I could also climb under tables and between people’s legs without getting too much attention – aside from my father’s, that is. You see, he was always telling me to “calm down” and wait; that the food wasn’t going anywhere. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. The food was going somewhere – right onto people’s plates. I wanted to tell him that – to warn him the cranberry and broccoli salad was almost gone and I hadn’t even gotten to taste it yet – but I was afraid he might reward me with a potch.
Kiddush hasn’t really changed much for me; its one of those timeless classics. Of course, I’ve matured enough to make it past the kiddush bouncers and do some actual reconnaissance rather then a covert mission ending in failure. But I still sit in shul waiting impatiently for the announcements. The difference is that now I’m more sophisticated. For instance, I find out ahead of time where there’s a kiddush – and then base my attendance on it.
Luckily, I’ve developed into a confident individual. I can push over both children and old ladies in my effort to reach the kugel tray. I’m better at gauging whether or not to start with hot or cold food, based on the traffic of the crowd.
Indeed, I’ve honed many important skills that I learned first as a child. But the kiddush factor will always remain.
Moral of the story? You can stick a boy in a suit and hope he’ll rise to the occasion. But, ultimately, it’s a waste of time. He’ll find a way around it.
Trust me, I know.