Jerry was born in a house where there was plenty to eat and buy. He didn't suffer from want. Not physical or material want. But there had to be an emotional element missing. Something was wrong.
He was born in 1971. His sister in 1969. I don't know about cousins. Maybe he had some distant or closer relatives like that, maybe none. Don't know. There is a lot I don't know about Jerry's life. Maybe some mysteries were on purpose, or simply are not supposed to be known about. Maybe I forgot the details ...
We outsiders were not as privy to it. And maybe we did not care enough. Shame on us. I guess.
But who does deserve the blame for the apathy of his father? Hitler? Germans? The Holocaust? Alcohol? Abusive parents? Depression? A Gentile nation, or state, or a lapsed Jewish consciousness, or a bad marriage?
Maybe all Jerry's problems did not have to do with the issues of his dad. His dad drank too much, that we came to know later. Did he also neglect his only son? Maybe. We young ones in the neighborhood were probably not very equipped to know or handle such matters.
We lived in a nice town, a college town. Things were around, like a cool downtown and parents and adults with decent lives and big ideas. There was abundance in many ways. But not for him, as much. Jerry may have been lacking in the things that you needed most: to survive.
Maybe I really don't know, maybe it's all conjecture based on decades old hearsay.
Jerry didn't have enough. Or did he? He seemed to have enough drugs. Later, after we drifted further. Maybe he didn't have friends. But he seemed to.
And maybe there was not enough of something essential for Jerry, even though he always seemed to have friends. Were they friends? Are anybody really friends? Maybe for many, but maybe not for him. I don't know.
Jerry was Jewish. Did that cause him particular grief? I remember him complaining about learning too many Christmas songs during our elementary school years. But I also recall reminding him that our Jewish music teacher also taught us some Jewish songs.
Maybe nothing made a difference.
I have read Jerry's eulogy many times, I am not sure how many. It speaks well of him, as a memorial should.
How did he die? More mysteries, maybe unrelated to his life at the time of his demise.
Many mysteries. Many unknowns.
I have written about Jerry before in a few different forums, trying to search my own feelings and possibly figure out answers that may have none.
Maybe it is all more about me, which is something I have suspected. Try to figure out humans, life, place, self.
Jerry lived to be a young thirty-something, dying in 2002 or so.
And we remember him. But we forget so much, and maybe never knew so much more.
Till then.
He was born in 1971. His sister in 1969. I don't know about cousins. Maybe he had some distant or closer relatives like that, maybe none. Don't know. There is a lot I don't know about Jerry's life. Maybe some mysteries were on purpose, or simply are not supposed to be known about. Maybe I forgot the details ...
We outsiders were not as privy to it. And maybe we did not care enough. Shame on us. I guess.
But who does deserve the blame for the apathy of his father? Hitler? Germans? The Holocaust? Alcohol? Abusive parents? Depression? A Gentile nation, or state, or a lapsed Jewish consciousness, or a bad marriage?
Maybe all Jerry's problems did not have to do with the issues of his dad. His dad drank too much, that we came to know later. Did he also neglect his only son? Maybe. We young ones in the neighborhood were probably not very equipped to know or handle such matters.
We lived in a nice town, a college town. Things were around, like a cool downtown and parents and adults with decent lives and big ideas. There was abundance in many ways. But not for him, as much. Jerry may have been lacking in the things that you needed most: to survive.
Maybe I really don't know, maybe it's all conjecture based on decades old hearsay.
Jerry didn't have enough. Or did he? He seemed to have enough drugs. Later, after we drifted further. Maybe he didn't have friends. But he seemed to.
And maybe there was not enough of something essential for Jerry, even though he always seemed to have friends. Were they friends? Are anybody really friends? Maybe for many, but maybe not for him. I don't know.
Jerry was Jewish. Did that cause him particular grief? I remember him complaining about learning too many Christmas songs during our elementary school years. But I also recall reminding him that our Jewish music teacher also taught us some Jewish songs.
Maybe nothing made a difference.
I have read Jerry's eulogy many times, I am not sure how many. It speaks well of him, as a memorial should.
How did he die? More mysteries, maybe unrelated to his life at the time of his demise.
Many mysteries. Many unknowns.
I have written about Jerry before in a few different forums, trying to search my own feelings and possibly figure out answers that may have none.
Maybe it is all more about me, which is something I have suspected. Try to figure out humans, life, place, self.
Jerry lived to be a young thirty-something, dying in 2002 or so.
And we remember him. But we forget so much, and maybe never knew so much more.
Till then.
No comments:
Post a Comment