#31 A Coat for Passover
Title
#31 A Coat for Passover
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"I was 12 years old. My routine was clearly established."
Date
2006-10-25
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Coverage
1939
Identifier
1939_My_Coat_for_Passover
Text
# 31 A Coat for Passover
I was 12 years old. My routine was clearly established. Get up, make breakfast, go to school, come home, go to Hebrew School, hang out, play ball, go upstairs, eat supper, do homework, listen to the radio, go to bed. I was aware that times were hard, but I really was oblivious to it. Besides, everybody had it hard. And I didn't need anything. My mother put food on the table, managed to pay the rent, and we went to the movies a couple times a month—matinees were 10 cents for kids and 15 cents for adults. As a skilled tailor, my mother made her own clothes and fixed up mine so I was presentable.
When the Jewish holidays came around, my mother always wanted to do something special. She believed we should always wear something new for Yom Tov, even if it was only a pair of socks. It was soon going to be Passover and my mother decided to make a spring coat for me. I had no feelings about it. I did not think about clothes. I remember being unhappy because my mother made me wear high shoes when everyone else was wearing low shoes, and she never bought me sneakers. But as far as coats or sweaters or shirts or pants were concerned, I could care less.
My mother gave a lot of thought to the coat she was going to sew for me. It was to be a dress up coat, tailored, light—not a winter coat, since it was for Pesach. And she anticipated that I would wear it for a few years, in the spring and in the fall. She bought a pattern which she used as the outline to cut the fabric. And she bought woolen material that was like cashmere, and lining material. I remember how my mother set up the kitchen table so that she was able to lay out the material, place the pattern on it and carefully cut it. She would then take the cut pieces and go to the Singer sewing machine in the corner of the living room, and sew the pieces together. She sewed the lining in the coat by hand. When it was finished she lovingly ironed it. Even though I didn’t think much about clothes, I knew this coat was special, it looked great, and nobody on my block had a coat like it. The coat was to be worn on special occasions with my best clothes, when we would visit relatives, on holidays and when I would go to Shul.
My mother finished it about a week before Pesach. The coat was hanging in the closet looking very sharp. I had come home from school, my mother was out, and my friends were downstairs. I decided to put on my new coat and show it to my friends. They were as impressed as 12 year olds might get then, and after a while, we began to play ball. I took off my coat and placed it on a car parked nearby. After the game, when I retrieved my coat, I was horrified to see a grease stain on it. Oh my God! My mother is going to kill me. I knew I shouldn’t have worn the coat.
I brought it upstairs and tried to figure out how to clean the coat, something I knew very little about. I tried soap and water, but the stain remained. I looked through all the cleaning supplies that were in the house until I found something called CN. On the bottle it said, "You can’t spell clean without CN." I decided to try it. I put a little on the stain. CN is a brown substance, and it turned the area brown. It was worse than before. I never felt so bad in my life. After all the work my mother had put into making the coat, I ruined it. Should I hide the coat? Should I run away from home? Should I tell my mother and take my medicine?
When my mother came home, I was in tears and told her what happened. She was as angry as I expected and deserved. She called me the worst name she could, which is the name she always called me when she was angry at me: "Hint meshigina" which means crazy dog, but when my mother said it, it was like the worst epithet that can be directed at you. And I felt like a whipped dog.
So besides being the target of my mother's rage, and going to bed without supper, what happened with the coat? My mother brought it to Mr. Handwerger who owned the neighborhood cleaning store, and he did the best he could to remove the stain which was now stained with CN. It didn't come out completely, but it was good enough. If you looked to find a stain on the coat, you would find it. When I wore the coat, I would sometimes put my hand over the still somewhat visible stain.
My mother didn't make me any more coats, I didn't wear light colored clothes for a while, and I have not touched a bottle of CN since that ill-fated day.
10-25-06
I was 12 years old. My routine was clearly established. Get up, make breakfast, go to school, come home, go to Hebrew School, hang out, play ball, go upstairs, eat supper, do homework, listen to the radio, go to bed. I was aware that times were hard, but I really was oblivious to it. Besides, everybody had it hard. And I didn't need anything. My mother put food on the table, managed to pay the rent, and we went to the movies a couple times a month—matinees were 10 cents for kids and 15 cents for adults. As a skilled tailor, my mother made her own clothes and fixed up mine so I was presentable.
When the Jewish holidays came around, my mother always wanted to do something special. She believed we should always wear something new for Yom Tov, even if it was only a pair of socks. It was soon going to be Passover and my mother decided to make a spring coat for me. I had no feelings about it. I did not think about clothes. I remember being unhappy because my mother made me wear high shoes when everyone else was wearing low shoes, and she never bought me sneakers. But as far as coats or sweaters or shirts or pants were concerned, I could care less.
My mother gave a lot of thought to the coat she was going to sew for me. It was to be a dress up coat, tailored, light—not a winter coat, since it was for Pesach. And she anticipated that I would wear it for a few years, in the spring and in the fall. She bought a pattern which she used as the outline to cut the fabric. And she bought woolen material that was like cashmere, and lining material. I remember how my mother set up the kitchen table so that she was able to lay out the material, place the pattern on it and carefully cut it. She would then take the cut pieces and go to the Singer sewing machine in the corner of the living room, and sew the pieces together. She sewed the lining in the coat by hand. When it was finished she lovingly ironed it. Even though I didn’t think much about clothes, I knew this coat was special, it looked great, and nobody on my block had a coat like it. The coat was to be worn on special occasions with my best clothes, when we would visit relatives, on holidays and when I would go to Shul.
My mother finished it about a week before Pesach. The coat was hanging in the closet looking very sharp. I had come home from school, my mother was out, and my friends were downstairs. I decided to put on my new coat and show it to my friends. They were as impressed as 12 year olds might get then, and after a while, we began to play ball. I took off my coat and placed it on a car parked nearby. After the game, when I retrieved my coat, I was horrified to see a grease stain on it. Oh my God! My mother is going to kill me. I knew I shouldn’t have worn the coat.
I brought it upstairs and tried to figure out how to clean the coat, something I knew very little about. I tried soap and water, but the stain remained. I looked through all the cleaning supplies that were in the house until I found something called CN. On the bottle it said, "You can’t spell clean without CN." I decided to try it. I put a little on the stain. CN is a brown substance, and it turned the area brown. It was worse than before. I never felt so bad in my life. After all the work my mother had put into making the coat, I ruined it. Should I hide the coat? Should I run away from home? Should I tell my mother and take my medicine?
When my mother came home, I was in tears and told her what happened. She was as angry as I expected and deserved. She called me the worst name she could, which is the name she always called me when she was angry at me: "Hint meshigina" which means crazy dog, but when my mother said it, it was like the worst epithet that can be directed at you. And I felt like a whipped dog.
So besides being the target of my mother's rage, and going to bed without supper, what happened with the coat? My mother brought it to Mr. Handwerger who owned the neighborhood cleaning store, and he did the best he could to remove the stain which was now stained with CN. It didn't come out completely, but it was good enough. If you looked to find a stain on the coat, you would find it. When I wore the coat, I would sometimes put my hand over the still somewhat visible stain.
My mother didn't make me any more coats, I didn't wear light colored clothes for a while, and I have not touched a bottle of CN since that ill-fated day.
10-25-06
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “#31 A Coat for Passover,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed April 20, 2024, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/25.