Ari probably knew your name, but now he may actually say it

Today when Ari was looking through his book of photos he was willing to identify so many more people by name. Auntie Papaya was "Paipa"; Zev was "Zzz"; Cate was "Tate". It was really cute to hear him call Auntie Papaya "Paipa" and also very cute to hear him identify Jeanne as "Jea". He said their names with such sweet affection and such gurgling zest, respectively. I love his little nicknames for people. Zoey is "Yo Yo" and his former babysitter Juliet used to be "Lulu" a name she seemed to revel in. (It is a good name.) He calls Dylan "Bubba" which is pretty cute and longstanding. It seemed to me he was also identifying Gefen but I wasn't quite sure. Also, he called Narayan "Raya" which I thought would please her if she knew. I haven't yet gotten him to say Maddy's name though. Don't know why. He calls my father "Dada" quite consistently, but is not clear exactly what to call my mother. Needs some help there.

Something about this naming business is terribly gratifying. Everything about this naming business is gratifying, actually.

***

Today at Dana Park I was playing with Ari in the sandbox and a friendly woman said to me, "So, is your son an olive?"

"I'm sorry? An olive, did you say?"

She laughed. "Is your son an aleph?"

I was very confused. I said, "His name is Ari, so I guess that's aleph resh yod." Let me tell you, this is not the average conversation I have around the sandbox at Dana Park.

Now she looked confused. "Isn't your son going to Aleph Bet?"

"The daycare? No--he goes to Tot Lot." Here the proverbial light was beginning to--proverbially--dawn.

She looked a bit embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just moved here from Akron. I thought everyone at this park was here for the Aleph Bet reception."

"Oh! Is there one?" I had noticed one man wearing a kippah, which seemed unusual, and earlier had seen another man speaking Hebrew to his daughter. But I hadn't realized there was an event. Now, everywhere I looked I saw people wearing nametags with their name and their child's name in smaller letters. It was so interesting. People who "looked" Jewish; people didn't, people who seemed comfortable and clear about what was happening, and people like this very nice woman, who didn't. We started to chat about the choices and the area, and then, I ran into another one of Ari's Tot Lot compatriots, a fellow Jew (I assume) whose daughter has an Israeli name--one of my favorite girl's names. I asked him if he ever had considering sending his daughter to Aleph Bet. He said he had, but then decided Tot Lot was a better overall choice. For me, I knew I wanted Tot Lot above all other options, partly because it is so nearby, but also because it is so multicultural. But that doesn't mean my heart didn't give a squeeze today in the sandbox. I looked around at all the other families who pick up their children every day at the Tremont Street Shul and thought, "Oh, woe, what has happened to my Jewish life, and what the heck will happen to Ari's?"

Times like these I always resolve to build a sukkah. As if that will help. But then, I'm the kind of person who starts a blog when she says bye to one of her oldest and dearest friends. Like that helps.

I left Dana Park nostalgic once again--this time for things I have never known, a wistful, wispy sort of nostalgia for choices I did not make. And cannot make again.

Nothing like leaving Suzi in the Boston Gardens, turning around to see her bend over her daughter, knowing chances are good I won't see them again until Gloria is at least 5 or 6 years old. Nothing like leaving a part of my heart smudged and behind in the bent and broken end-of-summer grass, fluttering at Suzi's feet.

It's hard to love people this much. But love all of you I do.