Rant #3,578: Check It Out

Today is the beginning of a very busy week for me.

I have a couple of early doctors' appointments, so I will be in and out of the Blog this week, probably missing the next two days, and returning toward the end of the week.

Happily, I am feeling fine, but I do need some things to be checked out.

Call it "my personal body inspection/maintenance" if you will, but this is the week for it--

Just prior to Thanksgiving and the end-of-the-year holidays.

After last year, I want this season to ne a good one, the best that it can be.

I was just so messed up.last year at this time that I vowed to be much better this year, and hopefully, I can accomplish that.

Things are going pretty well right now, and I just need to get this stuff out of the way.

In the meantime, won't you read the sixth chapter of my novel?

Please let me know what you think of it, positive, negative, or somewhere in between.

Speak to you again later in the week.

6

After she gave birth to her child, Mrs. Panim had a tough time going back to her job at school, but she felt that if she could find someone to watch her son during the day, she would be able to do so.

After trying out several nannies—and most of them being too horrified at the sight of the baby to stay around very long—Mrs. Panim was worried that she would not be able to find anyone to watch her son.

One day, Mrs. Panim was in the local supermarket, shopping for groceries, and she had her son straddled to her as she was looking through the produce section.

An elderly woman, with her white and gray hair tied neatly in a bun on her head, entered the store after Mrs. Panim did, and the older woman went right to the produce section, moving right next to Mrs. Panim as each looked over the store’s selection of lettuce.

“The price is so high right now,” said the older woman, who moved from side to side with a slight limp. “I do wish I could make myself a good salad, but everything is so high. And my feet hurt so, I just can’t gallop over from one market or another to look for produce.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Panim, with one eye looking at the produce, and with the other eye looking at the older woman’s feet, which she saw were kind of large for a person of that stature, as if her feet were swollen. “Prices are very high.”

“And they really must rub you the wrong way,” Mrs. Stottle replied, as she saw the baby that Mrs. Panim had straddled to her. “How do you feed your child, anyway? I hope you can do it better than I can feed myself.”

The two women got to talking, and Mrs. Panim learned that the older woman’s name was Mrs. Stottle, she was a widow, had a husband who passed away just recently, and although he had a small pension, she was finding it harder and harder to make ends meet.

When Mrs. Panim got a clearer look at Mrs. Stottle’s face, she thought that she recognized her, but could not place her.

During their talk, Mrs. Panim found out that Mrs. Stottle had plenty of time on her hands, as she told Mrs. Panim that the only time she left her apartment was to go food shopping.

As Mrs. Stottle talked, Mrs. Panim continued to try and figure out why she knew the older woman, but to no avail.

“Listen, Mrs. Stottle, to help you out, how about me hiring you to be a nanny for my son,” Mrs., Panim said, confident in the fact that she somehow knew this person, e3ven though she could not place her. “I will bet that you would be a great nanny for my son while I am at work, and I would definitely pay you a very fair price for your services.”

Mrs. Stottle said, “Well, I don’t know, I haven’t watched a baby in so long a time,” and then the elderly woman began to sob.

“What’s wrong,” Mrs. Panim said. “Is it something I — “

“No, no, it is nothing you said,” Mrs. Stottle replied. “It just brings up … well … some memories I have of … .”

Mrs. Stottle wiped away the tears, got back her composure, and said,” Yes, yes, I do believe I can do it! What’s your baby’s name and can I take a look at the child?”

As Mrs., Stottle got close, Mrs. Panim pulled away, not ready to allow the older lady to take a peak at her son. Finally she took a deep breath, and did not pull back anymore.

“His name is Abraham Lincoln Panim and here he is,” as Mrs. Panim took back the blanket that her son was wrapped in to reveal the child’s face to the older woman.

Mrs. Panim sensed that the older woman would recoil, like all the other nannies she tried to hire did, but Mrs. Stottle did not even wince, putting her hand on the child’s head.

“Mrs. Panim, I would be honored to watch little Mr. Abraham Lincoln Panim while you are at work,” Mrs. Stottle said as she squinted to get a better look at her new charge. “He looks like a fine young man. I don’t have any references, but I know — ”

“I will need you to watch him during the week, five days a week, from about 7 a.m. to about 4 or 5 p.m.,” stated Mrs. Panim, almost in disbelief that Mrs. Stottle agreed to the assignment.

Mrs. Stottle reached into her pocketbook and her hands fumbled inside of it, and finally she found her glasses.

