Comments on: The 2nd Most Important Story Of My Life

By: danika

danika — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 20:10:20 +0000

this is fabulous. i always enjoy your work, Sara, and the way you tell it like you're just talkin' to me.

By: SusanSfarra

SusanSfarra — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 17:18:20 +0000

I related to this on a few levels. I too am second born and tend to feel more comfortable with a second slot position than the glaring spotlight of position number one. It is not something my grandmother changed in me no matter how hard she tried, not that she was overly pushy, but as is the case with a certain generation of grandparent, she had that irresistible urge to push her grandchildren as she had pushed her children to be front and center. I harbor less resentment over this than my mother. There is something about the bond between children and grandparents, their second parents, that allows each to feel less critical of and less disappointed in the other. My grandmother too was a great storyteller, possibly again as is the case with a certain generation of grandparent. She was also Catholic. As grandmothers, grandparents in general, do she provided a connection to the past and to my origins, which if you are Catholic includes an epic saga of guilt. The guilt over not wanting to put myself front and center, in the first position, has long since subsided. I think placing an entry in the number two position as a first entry in a list about the most important stories in your life makes sense in a way, to me it does. I make lists every day, which at the end of the day are crossed through and updated and carried over to other lists. My lists are ever changing lists. I’d probably keep that number one spot open in my important stories list as well. Perhaps a bit hopeful, with the thought there are lots of other important stories still to come.

By: Rachel B

Rachel B — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 01:59:33 +0000

I don't really agree that this is a sad story. Getting old isn't sad–it's an inevitability. But the joy of recognizing the interwoven stories; the tremendous nuance contained in the line, “oh, hello,” the irrelevance of numbers and prioritization in the qualitative analysis of our lives–those are signs of triumph and wise exploration.

This is a perfectly sliced piece of beauty and essential mystery.

By: etemp

etemp — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 16:28:19 +0000

That was an excellently woven story. I must say one thing which I've also been working on recently: Don't make an ending. Just stop writing. If you cut the last paragraph it's much more poignant.

But really beautiful essay nonetheless.

By: Sara Nickerson

Sara Nickerson — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 13:49:50 +0000

I know – I usually had to sit in the pew and wait. I think that's why I saw this as my one chance. And to be fair, the slapee tells a different story: it was a gentle covering of the tongue to let the priest know I wasn't ready (which it probably was). But those feelings of hurt and humiliation… that's exactly it. And it's funny because I now go to First Communions of nieces and nephews and I wait in the pew through communion. And even though it's my choice, I still feel completely isolated and lost at that moment. Maybe next time I'll treat myself to Kentucky Fried Chicken.

By: amandaemerson

amandaemerson — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 11:59:19 +0000

What a great essay. Brings to mind my attending Saturday night mass as a child with my grandmother. I was raised Methodist, but I remember going with my Catholic grandma to her to services. I loved–still love–evening mass with its dim lights, candles, kneeling at row's end, making the sign of the cross, the chanting of Our Fathers and Hail Marys. It seemed a wonderful and mysterious thing.

Most of all, though, I remember what must have been the first time: I remember very clearly the feeling of hurt and humiliation (I am weirdly prone to these) when my grandmother told me to stay put, that I could not go to the front and receive communion with her and the others. Later, she made it up to me. Kentucky Fried Chicken, probably. She never got old enough to lose her stories. I miss her.

By: Michael Bennett Cohn

Michael Bennett Cohn — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 00:43:50 +0000

Yeah, the shofar is pretty cool, too.

By: Eric Eicher

Eric Eicher — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 00:11:34 +0000

There's a lot to like here, writing-wise, sad as some of the story is, and I was especially impressed with the way that you use the would-be list of seven things with only number 2 filled in. It really works well.

By: Tara

Tara — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 00:10:54 +0000

For me the lulav and etrog shaking on Shemini Atzeret gets the closest to my imagination of powerful ancient rites.

By: Tara

Tara — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 23:59:37 +0000

Your story made me sad. I'm glad your grandmother had people to listen to her stories, and I guess that some day your filled out index card could be very precious to somebody.

I think I took communion once. Somehow I didn't get that that the communion at the midnight Christmas mass at the ski chalet wasn't for the Jewish kids, even if you did have Quebecois family. Now they sell communion wafers at the grocery stores in Montreal, called “hosties.”

By: Sarah Conradt

Sarah Conradt — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 17:16:08 +0000

wow. just – absolutely wow. this eloquent journey you just took me on.

By: Sarah Conradt

Sarah Conradt — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 17:16:01 +0000

wow. just – absolutely wow. this eloquent journey you just took me on.

By: Michael Bennett Cohn

Michael Bennett Cohn — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 15:09:29 +0000

My 90 year-old grandmother is doing the folding of the imaginary sheets thing too, except with a tablecloth, but she is definitely shaping and arranging it. I wonder if, for that generation of women, the act of folding, arranging, mending, (and making?) clothes is such a central part of life that it just naturally becomes the thing to fall back on when they're not sure what else to do.

Also makes me think of the recent Mad Men episode, where the grandfather (in 1964) wakes up in the middle of the night and pours all his son-in-law's alcohol down the drain... he thinks he's back in prohibition. Another time he's up late peeling potatoes, because he thinks he's in the army on KP duty.

I was always jealous of Catholics, and how they had all these sacred physical objects, all these rituals full of real things you could touch and consume that were directly endowed with supernatural powers.