JAAAY'ne, Juuuuu'lia, Jaaaa'queline, Joaaaaa'ne, AAAAA'my, Toooooo'ny boy....Aaaaa'bduuuul!

There are 2 sounds that I remember with awe that I will never hear again. The first is the sound of the whistle! You all know what that sound of terror was. Wherever you were from Baisley Blvd to Springfield Blvd. anywhere in Rochdale; if we heard the whistle the hair on our necks stood up and we were summoned to the tennis courts to conference. An unspoken command that was immediately obeyed and swift judgement might be forthcoming or not, but worse if you didn't heed. I hated that sound and I nearly jumped into the ocean one day out there in Battery Park when I heard an imitation whistle similar to that of my father's whhhhhhhoooooip!whhhhhhhoooooiiiiip! I am sad, but glad not to hear that sound because of the fear that it engendered. I understood the sound one day; when I couldn't get my children to come together and I was upset that I had no tool in my maternal arsenal akin to that sound that would immediately draw their attention. As Grandma Ruth would say, "God bless the child that's got his own!" Dad had his own in check and history will tell what mine will become and so I don't judge the sound I am just reminded to say I will never hear that sound in terror again. A bittersweet memory.
The other sound is the sound of the gentle tone of Dad's calling our names when he was calling us for some special or definite calm reason. Joy and expectation to fill the heart when his sing songy voice called out our names, almost always in order or one or the other by themselves, but always with the same melody. I wish that I could put that song to music. It lifts my heart when I think about the sound of the song of the names being called out for some good purpose, especially as opposed to the whistle. There were sprinkle cookies or a suzy Q certainly when the sound was heard in the house. It was a special occasion and there was the sound of our names still ringing in the house because he held onto the notes of our names as if not to let them go. I miss that sound! I miss my daddy and you guys too. It has been years and years since he was able to call our names in unison like that. Probably, only the older children remember the sound of his voice and the way that Papa would sing to the babies right in their mouths and right on their cheeks as a ritual of entering into the family. "Why, o why do I love you?"
The representation of good and evil which we are to the next generation is a solemn thing.
I called my Enoch and my pet name for him is Yanuch after Yanuch Noah and he may not like when I call him that name, I have my own sing songy versions of their names in the house these days. I remember, or try to remember that my authority and influence upon their lives is remembered, or will be and I must pray for the grace to be consistent. If there is anything that our dad was it was consistent. Extreme, I hope not to be, but consistent, help me, dear God.