“I can’t see too well right now, and even with these glasses, my eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Mrs. Stottle said as she put the glasses on. “Nope, I still can’t see that well, but your son looks like a fine boy to me, as best as I can see him, at least.”

Mrs. Panim had never heard anyone say that her son was “a fine boy,” and she kind of forced a little smile on her face when she told the older woman, “And please, no cheese. Do not feed my son any cheese, do not even have any cheese in anything you want to eat. My son appears to be severely allergic to cheese, any cheese.”

“Oh yes, I would love to watch the little boy,” Mrs. Stottle said. “When can I start?”

“ … and he hates to be taken outside during the day,” Mrs. Panim continued. “I have tried to get him a little air during the day, but I guess the sun gets to him … I will take him out when I get home in early evening. Remember, you don’t need to take him out during the day, he much prefers the evening.”

Soon after this chance meeting, Mrs. Panim went back to her teaching job, fully confident that Mrs. Stottle would take care of her child while she was away at work.

But somehow, no matter how hard she thought about it, she could not place Mrs. Stottle at all. She knew the face, but she didn’t know a “Mrs. Stottle” or anyone with that name.

Mrs. Panim often sat up nights, trying to figure out who Mrs. Stottle was. When she did sleep, she continued to sleep on the right side of the bed, leaving the other side of the bed empty, just in case Mr. Panim ever decided to come home.

#3,577: Wishin' and Hopin'

Like yesterday, today is another important anniversary in my life.

Certainly, this anniversary is not up to what I celebrated yesterday, but it is something that I have to acknowledge.

Today, it has been exactly one year since my family and I moved from our home to the apartment we are now residing in.

It is a sad anniversary.

We went from a house that I personally lived in for more than 50 years, downsizing to the small apartment we have now, moving from a community that we had roots in to one where we were/are newbies.

I was hurt, I couldn't do much of anything to help in our move, and I, myself, had to be physically moved to our new apartment by my sister's husband, who basically carted me over in the back seat of his car and deposited me in our new abode.

And after spending six weeks or so in a chair 24 hours a day because I was so hurt that I could not make it up the stairs in our home, I forced myself to make it up the stairs at our new residence, and slept in a bed for the first time since my accident--

But little did I know I would soon have amother accident in our new residence, have to go through another major operation, and work hard to this day to make sure I could be as close to the person I was as possible.

It has been a very, very rough year in our new residence, and I will be honest with you, I don't know if I will ever really and truly get used to it.

Moving from a house to an apartment is a real step-down, but at least I can say that my recovery continues unabated, and I am certainly more comfortable than I was being, for all intents and purposes, chained to the bed for six months.

So we have been here exactly a year as of today, and while i am not ecststic about our situation, we made it through the first year, so perhaps things will be easier for us in our second year and presumably, yesrs to come.

i sure hope so.

And while I am wishing and hoping for better things, why don't you take a gander at the fifth chapter of my novel?

Comments and criticisms are welcome.

Have a great weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday ... the beginning of a very busy week for me.

5

Abraham Lincoln Panim had a tough go at it from the very beginning, and it continued through his childhood.

Although his mother believed he was the cutest baby she had ever seen, few people agreed with her. When she would take her son out in his baby carriage to get some sun, Mrs. Panim and her baby were the target of many taunts.

One time, a few weeks after Mrs. Panim brought her son home, and the weather had turned from cold winter to less-cold spring, a woman wanted to see the child Mrs. Panim was wheeling around. She was with her own teenage daughter, and the two approached the carriage on a bright spring day.

“May I see your baby?” asked the woman, overdressed in a winter coat meant for temperatures 30 degrees lower than they actually were.

“Don’t bother them,” said her daughter, neatly styled in a spring outfit. “They have better things to do—

“I would be happy to show you my son,” Mrs. Panim said.

The elderly woman approached the baby carriage with her daughter, turned down the blanket that was covering young Abraham Lincoln Panim, and she shrieked, but not with joy.

“This is not your son!” screamed the woman, and she, like the young nurse several weeks ago, fell to the ground by the side of her daughter.

“Mom!” she screamed, took one look at the child herself, and wobbled a bit, but not enough to fall to the ground as she bent down to tend to her mother.

“That’s a dog, or maybe a rat, that’s not a human being!” yelled the younger woman. “You should be arrested for parading that thing around here! And if my mother is hurt, you are going to hear from my lawyer!”

