ON BEING A PATRIARCH

Some twenty years ago, when I still considered myself young and dashing, an active person, a pursuer and alleged seducer of young women, when life was full of good surprises and conquests, when there was no end to all this in sight, my son, Bennett, stood up at a family dinner to toast me in front of my whole family, and asked me if now that I was over 65 years of age, I would give the family permission to start calling me Zaida, (a Yiddish word for Grandpa).

No, this was not on my birthday.  I never let anybody celebrate this event.  I declared a long time ago that "birthdays" come only once in a lifetime - the day when one is born - all the others are anniversaries.  Anyway, I hate yearly observances of birthdays.

Up to that time, when I had to introduce my children, I always said, "Meet Lila, or Bennett, or Jan," without identifying our relationship.  How could I, this young man, have such grown up children?

But now, at the time of this family gathering,  I must acknowledge that I have grown up grandchildren, and perhaps, in a few years, they also will become parents.  How can I hide the facts?

I nodded "Yes," and Bennett gave me a present - a box of freshly printed business cards; my name, address, and phone number in small letters, but boldly across the card in large block letters was the new title "PATRIARCH."

I thanked him, smiled sheepishly, and took the box with the cards, intending to put them away never to be seen again.

Yet I took a few cards and put them in my wallet, and kidding around with some of my men friends, I informed them that they owed me due respect, as I was now a "PATRIARCH."

My real fun started when my favorite restaurant placed a basket near the cash register asking the patrons to deposit their business cards for a monthly drawing of a free dinner for two, including a bottle of excellent wine.

On a whim, I dropped my card in this jar, and about two weeks later I received a congratulating letter from this eating establishment with an engraved card for the complimentary dinner with wine for two.

The card, and the envelope, were addressed to "Mr. Patriarch."

It took awhile to sink in, that besides my name, Philip, I am also  "Zaida" and  "PATRIARCH."

I also came to the startling realization that among what is left of my immediate family, and even the far-flung remnants of my tribe,  I was the Oldest Living Being!

This title took roots and grew in my conscience, and with this new title, I realized, came some rights.

I never gave direct orders to my children; never advised them as to what I thought was the proper way.  From the time they were small children, they all showed good sense, and I let them choose their own paths.

When they became adults and had to make big decisions, I never interfered.  Who am I to tell them what is the right way?  I didn’t always approve of their decisions, but I never tried to influence them, or declare my disapproval - and I never will.

Yet as a senior, old, and experienced man, I started to feel that I should now express my views. Somehow, it was fitting for me to do so.

The remnants of my vast horde of relatives began to visit me - the oldest remaining European born member of the family.  They came, and are still coming, from Australia, Israel, England, and the East Coast.

There is only one first cousin still living.  A younger man, but he is ailing, and is forgetful.  The ones that make the "pilgrimage" are second and third cousins - some I never met before.

Most respect the "Old Fossil;" me.  Some ask questions about their parents and grandparent’s lives.  Some want to know about my ancestors, which are their distant ancestors.

I tell them, but it is hard for them, with their stable, well-organized lives, to comprehend how the insane wave of genocide wiped out almost all of our people.

And some of them confide to me about their own lives, about indiscretions, unfaithfulness -  maybe they want to ease their conscience.  Maybe they want forgiveness or approval.  Does age bring wisdom?  Great age, great wisdom? I will not argue with them.

In such cases I put on my very serious face.  I never accuse them of doing wrong - but I remind everyone that they should govern their lives in ways to best protect their children from harm, for it is they who would be the ultimate sufferers.  And I further remind them of their responsibility to maintain the dignity and unity of the whole family.  And sometimes my suggestions bring results - at least I think so.

One of my grandsons, Steve, the "gypsy," "the hippie," as I affectionately sometimes call him, always seems to go against the trends and the establishment.  He became a peoples lawyer - taking on hopeless cases, and at times taking care of the victim’s families; this to the dismay of many of us, not because of his idealism, but because of the anticipation that he would use his great brilliance in more conventional legal pursuits. - making sweeping changes from within the system.   Great competence, but certainly different in approach in so many ways.

He, the father of two children, decided not to send them to public schools.  Instead he and his wife decided that they will be taught at home.

I looked at this from a different standpoint.  Children should be exposed to the great mixture of races, religions, and cultures.  They will have to interface with the general population and live among them.

Liana was born in Italy, and Toby born in Germany, when Steve was teaching American law to G.I.s stationed there.  Both are very bright children.  For good reason I call them children of the world.  Of course they are influenced by their parents.

I, at every occasion, mention that isolation is not a solution.  As the Oldest Living Relative, I feel that I have a duty to express myself, and as a "sage", I can say whatever I wish to, whenever I want, and get away with it.  (What fun!)

I don’t know if it was my influence - probably not, but this year both children are enrolled in public schools, and are doing great!

And Stevens parents, Lila and Bert, the fast living couple, the forever young and "going places" people, the seldom home between  parties, concerts, theater, travel, tennis and golf playing people.   I remind them of their age – "Time to slow down,"  especially when they mention pains and aches.

Years ago I would have remained silent, but now I remind them more often about the aging process.

I am expecting that soon they will do my bidding; or it will just happen, and I can take the credit.

And many pleasures come to me too - especially the very young ones.  Jeffrey, my other grandson, lives in Sacramento with his wife and their two girls.  He is a very successful radio announcer at a large Sacramento station.  I know that he is well respected and liked.  I listen to him almost everyday.  I am delighted that I  know where my grandson is, and what  his opinions are.

On their last visit to see me, while Nicole, the nine year old, was searching for recognizable faces in the myriad of photo albums, the six year old, Brianna, was performing for us with her acrobatics and dances.

I asked her to give me a hug.  She obliged, ran across the room and jumped on me, almost turning over the chair on which I was sitting.  Samantha, her mother, asked her to be more careful not to hurt me, but PATRIARCHS are seemingly indestructible.

Bri-Bri, as we call her, put her arm around me and whispered something in my ear.  I asked her to repeat it, as my hearing is no longer what it once was.

"Zaida," she whispered louder now, "Are you Old?"

"Yes," I replied, "All of us, including you are getting older."

"But," she insisted, "are you really very old?"

"That’s good," she smiled at me, "I want you to be as you are, forever."

"Forever and ever," I promised.

We kissed each other, and I was the happiest young man.

Being a Patriarch, and liking it, has its rewards.