Coming in from shoveling the little bit of snow we got on Friday and Mrs. D-Day has dinner ready. So, while wearing my favorite Tigers hat, I proceed to sit at the table. As soon as I do so, Mrs. D-Day the looks at me and says. "What are ya, Jewish?". That would have been verbatim what dad would have said and if I had a nickel for every time I heard that as a kid I'd be rich. My dad passed six years before I met Mrs. D-Day. If she would have smacked me across the back of the head when she said it, I might have thought there was a ghost in the house.
Where the hell am I going? And what the hell am I doing in this handbasket?