Mrs. Panim knew right then and there that the world would not be as accepting of her son as she was, and she never again took him outside during the daytime, preferring for strolls at night, when street lamps and the light of the moon were the only illumination.

When she would go out at night with her son, she would instinctively look for her husband, anticipating that he would be coming home at last.

But she looked and looked and looked, and he was nowhere to be found.

But that ended up being the least of her problems.

Abraham Lincoln Panim was the world to Mrs. Panim, but the world appeared not to be ready for Abraham Lincoln Panim.

Rant #3,576: Roll With It

Yesterday afternoon, while I sat in my car, waiting to pick up my son from work, my mind was wandering, daydreaming away, and then, something dawned on me.

When I first started to drive way back in November 1974--when I got my first full-fledged adult driver's license--my first car was my dad's old yellow medallion taxi, a 1970 (?) Dodge Coronet that was long and sleek and ... very yellow.

He had purchased I think what was his first Checker cab, so I got what he didn't need anymore.

And I believe that today is the 50th anniversary of that special day in my life, when I received my first adult driver's license in the mail.

I have owned many cars in the past 50 years, but that first one was special to me.

It was my first car, which made it special right then and there.

But it stood out like a sore thumb, especially where I parked it in high school, among numerous brand new cars parents gave their kids.

It had lots of miles on it, it only had an AM radio--I later added an under-the-dash FM radio--and it had no air conditioning--

But it had the best air vent of any car I ever had, and when it was open and you were on the open road, it was like a hurricane in the car!

The car leaked all over, didn't get great gas mileage, but it was MY car, my first car, so it made it super special to me.

The car made it through high school and all the way through college, and I don't remember at what mileage my father gave it to me with, but when I finally gave up the car, it had more than 218,000 miles on it.

I hated to give it up, but after the years my father drove it--two or three of heavy-duty use--plus the five years I drove it, it was time to move on.

I learned to drive on that car--my father taught me--I took my road test on that car, and I drove my first miles as a licensed driver with that car, so how could I ever forget my first car?

I wish I had a photo of it, but unfortunately, I don't, which saddens me.

There must be a photo somewhere, but I don't have it.

What a car, and what memories I have of it and the places it took me.

I can barely remember my next car--I bought it used, and it had cigarette butts in its every crevice, as the original owner was an extremely heavy smoker--and I drove that car during grad school and some time afterward , but I have few memories of that vehicle. 

I can't even remember what make and model it was! I do know that it was a smaller car than what I had, but other than the cigarettes and the size, I honestly don't remember very much about it.

But I guess you never forget your first car, and on the 50th anniversary of my first driver's license, it is still very vivid in my mind.

And if you are wondering what my first trip was in that car, I took myself and my mother to the bowling alley where I was in a league at the time, just to make sure I could make the trip.

I was as careful behind the wheel as I could be, we got there without a problem, we left, and then we were about two minutes away from our house, and--

Out of nowhere, a dog darted just ahead of me.

I slammed on the brakes, my mother and I, happily, did not go through the front window--remember, back then, you did not have to use the seat belts, and they were buried in the crease of the front seat anyway--and I miraculously avoided the dog.

We made it home safely, thank God.

Based on that experience, I knew two things right off the bat about my driving.

The first, I was already a good driver, and the second, if it is ever again between me and a stray animal, I will do my best, but the animal gets it.

Funny, I have had similar situations during the past 50 years, but never anything thatclose.

So there you have it.

Do you remember your first car? Any interesting stories about it?

I would love to hear from you!

Drive, he said ...

And I did just that.

Rant #3,575: Every One's a Winner

Finally.

I finally have my peace of mind again

Yesterday, I was given my extra parking pass in my apartment complex, and finally, I can basically park wherever I find an open space.

As you know, this was not always the case, and I had to either find a visitors spot--me, a resident, parking in a visitors spot makes absolutely no sense--or I was out of luck, taking my chances in parking in one of the dozens of unoccupied spaces that dot the landscape here.

And one time--which I vowed to be the last time--I was towed, for a price of $260, in cash.

I was forced to get a handicapped parking permit--which I really don't feel that I need--in order to bypass these idiotic rules, because you cannot tow a car with a handicapped pass from a handicapped spot ... if you can find such a spot.

When i could not find a visitors spot, I parked in the handicapped spot, which drew the ire of one of our neighbors--our next door neighbor--who claims the handicapped spot in front of our apartments was "her" spot.

