It is 1959 and I am five years old. It¹s Sunday, the only day my father has off work. It¹s the day he looks forward to because it¹s the one day we spend together. We wash, get dressed and pile into his pink Chevrolet which matches the shingles on our suburban house, and drive to the neighborhood bagel shop. He tells me to pick six bagels from the assorted baskets on the counter. My father goes to the refrigerator and chooses the cream cheese and lox. We pay and then load ourselves back into the car with the intoxicating smell of freshly baked bagels permeating our olfactories. Dad reaches into the bag and rips off two pieces from a large plain bagel one for me and one for him.
By the time we get the weekly car wash and arrive home, there are only three bagels left in the bag. We giggle about how hungry we are.
I guess I didn't learn self-control from my father, but I did learn to love a good New York bagel.
Causes Diana Raab Supports
Journaling, Writing for Healing, American Foundation For Suicide Prevention,