A Christmas Conversation with a Jewish Boy
Published in Issue #22 subscribe to unlock the full storySome years ago I met a young boy in Golden Gate park, in the arboretum, near the duck pond. It was early winter, the garden was not crowded, a few kids were throwing bread to the ducks, the mothers shouting them back from the edge of the water. The squirrel-lady was there on her habitual bench, in her battered straw hat and heavy sandals. The sky was overcast. A young boy, perhaps ten years old, kept an eye on me while I was looking at the ducks. I don’t know what he saw but it seemed to interest him. He kept inching closer and finally he said: “You know what kind birds these is?”
He was a slim, dark-haired boy with glasses; they made his eyes look large and worried. I had the feeling he was eager to tell me about the birds, and hoped I didn’t know. Therefore, I didn’t know.
“Those birds?” I said, pointing to the small black ducks with white heads and bellies. “They look like they’re wearing tuxedos.”
“See,” he said, drawing my attention to the placard where ducks and other birds were identified by names and pictures. “You see? These birds not there.”
“They must be kind of unusual around here,” I suggested, although I’d seen them before.
“You know names? No? But I know. You want me tell you? These named bufflehead. We studied in school the names.”
Buffle didn’t sound exactly like buffle; head had a guttural sound to it, but I knew what he meant. I was...
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