Back in 1984, when I was 12, my mom took me to Aljan’s Jewelers on Route 6 in Mahopac to buy me a chain.
At the time, many kids were wearing gold snake chains—they were, obviously, gold, and thick, and sorta short. I really wanted one, but Mom wisely insisted that was a bad idea. Instead, we spoke with Mrs. Wittel, Aljan’s owner, and looked through a handful of varieties. I ultimately picked a silver chain with a small silver Jewish star dangling off the end. The star was filled with the blue coloring from stained glass. It was quite lovely.
Mom, again, was wise. She insisted I buy a ridiculously long chain, so that—down the road—it’d still fit. I did, and for years I wore this ridiculously looooong chain that hung down to my waist. Still, that never bothered me. The chain symbolized much to me: My mom, my dad, my brother, my religion.
Fast forward 29 years, and the chain remains. The blue has long vanished, and the star now hangs only halfway down. But I never take it off; never would think of taking it off.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
