GETTING CHRISTENED BY TWO JEWS

The long days journey to Albany by four old men culminated in the bar of the Marriott Hotel in Albany. It was an hour before dinner and I made my way down to the bar from an invite by two of my fellow state board members, Ken and Fred, two gentlemen who are just great guys to hang with, let alone share a drink.

Along with me was another great guy with the same criterion, the president of our local board Jim. As we picked our way through the crowded lounge, I see a white haired man wave Jim and me over to the booth he is sitting in with a group. The booth is a semi-circular shape and I slide in next to Ken. There along with Ken is Fred a fellow board member on both the state and local level and Bill, our C.E.O. We start to chat. Mr. Ken, a prolific orator in his own right, begins to speak, the bar goes quiet and all strain to listen. In his revelry of sage and wisdom, a true seer of the logic and conversed idealism, his hands begin to wave in a beautiful and well-orchestrated movement to supplement his words, where he then proceeds to knock over his glass, filled with ice water, into my lap!

Yes, I had cold water thrown on my privates!

I being of sound mind and old body, begin to jump up, out of the bath of apathy and into the ceiling, where I look around and return to earth where I announce: “Do you know they dust the tops of the chandeliers in this place!

By now my fellow board members and former friends are laughing hysterically.

“Oh Joe, I’m so sorry!” states Mr. Ken as someone tosses a cloth napkin to assist in my embarrassment and total wet and wild time. As I wipe down my pants, seat and dignity, I ask Ken: “Since when does a Jewish boy talk with his hands?”

Not to be out-done, one Mr. Fred from the aforementioned consortium of old men: decided he too needed to join in on the act. The next day we are sitting in an out-door restaurant on Arthur Avenue, in Little Italy in the Bronx. Next to me sits my Baptiser, Mr. Ken, and across from sits Mr. Fred and Mr. Jim.  I carefully move Mr. Ken’s water glass with lemon wedge out of range. However, this did not stop Mr. Fred, who decided he wished to expel for our benefit, a full discourse on the general health of world affairs, the state of diplomacy and his personal study of American Monarch butterflies, and with the same grace and skill as Mr. Ken, accompany it with the fluidity of a Hawaiian belly dancer, waving his hands as he spoke, causing HIS water glass (with lemon wedge) to immediately head my way, ice cubes and all!

“Ooooh, Joe, I’m so sorry.”

“Great I now have been baptized by two Jews!”

But to my great satisfaction, Mr. Ken remarks: “Oh great, now what on DelBloggolo?”

Well Mr. Ken had just polished of a cannoli for dessert when Mr. Jim notices a stain on Mr. Ken’s shirt. As my own personal baptiser (one of two I now own) this will not do. He reaches for his napkin, and begins to dip it into his water glass to rub out the stain, in a vigorous circular motion, to no real avail.

“Ken… take the lemon from the glass and use that.” He pulls out the lemon and starts to rub that in.

“Will this help?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but you WILL smell laundry fresh! And by the way Jim, thanks for not baptizing me too!” After all, Jim isn’t Jewish.