A Summer Sunday, 1934
Neiman-Hoffman, Nancy
A Summer Sunday, 1934 Hands empty at her waist, waiting to receive me, my mother smiles at me in my father's arms. Sleeves loose and cool, a cascade of lace at her chest: it must be Sunday. I am...
...My father struggled always against the current, hardly built to shepherd anyone, his failure redeemed on the hallowed ground of steadfastness...
...Reserved, interior, quiet, not-to-be-found, he wears a half-smile for the camera...
...Nancy Neiman-Hoffman...
...He is posing...
...My mother the sun around which everything revolves...
...A summer Sunday after church, my father newly called to shepherd the Plymouth Meeting flock...
...He is thirty-three, his dark handsome face betraying the Jewishness he wanted to deny...
...Summer passes, and the moment, as unrepeatable as a cloud...
...I am nine months old, watching my mother's face...
...And for the rest of his life, the lonely only child...
...Even then, even here, an outsider...
...My mother died at ninety-five, not knowing my name...
Vol. 129 • September 2002 • No. 16
