Since so many people enjoyed the LA Times series on the Irvine PTA drama over in World, I thought maybe we could get a thread going where we link to articles that we've enjoyed.
The Sunday Review section in the NYT had two things I really enjoyed. One, written by an ER doctor, is very harrowing and is difficult to read but is very good.
The other is a story by the Palestinian writer Sayed Kashua, about back-to-school shopping in an unfamiliar country and is much lighter.
Finally, Ariel Levy in the New Yorker is always great. She has a story on ayahuasca and how it has become a trendy thing to do in parts of the US, and her own experiences at a ceremony in Brooklyn.
The Sunday Review section in the NYT had two things I really enjoyed. One, written by an ER doctor, is very harrowing and is difficult to read but is very good.
You put on your coat and you go into the bathroom. You look in the mirror and you say it. You use the mother’s name and you use her child’s name. You may not adjust this part in any way.
I will show you: If it were my mother you would say, “Mrs. Rosenberg. I have terrible, terrible news. Naomi died today.” You say it out loud until you can say it clearly and loudly. How loudly? Loudly enough. If it takes you fewer than five tries you are rushing it and you will not do it right. You take your time.
After the bathroom you do nothing before you go to her. You don’t make a phone call, you do not talk to the medical student, you do not put in an order. You never make her wait. She is his mother.
I will show you: If it were my mother you would say, “Mrs. Rosenberg. I have terrible, terrible news. Naomi died today.” You say it out loud until you can say it clearly and loudly. How loudly? Loudly enough. If it takes you fewer than five tries you are rushing it and you will not do it right. You take your time.
After the bathroom you do nothing before you go to her. You don’t make a phone call, you do not talk to the medical student, you do not put in an order. You never make her wait. She is his mother.
“Daddy, what language do you talk with Mommy?” My little boy has been speaking to me exclusively in English since shortly after we came to America from Israel.
“Arabi,” I answered him, in Arabic, as I always do: I don’t want him to forget his language and his Palestinian roots.
“So Daddy, you and Mommy are Arabis?”
“That’s right, sweetie. Me and Mommy talk Arabi.”
“So, Daddy,” he continued, “that means you and Mommy ‘haaave the meats!’ ”
“What?” I was baffled.
“He thinks you’re saying Arby’s,” my older son explained. Then he set matters straight for his little brother: “Mom and Dad are Arabs, not a sandwich place.”
“Arabi,” I answered him, in Arabic, as I always do: I don’t want him to forget his language and his Palestinian roots.
“So Daddy, you and Mommy are Arabis?”
“That’s right, sweetie. Me and Mommy talk Arabi.”
“So, Daddy,” he continued, “that means you and Mommy ‘haaave the meats!’ ”
“What?” I was baffled.
“He thinks you’re saying Arby’s,” my older son explained. Then he set matters straight for his little brother: “Mom and Dad are Arabs, not a sandwich place.”
Comment