Perhaps we were never properly acquainted to grant me an invitation, because as the host of a party, you are pulled in all directions. You’re expected to provide. To create ambience. To have meaningful enough conversations but keep it moving like the butterfly that you are. Sometimes you don’t get to talk to everyone, especially if you’re a tag-along. A plus-one. A friend-of-a-friend. Some neighbour who just wants to check out your place. But at the very least introduce yourself as you walk into someone’s house. It doesn’t take long to figure out whose party you’re attending. And when you do get to the host, NEVER DOUBT THEM when they tell you, Yes, this is my house, this is my party.
A Thank-You Note to Antisemites
My father was born in 1945, the year the U.S. and its allies defeated Hitler and the Nazis. Like many Jewish families at the…