Shortly after Rocky returned from Vietnam in 1971, Mom and I were having lunch in the Chintz Room at Lazarus when she asked the question, “Are you in love with Rocky?” It was a conversation I’ll never forget and went something like this:

Lunching with Mom on bar stools

sharing stories and laughing outloud

What about Rocky? Do you love him? she asked

Yes, I love him, but it may not work.

Appearing disappointed, she asked me to explain...

We’re just so different in too many ways

He’s Episcopalian and grew up in the country

eating grits and banana cream pies.

I’m Jewish and grew up in the city

eating brisket, chicken soup, and bagels.

Rocky comes from a family of serious Republicans,

and we’re all liberal Democrats.

And let’s not forget your first invitation

to the Saxbe’s farm in Mechanicsburg

when Dad called Nixon a crook,

and you stepped in cow dung!

Rocky’s a Marine and went to Vietnam.

I'm an antiwar protester who marched in D. C.

Rocky’s a rugby player and a hunter.

I don’t understand a thing about rugby, never laid

eyes on a gun, and pheasant hunting isn’t my thing.

With that, Mom leaned over,

planted her right elbow on the bar,

twirled a section of her hair

into a tiny curl as she often did,

looked directly into my eyes and said,

HONEY, YOU CAN ALWAYS ADJUST!

And adjust we did, or shall I say, Rocky adjusted. Mom would be thrilled to know Rocky lights the Chanukah candles, asks our Grandsons the four questions on Passover, votes for Democrats, and fights for the arts. We eat bagels, matzo ball soup, and brisket and stay away from grits, white bread, and banana cream pie (except when it's Rocky’s birthday). Now, that’s what I call adjustment!