I did everything I could to explain to management that their rules made no sense--

But as I have said time and time and time again, it appears the only way to get action--in a variety of circumstances--is to threaten legal action, which I did.

Funny, within just a matter of weeks after I was towed, management bent a bit, especially after I complained to them again about yet another time I could not find a "legal" space for my car. 

That was about two weeks ago, and i threatened legal action again--

And last week, they took my threat to heart, and I received my pass yesterday.

Sure, they are charging a pretty penny for this "privilege," but at least for my money i get not only peace of mind, but I no longer have anxiety about whether I will get a space or not.

And this problem is at all times during the day and night, not just at certain times during the day.

So this situation, once again, proved two things:

1) You threaten legal action, and you get results.

2) If something is wrong, and so wrong in this particular case, you have to open your mouth and voice your displeasure.

I don't like to enrage management and fellow tenants, but I did what needed to be done.

And yes, I do believe my protests had a lot to do with the change in policy.

Visitors spaces should be for just that, visitors.

My family and I are residents. Just because we have two cars doesn't mean we should be looked at as visitors.

And when outsiders have the parking passes which are not being used by residents--including aides, family members and others who are not residents--well, I think I had a good case to argue legally--

But honestly, I am happy it did not get that far.

So while my pocketbook continues to get lighter, the placement of my car in an "illegal" parking space won't cost me ever again.

Next question:

Can I take the monthly parking fee off on my taxes?

Just asking ... .

Rant #3,574: Freedom

Monday, Veterans Day, was a pretty lazy day for me.

I had a doctor's appointment in the morning, but other than that, I had very little to do during the holiday.

My work--a trade association representing military stores--had the day off, so I guess I did too.

It was nice outside, perfect for the Veterans Day parade in New York City, and I watched some of it on TV.

My dad served in the Marines during the Korean War, as did my father in law, and one of my wife's brothers served in the Navy, so the day is certainly part of my family.

And for work, I cover military stores--exchanges and commissaries--so while I never personally served myself, I do have at least a finger in the military lifestyle.

Without those who served, we would have nothing, so the day is always more than a day off, it is a day to honor those who served, those who returned, and those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

And in 2024, with the world in tumult, it is even more important for our country to honor both our veterans and those who currently serve.

So yesterday was a day of reflection, a day to think about my father and all the others who served.

There really isn't much more to say about the holiday, the day after.

Perhaps I should have switched my Blog posts, with yesterday being today's post and today's being yesterday's post, but both posts had a common thread:

Freedom, and the ability to do what needs to be done based on the situation.

And while we are thinking about that theme, please read the next chapter of my novel.

I would love your feedback, positive or negative, so enjoy it, and I hope to hear from you!

4

When Mrs., Panim was finally set to be released from the hospital, she had asked for her husband an endless amount of times, but whoever she asked, she was told they did not know where he was.

Finally, she confronted Dr. Newsom.

“Where is my husband?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the doctor said, again putting his hand through his hair like a comb. “I just don’t know where he is.”

Right before Mrs. Panim was going to be allowed to leave the hospital with her son, one of the nurses who attended to her when she was out, the older nurse, with thick legs and a limp--told Mrs. Panim about the supposed whereabouts of her husband.

“You must swear that you won’t tell Dr. Newsom or anybody here that I told you this,” the nurse said.

Mrs. Panim nodded in agreement.

“Your husband visited the hospital to see how you were doing when you were out cold, and he was taken to see your child for the first time by me, and it happened before you were well.

“When I took him to see the baby in the maternity ward, and he was shown the child, he shook his head back and forth and back and forth so much that I thought he was going to throw his whole body out of joint.”

Mrs. Panim started to cry.

“He then did something kind of odd,” the nurse continued. “Your husband just stood there for about 10 minutes shaking his head, and then, he took out a penny from his pocket, and flipped it in the air.”

“What?” Mrs. Panim said through her sobs.

The nurse continued. “I clearly saw that it fell on heads when it hit the ground, He picked it up, put in my hand, turned to the nurse’s station, thanked them for showing him his son,, and then he left.”

“He hasn’t been back here since?” Mrs. Panim asked through her sobs as the nurse gave her the penny.

“No, I am sorry, we have not seen him since.”

Mrs. Panim promptly put the penny among her belongings, and walked to the maternity ward to get her son.

She kept the penny in a plastic bag stapled to her son’s birth certificate, safely stored in her bedroom vanity.

