Dead Man's Honda

“Passover started today,” Des said as we sat discussing our mutual work days.

“How is it that you always know when Jewish holidays occur?” Linds said to our WASP-y sister.

“My boss, Peter, went yelling through the halls today about one of the employees taking off for Passover. He was yelling ‘I’m Jewish! You’re Jewish! We’re all Jewish! But you don’t see me taking off early!’”

“Huh? Is he really Jewish?” Linds asked.

“No! And I looked at him and said, ‘what are you talking about?’ and he goes ‘we all came from Jesus! So we’re all Jewish!’”

What th??

The three of us bent over laughing until I laughingly coughed out “how could he not know Jesus didn’t have offspring?”

Pause. No laughing.

“Oh. Yeaaahhhh.” Des said pensively.

“That IS why you were laughing, right?” I asked her.

“Well,” Des said slowly with a lilting laugh in her voice, “I kinda just thought he was funny thinking everyone is Jewish because Jesus was Jewish.”

“Hmmm….”

And the problem with knowing things in advance is that you don’t know that is what they really are until they come to pass. What good is that? I often ask myself, and unfortunately, there is no answer. Just a strange sort of satisfaction when they do finally come true.

One such thing was when, for unknown reasons, I was intrigued by a rail-thin blonde girl in the high school youth group of the church we both attended. I was a recent addition to the youth group and on my first day I saw that girl go dashing up to the front and the pastor commented on her and she had a jacket on I can still remember and a skirt and her little legs stuck out from bottom of both. Why she is one of my first memories of going to that youth group, I don’t know. But I do know that after that she popped up everywhere.

I didn’t know her but she would soon be one of the girls in my small group whom I liked an awful lot. She laughed a lot, didn’t wear make-up (though she was startlingly pretty without it) and appeared to have more moral conviction than about 4/5ths of everyone (including the leaders) in that group. Where the other girls were concerned about making the cheerleading squad and what they would wear to formal, she seemed to care for things like the poor, younger students in the group, and serving on the student counsel of the church—I followed suit.

Like a breezy afternoon in that period between winters and springs—she would unexpectedly storm in and out of meetings, retreats, Bible studies, and then, my own house—but not for any one person. At one point I remember her discussing something—perhaps it was the courageous way she spoke of her father’s battle with cancer—and I thought, “I think my brother needs to date a girl like this.” Why I remembered that thought years later always baffled me but I know exactly where I was sitting in a bare church room, on ugly blue-plush chairs when I thought that very sentence.


She always brought treats and baskets and food to people—not just to our house, but to everyone’s houses. Like a little fairy she never seemed to go anywhere without bringing a gift in her shadow.

Then one Halloween she was at our front door (my older sister was going to a church Halloween party with her where everyone dressed up as Bible characters) in pale long-johns with cotton balls glued all over them. My mouth dropped open when I saw her. No….freaking…way…..I thought. I don’t believe my older sister was dressed up—and we all laughed hysterically at the sight of the tiny “lamb”. Someone went to grab my older brother—whom by then I believe she had met—and she squealed with embarrassment and tried to hide the humorous outfit. But his face—utter amusement and an endearing tenderness—is what I remember most. Too funny. Eventually they dated.

With remarkable courage and determination she finished her senior year of college even after enduring the death of her beloved father. She remained steadfastly devoted to my brilliant but scattered brother even when most people wouldn’t. And she continually loved on our family even when no one seemed to love on her enough.

No matter where our family showed up—she was always there with goodies, smiles, and an ease of presence that calmed our pervasive frenetic energy.

What I realized so many years later is that had she not eventually married my brother, she probably still would have always been our sister.

So that worked out nicely. Happy Birthday Amy!