A career that was meant to be.
When I was a child, my brother, first cousins, and I were blessed to have our grandparents close to our homes and our hearts. Nanny's demeanor was as sweet as her cooking. Grandpa Lulu was a short, bald-headed gentleman whose eyes twinkled in a way that lit up our very souls.
On Friday nights—the beginning of the Jewish Shabbat, or Sabbath—we gathered for a family dinner. One ritual was for each child to place a coin in a blue-and-white pushke—a charity box for people less fortunate than us. Grandpa Lulu then held a personal audience with each one of us—pinching our cheeks lovingly, taking our head in his hands, and blessing us. He was careful not to disturb my thick, heavy glasses.
