The Oppenheimer Report - 10/8/12

Today, I turned fifty-seven years old, and seriously, I don’t feel a day over fifty-six. The fact is, somewhere along the line, birthdays stopped meaning all that much to me, other than to re-affirm that I am thankful to be alive. Appropriately enough, today also happens to be the Canadian Thanksgiving, so to all my Canadian pals, take the day off! Birthdays used to be such a big deal. I remember when I was eight or nine, one of the popular birthday celebrations was to throw a mega party at a roller skating rink, with fifty to seventy guests attending. Those parties were especially popular, because of course the more guests one invited, the more gifts one received. I’m not sure how many yo-yos, Hoola Hoops, or GI Joe dolls (Barbie for the girls) one boy or girl needs, but with that many guests, there were bound to be a few repeat gifts. In those days, before big box toy stores, most of the mothers in Buffalo probably did their toy shopping at Clayton’s Toyland on Elmwood Ave. A lot of my favorite toys came from that store and I used to love to go to Claytons with my mom, A.K.A. The Bank of Betty. Almost without fail, I walked out of that store with something. Back in the day, I loved cap guns and it was always a good excuse to ride over to Clayton’s (conveniently located just around the corner from our house) and replenish my supply of caps. These days, “popping a cap” means something different and entirely more violent. Generally, I liked anything that was noisy and/or tactile. I remember one silly toy made by Mattel called a “Varoom”. Anybody remember the Varoom? Basically, this was a battery-powered plastic noisemaker, which attached to one’s bicycle under the seat, and vaguely resembled a motorcycle motor. This was a somewhat lame improvement on the universally annoying playing card in the spokes noisemaker. The Varoom made some kind of cheap synthesized noise which sounded more like bad radio reception than a motorcycle engine, with some kind of “accelerator” that I could control from the handlebars. I’m sure I was a big hit with the neighbors on Sunday mornings, tooling around on my bicycle with that thing blaring. These days, my toys are bigger, more expensive, and even noisier.

Last Saturday, we attended an early Canadian Thanksgiving celebration with some of Shauna’s long lost cousins. They had invited us and Shauna’s parents to a big dinner - twenty or so guests - and that was particularly meaningful to me. We weren’t sure if that would be too much traveling for Shauna or her parents, but everyone rose to the occasion and we made it there on time. As well, we were all somewhat apprehensive, because that gathering represented a lot of strangers getting together to celebrate what is traditionally a family gathering. Now that there are no more American Thanksgivings to celebrate at the Oppenheimer household, and given that this was by far my favorite holiday of the year, I was hoping this Canadian version would be a success. Rather than wallowing in the past, I felt it was time to make a new tradition, and I very much wanted this celebration to be like the dinners I remembered. As it turned out, the stars aligned, the people were all wonderful, and we all gelled like a true family. There was a lot of history there, some of it not so happy, and in some ways this represented a lot of broken families coming together to form a new unit. Family can be complicated, and I have come to realize that it changes and evolves over time. Sometimes it expands, sometimes it contracts; there are schisms, conflicts, miscommunications, illnesses, deaths, second and third marriages, new boyfriends, new girlfriends, hurt feelings, mended fences, sorrow, and great joy. One thing I’ve learned in my 57 years is that this long strange trip is infinitely richer and more rewarding with the unfolding drama and constant evolution of a strong family. At the Oppenheimer household, Thanksgiving was legendary for its goodwill and joy, and we usually took in a few strays along the way. I will always remain thankful for that gift my Mom and Dad gave me. Thanks Mom and Dad! More so than any other holiday, this one bespeaks community to me, and it annually reminds me that if we can stay connected, regardless of the dysfunction, the misunderstandings, and the drama, then we are richer for the experience. In turn, that spark goes out into the world and indirectly enriches the lives of others. It’s called love, and in my opinion, it is highly under-rated. It may be on injured reserve these days, but it still exists in plentiful supplies, sometimes in the strangest places. The trick is to be receptive, and I suppose that comes with practice. Thank goodness I am blessed to have known so much of it in my life to date.

I made the sweet potato recipe my mother had served on Thanksgiving for forty plus years, because some traditions should never change. On this, the beginning of my 58^th year, I am sincerely thankful for all the good fortune I have known. Thank you friends and family for helping me feel this way.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2012 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED