I. Inheritance
Do I look like a Bob—
a bronzed boy lifeguard
baking day after day
to a golden tan?
Or was my destiny
a bow tie doctor in a brown cardigan
named Wayne?
At the flip of a coin,
my parents chose
Lawrence,
a name that could be lettered
on frosted glass.
A name that held hopes and dreams,
the character they wished
I might develop,
the aspirations I might fulfil,
the life that one day,
I might seamlessly slip into.
A set of clothes
bought two sizes too big,
that one day,
might fit.
Instead,
what came bundled and boxed and bagged
with my name,
was all the craziness
passed along generations,
and which propelled me
to try to put together
the scattered pieces of my family puzzle.
A life’s work
that honed my skills
at self-reflection,
and listening,
and discerning the meaning
in every hue of emotion.
A life’s work
I pass on to you.
II. Blending In
I was given the name
Yisrael,
one who fought
with God and man
and won,
and also Larry,
one who flew
beneath the radar.
One who could pass
the barriers
that kept us out
of neighbourhoods and jobs,
limited our numbers
in schools and professions,
and away from clubs and off beaches.
Larry
carried the hopes
my parents placed
in a second generation,
one that would blend
seamlessly into society,
fitting in,
without drawing unwanted attention,
and hoping
in the process,
that lines of identity
wouldn’t become so blurred,
I would forget
who I was.
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