I grew up in a Jewish home, and Yiddish was the language our parents used to speak to each other when they didn't want my brother and me to know what they were discussing. I don't think Phil and I were ever fluent in Yiddish, but we could catch the drift of what they were discussing and whether we were in trouble or not. Yiddish has some beautiful expressions and the inflections, tone and rhythm convey the gist of the conversation.
I know there are certain characteristics we acquire from our parents. We are, after all affected by the genes which they have passed on to us. I have come to believe, that I have become my mother. I can tell a lot of "tales", but I am afraid I have inherited, and now display, her need for doctors, constant medical attention and what might be commonly called...hypochondria. My three visits to the VA in the past month, my ever growing repertoire of pills, medications and the wide range of aches and pains I seem to exhibit, the tests and procedures I have requested and received, and the fact that many of the staff and even patients at the VA seem to know us by name, know our connection with the Passion Play and go out of their way to befriend us, makes we wonder if we have taken too much of a liking to the wonderful care we receive there. We even find that we are getting referrals for further care to other departments by the people we have just met with. Will it never end?
I may be on the road to psychological or psychiatric help.............OY VEY.
Sent from my iPad
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