August 1991
Dovid's point of view
Harry has been spending lots of time at our house lately. Even worse was when he mentioned to the Dursleys what Shlomo bakes for Shabbos. All of a sudden, Dudley started joining us on Shabbos just to get his treats.
Interestingly enough, the 1991 Hebrew calendar and 2018 are just a day off. I realized that when we missed the first fast day of the summer since in 1991 it came out June 30 while in 2018 it's July 1. Feige's brother's yartzeit was also a day earlier although it seemed strange for her to observe the yartzeit when her brother is a healthy one-year-old boy and won't be dying of cancer for 22 more years.
Now my father's yartzeit is approaching. Back in New York in 1991, my father's health was already declining, but he still lived until the summer before Shlomo was born. It seemed appropriate though to mourn my father throughout his illness. I just wished that I could somehow contact my New York 1991 family and tell them not to repeat the mistakes they made during my childhood. The summer of 91 was when I was having trouble finding a high school that would take me since my father was sick and completely uninvolved in my education, my family had no money and couldn't afford tuition for any yeshivas, and my mother was so overwhelmed by everything else going on that school was the last thing on her mind. I ended up in a school for problem kids even though I wasn't a problem.
Feige and Shlomo always get annoyed when I discuss my childhood. The truth is that during the first few years we were married, Feige was very sympathetic and tried to encourage me to speak about it. After around three years, she had enough. She often told me that I should pay a therapist to listen to me, because at least a therapist has to listen and be polite. Since she heard everything I have to say on the matter so many times, she had no interest in hearing it again.
Instead, I told stories about my father's good days before he got sick. Shlomo found my father's eighth grade year book which was very entertaining.
This year I had a new audience. Harry was interested in hearing about my father. He asked how I know so much about my father if he died.
"My father got sick when I was twelve," I explained. "I remember from before he was sick."
"What about your mother?" Harry asked.
"What about her?" I repeated.
"Where is she?" Harry wanted to know.
"She spends her winters in Florida and her summers in New York," I explained.
"What about your parents?" Harry asked Feige.
"They live in New York," Feige told him. "My mother is a teacher and my father is an office comptroller."
"So you're the only one missing a parent and you remember him," Harry said sadly.
"Did you ask Hagrid about your parents?" Feige asked. "I'm sure he remembers them."
"A drop," Harry said. "Did you know your grandparents?"
"My mother's parents live in New York," Feige said. "My father's father died when I was eleven from stomach cancer and his mother died when Shlomo was one from skin cancer. They were 93 and 98 when they died."
"My mother's mother died a week before Yisrael was born," I told Harry. "My mother's father died when I was a teenager. I was pretty young when my father's parents died, but I remember going to their house a lot. My grandfather used to hit me with a belt."
"I don't remember my parents at all," Harry said.
"Can't you ask your aunt about them?" I suggested.
"She won't talk about them," Harry mourned.
"It's probably too painful," I reasoned.
"I didn't even know how they died until you moved in," Harry said. "The whole world knew my story except me."
"Maybe some of your teachers at Hogwarts can tell you about them," I said.
"I don't know if I want to ask," Harry said. "I never got along with teachers."
"Maybe you could ask Hagrid to ask all the professors," Feige suggested. "They could put together any pictures of your parents that are in the school, any awards they got, records of their detentions, or anything that interests you about them."
"I'm not asking," Harry said. "Hagrid was already surprised at how little I know."
"So what about Dumbledore?" I asked. "He left you with your aunt and uncle so he is aware that he's the reason you don't know much about your parents."
"I'm not much of a letter writer," Harry said.
"Today may be your lucky day," I told him. "You're in a room with two published writers."
"I didn't know you're a writer," Harry commented.
Shlomo laughed.
"My father couldn't even write his own college papers," Shlomo told him. "My mother had to help him a lot."
"She just proof read them," I lied.
"You like to write?" Harry asked Feige.
"I do," she told him, "but Dovid is being over generous calling me a published writer. The poems I had published were in magazines that don't pay and the jokes I had published is something anyone could do. It's not that hard to write down funny things people say. I don't mind writing a letter to Dumbledore for you."
"Who's the other published writer?" Harry asked curiously.
"Shlomo won a poetry contest and had his poem published in the paper," I bragged.
"I'll do the letter," Feige said, getting a piece of paper and a pen, "If you don't mind sending it with your owl."
Two days later, Harry cheerfully showed us letters he got from lots of teachers. Professor Dumbledore sent a group shot and circled Harry's parents. Professor McGonagall wrote down stories about Harry's father's antics in school. Professor Flitwick wrote a nice letter praising Lily's charm work. Harry seemed thrilled to have a connection to his parents. I just hoped we didn't mess up the timeline too much.