Abraham Lincoln Panim now had a name. He might have been named after a coin that his father gave to a nurse, but Mrs. Panim still kept her part of the bargain between she and her now evidently estranged husband, giving her son a strong name to match his gender, the gender that her husband knew before anyone else did, simply by flipping a coin.

So as Abraham Lincoln Panim grew up, Mrs. Panim raised him as a single mother. She never took down her wedding photos or any photos of her husband, and she always thought that he would return.

Rant #3,573: Money Changes Everything

I hope you had a good weekend.

My family and I celebrated my wife's birthday, and that was the weekend's highlight.

On Saturday, someone on Facebook put up some interesting information about synagogues on Long Island.

This subject always piques my interest, because there seems to be fewer and fewer of these religious facilities around today, and one would probably think that this situation shouldn't exist, because Long Island still has a large Jewish population.

Growing up in Queens, my parents were quick to join the conservative synagogue in Rochdale Village, seeing it grow from a former house to its own large building 

It, and the other synagogues serving Rochdale Village, gave its members a sense of community, and all of them prospered during the early days of that community, roughly 1963 to 1971 or so.

That is where I was bar mitzvahed, and the synagogue had a vibrant membership until in the early 1970s, when Jewish families moved away in droves.

I believe the synagogue was converted to a church sometime in the 1980s. It is in the picture above in an undated photo.

Now, in 2024, one synagogue after another has closed or merged on Long Island, and one has to question why this is. 

Having been synagogue members in Massapequa and Wantagh, I can tell you exactly why all these shuls have closed.

Conservative Judaism is simply not what it once was. When my family moved to Long Island in the early 1970s, the first thing my parents did was join a synagogue ... when they were about to join a local synagogue but found the membership fee was too high--especially after just purchasing a house, we were told to go to the "bar mitzvah mill" around the corner 

That was the precursor of an attitude, and of things to come.

As an adult, with my own family, I, too, joined a synagogue so my son could be bar mitzvahed, but it just wasn't the same.

The sense of community that the synagogue once had was replaced by the sense that money was way more important.

We were constantly barraged with requests for payment of one thing or another, and High Holy Day tickets became such a monetary abomination that we just decided it was too much money to pay for all of us, so we maybe bought a ticket or two and rotated who would go in at what time.

The final straw came when there was a merger between our synagogue in Massapequa with one in Wantagh, which happened right as my son was about to be bar mitzvahed.

We were treated like second-class citizens by the temple in Wantagh, and when we decided that we would hold our own kiddish after the ceremony because what they offered was too highly priced, the commotion this caused was unbelievable.

My son is developmentally disabled, so his Haftorah had to be shaped to what he could handle. 

That was a major imposition for the new combined synagogue, which basically was forced to fit us in at an 8 a.m. service before their regular congregants kids' bar mitzvah services were held that day, making my son's bar mitzvah the very first one held in the newly combined synagogue.

But even getting to that point was a horror show of major proportions.

Again, my son is developmentally disabled, and thus, was thought to be a "problem" from the get go.

During one of my son's bar mitzvah lessons--which I attended because the teacher thought there would be trouble with my son acting up, which was totally unfounded--the synagogue's comptroller burst into the room, telling me that in no uncertain terms, my son's ceremony would be "interrupted" if I did not pay for their kiddish.

I told the comptroller that if they dared to do this, they would face my wrath, and the wrath of others who were attending (yes, I toned this down for your consumption).

Suffice it to say, nothing happened in that regard, my son's bar mitzvah went along perfectly, and I swore on that day that we were done with the synagogue.

Then, after our membership elapsed, they tried to extort money from my family to rejoin by automatically signing us up as members against our will--and charging us an exorbitant price for membership.

This went on for months.

After threatening legal action, they finally dropped us.

This situation was so reprehensible, to the point that we have been unaffiliated without a synagogue since that time, a good 16 years.

And during that time, the Wantagh synagogue has gone through at least one more major merger, perhaps more than that.

Money changes everything.

As the Bible says, once your religion's focus centers on "false idols" like money, the religion ceases to exist.

In this case, the synagogue's focus went from Judaism to money worship, and when that happens, many congregants, like us, won't put up with it.

It is a sad story, but I think thst it has resonated through a few generations now, and Jews don't necessarily feel the need to join their local temples anymore.

There is little to no sense of community provided by these facilities, and you can always find an outside bar or bat mitzvah teacher if you need one.

