When the great day final arrived, Chezky would be wound up like a spring, ready to jump into action— or to spiral out of control
IT’Sthe best of days, it’s the worst of days.
Chezky looooved Purim. A whole year round he obsessed over it. “Mommy, this year I’m being a policeman.” (This was on Succos.) “And I want handcuffs — real ones, and a real gun, too.”
“And, Mommy, when are you buying me my police costume?” (on Chanukah.) “And don’t forget you promised me a real gun.” (Love how his ideas become my promises.)
“How many people can I give this year?” (This, before Tu B’Shevat.) “How much nosh?” The questions were peppered with urgency, a need to know now exactly what will be and how much and where and when.
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