The Motto of My Childhood   

TOgrow up as the daughter of survivors in the 70s is to learn how to resolve your own problems. Never worry your parents — they have suffered enough for a thousand lifetimes. Always bring nachas. Only ever bring nachas.

This means finishing every last morsel of food that is put on my plate, to my beaming parents’ relief. It means swallowing my tears when I fall off a chair and break my shoulder, insisting I am fine, until a fracture is discovered hours later.

It means not running to my parents when my older, belligerent sister tells me I am adopted (I am not), or leaves me behind when she goes on the morning city bus (I walk to school that day).

I learn to do almost anything to avoid the looks of worry, despair, or consternation in their eyes when anything goes wrong.