And today, with anti-Semitism at all-time highs around the world, it is truly sad that synagogues do not serve their original purpose as they once did.

I am sure there are temples that still do this, and do things the right way, but they are larger and have a wide membership base, because for Jews who need to join a synagogue, the local ones, at least on Long Island, are something of a thing of the past.

Sad, but true.

I have "learned" on my own to continue my faith, but it simply isn't the same, and that is no truer than this year, when the first night of Hanukkah falls on Christmas Eve.

Hanukkah, the true and first "Festival of Lights," might get lost in the shuffle, but at least in my family's window, our menorah will burn proud and bright.

Rant #3,572: As We Go Along

Well, the election is over, Trump won, and there is little else to say about it--

Other than it is time for the crybabies to grow up.

Your choice lost. 

The end.

Moving on ...

The community I live in finally came to its senses about the parking situation, or so it appears.

I had another talk with the manager the other day related to parking, and the very next day, they put up a notice on the door of the community center stating that they will soon be testing giving out extra parking passes to those who want them--

At a price.

The price is costly, but for my own peace of mind, it is worth the expense.

I simply can't be driving all around here at all hours looking for a space where I can park--

Having to pass up probably about three dozen spaces because I am not allowed to park in these spaces.

Total stupidity, and I told management that I am definitely interested, and they told me that when everything is set in stone, they will contact me.

I already filled out the paperwork, so I am ready to go--

Or park my car, as the case may be.

My wife's birthday is this weekend, and even though she isn't a real birthday person, we are going to celebrate with gifts and going out to dinner at a local eatery.

So it should be a good weekend.

You have a great weekend too.

And while you are having your great weekend, how about reading the third chapter of my novel?

Please let me know what you think about it.

Here it is. Speak to you again on Monday.

3

A phone rang in the maternity ward, and a nurse picked up the phone.

“Maternity ward,” the nurse said.

“Yes, this is Dr. Newsom, and SHE is on down to see you,” with the emphasis on the word “she.”

“Should we let her see her little … bundle of joy?” the nurse asked with a little giggle.

“She is going to have to see that kid sometime, we held it off for long enough, let her see her kid, no matter what, and have a nurse, or maybe even a doctor go with her,” said the doctor. “This way, we will have backup if she … well … if she can’t take all the joy she is going to get from seeing this kid.”

As the nurse hung up the phone, Mrs. Panim entered the maternity ward with her IV still fully attached to her arm.

“I want to see my baby!” she yelled at the nurses stationed there.

“But m’am,” one of the nurses said, “You still have on the hospital gown on, and —“

“Let her in, but go with her to see her kid,” said the nurse who was on the phone with Dr. Newsom. “Go with her, and help her if she needs it.”

As they walked together further into the ward, the nurse, a young woman seemingly right out of nurse’s school, with long blond hair under her nurse’s cap, said to Mrs. Panim, “You were out for a couple of days, so we put your baby with others, and you can view the baby through the glass for now. I am sure you will be able to hold your child soon.”

The nurse and Mrs. Panim went further into to the ward, navigated all the twists and turns, and finally came to the viewing area, where some of the newborns could be seen behind glass.

Mrs. Panim hurriedly looked from one baby to another.

“Which one is mine?” she asked. “Is it a boy or a girl? Which one is mine?”

All the babies could be seen clearly as Mrs., Panim’s eyes darted from one baby to another.

The nurse knocked on the window, alerting another nurse that she needed her help. The nurse tending to the babies went to the far back of the area, almost instinctively, and turned around one baby who was facing the wall in the opposite direction of the other babies.

“There is your baby, m’am,” nervously stated the nurse with Mrs. Panim, who put her arms on the new mother’s shoulders when she pointed out her new child. “That is your son,” she said, as the inside nurse turned the baby around so Mrs. Panim could see him.

As Mrs. Panim caught sight of her son for the very first time, she smiled a broad smile, but the nurse holding onto her shoulders passed out at her side. Other nurses and doctors attended to the fallen nurse, but Mrs. Panim kept her eyes straight on her new son.

“He is beautiful,” she said. “Simply beautiful.” I can’t wait until I can hold him, feed him, bathe him … “ Mrs. Panim said, oblivious to the fallen nurse and to the hubbub surrounding her baby, and the reason that the nurse helping her passed out.

Her new son looked like a rat, had the face of a rat, was hairy from his head down to his toes, and although he did not have a tail, that is where the tale of “Abraham Lincoln Panim” actually begins.