Joes Sneakers

I am the son of an old Jewish man who can't remember who I am.
Joseph is 92 and spends his days not remembering. I try to see him as
often as I can, flying to Florida a few times a year.

He hardly goes out, just to the doctor twice a month. I am on his
speed-dial, but when he calls me, he doesn't know who he is
calling.

I try my very best to keep him alert and focused, it gets more
difficult with each passing year.

A few years ago I had an opportunity to visit some of our family
members who also live in Florida, who, I have not see in years, nor had
Joe. I thought it would be a great idea to take Joe to the Barmitzvah
that we had been invited to. After all, he was the oldest uncle, he
should be there. It would be a fun re-union and probably the
last.

At first he didn't want to go, kept arguing with me not to come down,
not to spend the money, not to make a special trip for this one
occasion. He didn't even know who it was I was planning to take him to
see. I decided, to hell with him, I am flying down and he's coming to
this thing with me whether he likes it or not. I looked forward to
seeing my long lost relatives, it had been so many years.

Once there, the process of preparing him, getting him dressed and ready
was more difficult than I imagined it would be. First, I had to get him
to shave and bathe. Eighty-eight year old men do not care about being
clean, or combing their hair or what clothes they wear. Finally, after
getting him decked out in his polyester leisure suit, I had to decide
on the shoes. He would surely slip and slide in real shoes, so I
decided on his soft black Reeboks. They would keep him up and steady,
and go unnoticed. No one would care about his footwear anyway. I knew
he wasn't planning on doing any dancing.

So now here we are on the road, in the dark, in the rain, lost. I know
he will soon have to go to the bathroom so I am eager to find my way.
As we drive and search for this place, he is telling me that it is
almost his bedtime and he is tired. We weren't even there yet.

Finally, we arrive. We walked into the lobby to find out our table
number, and I am impressed to see we are at table number one. Nothing
too good for the long lost great uncle and the nephew from New York. As
we enter the main party room, slightly late, all heads turn; then
complete silence.

Everyone stopped talking and is staring at us. I am uncomfortable and
baffled, thinking, why is everyone staring at us? I proceed to check
his fly, and mine, all OK. I look for rips in our clothing , but
everything is normal. Is it because we are late or has it been so long
that no one recognizes us and thinks we are crashing this thing.
Crashing a Barmitzvah, I hardly think so.

The host of this event, the boys father, my first cousin Milton
approaches us, I can see his facial expression change from surprise, to
tears, and then to happiness.

Yes, we were in the right place. The silence and strong emotion we were
witnessing was due to the resemblance of my father to his dead brother,
my great uncle. My cousin was seeing his dead father all over again;
they could have been twins! The other guests were just as shocked,
confused and speechless. And then the party got going and a good time
was had by all.

I was just happy that it wasn't his sneakers that were making everyone
stare!