When I was turning eleven, my neighbor, whose birthday fell on the day after mine, suggested that we have a joint party. Her family belonged to the club down on the beach, and we could have the entire social hall in which to dance to the hits of the early ’80’s: songs that hadn’t yet developed a kitchiness because, well, it was the early ’80’s.
When I mentioned this plan to my father, he calmly told me that he didn’t think it was such a great idea.
Why?
Because this club, not seeing the particular value in admitting Jews, had turned down our membership 10 years earlier.
“But Dad, this party is going to be totally awesome.”
He told me that the decision was mine.
It was a pretty easy decision. I decided to have the party.
But then something strange happened. I didn’t enjoy myself. Those ’80’s tunes fell on deaf ears. I didn’t dance, even when my longtime crush asked me to at the first few notes of my favorite slow song.
The party was ruined.
What I realize now is that, had my father told me that I couldn’t have the party, I probably wouldn’t remember it 25 years later. But faced with a choice, and having made the wrong one, I learned a lesson I’ll never forget.
Dana Reinhardt is the author of A Brief Chapter in my Impossible Life.
www.danareinhardt.net
