G O O D R E A D
I have never met two people more afraid of their house burning down than my parents. I was taught that candles are like house cats - domesticated versions of something wild and dangerous. There's no way to know how much of that killer instinct lurks in the darkness. I used to think the house-burning paranoia was the result of some upper-middle-class fear regarding the potential destruction of a half-million-dollar Westchester house the size of a matchbox. But then I realized the fear stemmed from something far less complex: we're not used to fire. Candles are a staple of the Judaic existence and, like many suburban residents before us, we're pretty bad Jews.
I called my mother immediately to inform her that she was a bad parent.
"I can't believe you let us watch this. We ate dinner in front of this."
"Everyone watched Twin Peaks," was her response.
"So, if everyone jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it, too?"
"Don't be silly," she laughed, "of course I would, honey. There would be no one left on the planet. It would be a very lonely place."
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