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Iâm Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, 2nd Lieutenant, United States Army Reserve, retired.
Yes, Iâm serious. I was a commissioned officer. I have my commission and my honorable discharge somewhere in the garage, along with a lot of other artifacts from my younger life. You know, like stickball bats, bowling balls, books I used to find intriguing that donât have as much appeal anymore.
My kids and my grandchildren find my garage a fascinating place, a journey into a time some of them fondly remember, and some of them canât conceive. The grandchildren canât imagine what it was like, and they wonder how I got from that very different place to where I am now.
I always marveled at my fatherâs, AâH, journey from a childhood in Czechoslovakia to his escaping and traveling alone, at age 17, to his sister and her husbandâs home in NY, only to be sent right back to Europe in the US Army. It wasnât only his sister, brother in law, and the GI Bill that got him on his feet when he came back from the war. It was his resilience and quiet determination that, with siyata dishmaya, eventually took him to the highest levels in his profession and community.
My mother, AâH, grew up in the Bronx. So did I. But I really canât imagine what it was like to hear air-raid sirens, have blackout curtains, and see stars hanging in the windows of homes of families who had lost someone in the armed forces overseas. It always sounded to me like the Bronx, the whole world, of my motherâs childhood was a sad and scary place.
The Bronx for me was sledding alongside of Mosholu Parkway (somehow those hills got a lot smaller since I was six!), going to the hobby shop on Two Fourth to get balsa wood gliders, and playing Careers with my friends. In that board game, you first chose what winning would mean to you. You had to collect 60 points to be considered a winner. But you had to decide how many points of Fame, Happiness, and Money you wanted to collect to add up to 60. If you had written down, secretly of course, that your goal was 40 points of Fame, 15 of Happiness, and 5 of Money, but you ended up with some other ratio, youâd have 60 points but you wouldnât be a winner. How was I to know what ratio to choose, what would make me a winner? It was only a game, but it was a metaphor, too. What path should I embark on? What goals were worthy of pursuit? And if I pursued them, how far would I get? What would become of me?
When I would ask my mother these questions, she would sing a song to me. Part of it went like this:
When I was just a little boy
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will beâ¦
Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
I tell them tenderly.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
This is a parenting column. So what do you, as a parent do with any of this, how is it relevant? I think itâs relevant because children sometimes wonder how will they ever get to be something, how will they know how to be a grown-up, how did you, their father or mother figure it out?
Perhaps some of your children are not as introspective as I was, and they just take it a day at time. Let them. Thereâs nothing wrong with that. Theyâre probably more relaxed than I was.
Some of your children, though, may wonder the kinds of things that I wondered about. They may wonder about you how figured stuff out when you were a kid, how you dealt with things that bothered you, whom you turned to for help, reassurance, and advice. How you got from being a little kid to the person you are now.
What sugyas did you really get into, what did you do when you fell behind?
Did you ever get left out when the popular kids chose up sides, when the clique shut you out? How did you get through the pain?
What did your parents say to you when you failed a test? How bad did you feel when you got the test back? How much better, or worse, did you feel after you spoke with your parents about it?
If you canât remember, tell your child that you canât remember. Tell her that with siyata dishmaya and hishtadlus, you made it through and here you are, a successful adult, in many ways, much of the time.
Reassure him that childhood can be really hard sometimes; it was for you too. And that like you, bâezras HaShem heâll turn out fine.
Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor with specialties in marriage, relationships, and parenting. He works with parents and educators, and conducts parenting seminars for shuls and organizations. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.