[Written last summer . . . ]
This summer I felt obligated to take my younger kids out for
a big outing while the older kids were away at camp. It
didn't seem fair that every day the younger ones would watch
as the older ones packed up with extra nosh, swimming gear,
and board a bus and were off, while they stayed home to
color pictures or visit the same neighborhood parks.
When someone offered tickets to "Funland" that they were
unable to use, we figured this was the big opportunity. I
had been at "Funland" previously and knew what to expect.
Crowds and crowds, hot and sticky outdoors, trying to keep
track of my kids and my sanity. What can I say? It's not my
dream attraction but then, again, my kids wouldn't think
much of my tastes, either. I have to admit that "Funland"
does try to present activities for all ages and genders with
alot of regard for the charedi community's needs.
Although there were even more activities this year than last
and a tremendous amount of effort was exerted, one item was
sorely under-available: tables, and particularly chairs. The
park was suppose to open its doors at 11:00 a.m. So when we
arrived at one minute to eleven, I thought we were doing
really good. That was until I spied the two hundred families
already within the gates. So early? I thought this was the
country where everything is known to be notoriously late.
At first I didn't understand why everyone was grabbing white
plastic chairs with great energy. Those chairs seemed like
the rarest commodity in town. Soon I was wishing that I had
invested in the plastic chair business myself. We had
decided to leave our picnic stuff in the car and only bring
some snack stuff for the time being. It would have been
nice, though, to put it down by a table so that we could
have a meeting place with the kids.
One table had chairs all around but on each chair there was
an item guarding its place; a backpack, a water carrier, a
diaper bag. They seem to be saying, "Don't move us..." At
another table sat one or two older men with chairs all
around. Although they were deep in conversation, they seemed
to have a countenance that said, "Don't even ask for these
chairs. We are saving them for our kids and grandchildren."
This seemed the modis operandi of all the tables around;
being guarded with a message that said "Already taken."
Finally I actually found some chairs that looked unused and
unguarded. I was about to take them when one of the workers
said, "You can't have those. They're for the workers." I
wanted to answer back that if you are working then you don't
need them but instead I simply pointed out that there didn't
seem to be enough chairs. They shrugged their shoulders and
I went back to my husband.
Just then a young man (we never did find out his name) came
over to my husband and said, "We have some room at our table
if you need."
"Thanks," we said, grateful to call a small place our own.
It turned out they were three brothers spending the day
together. One brother brillantly brought his own fold-up
table-and-chairs set. After that we were all coming and
going. While my attempts to procure chairs failed, the sons
of our gracious hosts had managed to magically round up
several. Our timing worked out perfectly. Just as we
finished our picnic lunch, our hosts were starting their own
so that we could vacate in time for their use. We were even
able to provide them with a cup and towel for handwashing.
Some might think that the chairs were the rarest commodity
that day. Unfortunately a spirit of generosity and sharing
was almost as lacking as the chairs. I am happy to know that
even in such times there are still those special people who
retain their goodness and giving spirit.
