Riel and Charlotte's Summer Adventure

Tolerance

Riel and Charlotte, two curious nine-year-olds in Edmonton, embark on a summer adventure that challenges their tolerance and friendship as they prepare for Charlotte's birthday party at the lake. Along the way, they face obstacles and learn valuable lessons about understanding and accepting differences.

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Riel and Charlotte were best friends living in Edmonton. They couldn't wait for summer vacation and Charlotte's birthday party at the lake. But there was a problem: Riel's cousin, Liam, was coming to visit, and he often teased Charlotte. Riel worried that Liam's teasing would ruin their summer and Charlotte's birthday. 'I just want us all to get along,' Riel sighed.

When Liam arrived, he immediately started teasing Charlotte about her favorite pink hat. 'Why do you always wear that silly hat?' Liam laughed. Charlotte's face turned red with embarrassment. Riel felt torn between his cousin and his best friend. 'Please stop, Liam,' Riel said, but Liam just shrugged.

The next day, they went to the park, but Liam continued to tease Charlotte. He mocked her love for birdwatching. 'Birds are so boring,' Liam scoffed. Charlotte's eyes filled with tears. Riel felt his heart sink. 'How can I make this stop?' he wondered. He tried to distract Liam with games, but nothing worked.

By the third day, Riel felt like giving up. 'Maybe we should just cancel the birthday party,' he said to Charlotte. Charlotte nodded sadly, 'I don't want to be teased anymore.' Riel felt defeated. 'Why can't Liam just be nice?' he thought. The weight of the problem felt too heavy to carry.

That evening, Riel’s grandma noticed his sadness and asked what was wrong. After hearing the story, she said, 'Riel, sometimes people tease because they don’t understand. Try talking to Liam about how it makes you feel.' The next day, Riel took a deep breath and said to Liam, 'It really hurts when you tease Charlotte. Can you please stop?'

To Riel's surprise, Liam looked thoughtful. 'I didn’t know it bothered you so much,' Liam said. He apologized to Charlotte and promised to be nicer. At the lake birthday party, everyone had fun together. Riel felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. 'Thank you for understanding,' he said to Liam. 'I’m glad we talked,' Liam replied with a smile.

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The Overcoat

One day, I will tell you about the overcoat. The vintage brown artifact with epaulets and pockets stoically suspended from the stout wooden peg in the recesses of the hall closet. The coat no child would ever dream of wearing outside. That coat. You might come to love that garment one day, as I do; to value its heft and utility, to see it, perhaps, as an extension of yourself. One day, you just might. I brought the coat with us that Thursday to the hospital near Tel Aviv; or perhaps I intended to bring it but did not. I had been cherishing the garment since October and tossed it in the trunk of the Camry — on top of the ballistic helmets and vests — before leaving home to collect your older sister from preschool. Your grandmother, Auntie Bella, and I. "A Jew should always have a coat. Preferably one with pockets." Not that we needed outerwear that afternoon. The weather was dry and bright; the sun winking through enormous clouds as it tends to do in March after consecutive days of rain. Winter was still in charge, but Spring was teasing. The scent of seasons changing was such that you would savor — grassy, earthy, and engaging like a fine tobacco blend. With the moonroof open just right, to let in the sort of texture I prefer. One day, I will tell you about that Winter. How I was crafting these sentences in a writing workshop during your birth. One day, you will know how — by the time we were navigating toward the maternity ward — I had been stabbing my hands deep into the side pockets of the coat since October and shrugging my shoulders for comfort more than warmth. One day, you might hear about those ballistic helmets and vests. About The Day The Music Died, and everything that came next. “Tell us about the coat, Grandpa,” you might insist one day. A coat with many pockets; weighty, functional, and warm. Like the forest green U.S. Army bomber jacket your Zaidy Sam kept phylacteries in during WW2, when stationed in Burma. Like the woolen trench coat your Bubbie Bella hid gold coins in during that same war, when surviving in a Ukrainian forest. A coat well made keeps one snug and has pockets to store essentials. A Jewish coat also has pockets for necessities one often forgets. Pockets for conflicting emotions. Pockets for Worry and Sadness. Pockets for Gladness and Hope. That Winter I had been making use of the garment’s more practical hollows and neglecting others. That is how I remember it. I was rummaging for solace in all the wrong places and brought the allegorical coat along to reach into pockets I suddenly recalled were there. Pockets for Poetry and Prayer. Pockets for Loving and Light. Like your birth that March in Israel, your other Zaidy also emerged from such pockets in Poland during another period of Darkness. Our family knows about hardship and sorrow. Our family knows about hidden pockets, too. “Tell us again about that Thursday, Grandpa,” you might one day insist. Then, I might set aside my briar wood pipe and tell you about when the sun in March was grinning. When your Grammy baked sweet potato muffins for your mother — you know the ones — and we had to double back to the hospital from the highway after forgetting to leave important documents behind for your father. How the Fall holidays had not yet ended and the Spring holidays were unimaginably looming after 153 Days of Discontent. How you were a second — and also a first — in our family. How your arrival offered Light when we needed it most. “That is how I remember it,” I might one day tell you and your sister who devours stories like M&M’s. “Later, the coat was on its peg when your parents would finally bring you home.”