law schools,  you again chose an obscure institution – The New School of Law.  Here law is taught for the use of its meaning, not for the money that can be made.  You are brilliant.  You learn fast and pass the Bar examinations at first attempt.

And now what?  Rather than a secure position in a good, respected firm, you chose to work for the abused, the left-out, the "fell through the cracks," frightened  people.  You go to work for the sheriff of San Francisco, Mr. Hennessey.  You immerse yourself in the task, and make some improvements in the treatment of the discarded, but it takes a toll on you.  The work is killing, and when Marianne, your wife, wants to go to Germany to visit her mother, you see an opportunity to make a change.

The University of Maryland is sending some bright young people to the American Military bases in Europe to teach.  You signed on to teach American law to the soldiers, and you did a good job in Germany, Italy, Greece, and wherever you were sent or chose to teach.

You spent 7 years of doing good, but you still remain poor.  By this time Liana, your daughter, had been born in Italy.  I came to visit you.  Your son Toby was born in Germany.  And then you came home.

And again, although responsible for your own family, you worried about pollution and crime.  You chose to live in the Sierra foothills, Grass Valley and Nevada City.  You went to work for the State, taking on cases of abused, underprivileged poor people.

You still are out of the loop of earning lots of money.  You get involved with the dropout people and their families.  You have become a repository for abandoned children.

Is this a good thing for a young attorney, a father of two children?  You seem to think so.  Your lifestyle becomes  what the mainstream regards as radical, un-American, as some people would say.  Your whole family becomes vegetarians.  You are a pain when you come visiting.  To feed you everything has to be "kosher vegetarian," and then the unheard of – you start "home schooling" your children!

How will they learn about the cold world that we all must face?

You became involved with the social life in your small community.  You fight for the rights of the young.  You are on  radio and television, debating with the Mayor, and other traditional, conservative, citizens.

I wouldn’t be surprised if some day they expel you for being a shit disturber.

So why am I telling you all this?  You know what you are and what you are doing.  My eyes were always on you.  But I must tell you how much I love you.  Although I never told you and all the others in our family what I think, you should be aware that I am very proud of you for being different.  In the mosaic of our tribe, you are a shining jewel.

I hope someday, when you are older, you will cool down.  You will stop fighting windmills, become a solid conservative, move to the city, and have all the comforts that you deserve.

Actually, I don’t mean a word I have just said.  I know that you will always be a rebel; a fighter for what is right for the poor and underprivileged.

I will sigh, click my lips as old people do, but I will always love you and respect you.

Viva la difference.

Grandpa