As baseball season starts up in earnest, I can't help but think about my own history as a fan of the sport.

When I was growing up, my younger brother Josh was the real instigator when it came to baseball. I suppose that left to my own devices, I could have just ignored baseball for the most part; I was more into comic books and Star Trek.

But Josh fell in love with baseball at an early age, and due to his urgings, my family began following our beloved team: the Yankees.

You read that right. In the beginning, despite living in Queens, the Burstein clan were Yankees fans as well as Mets fans.

There were legitimate reasons for this. We grew up in the 1970s, and in 1977 the Yankees had one of the major success stories of their career. That was the year of Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson, and the year of the World Series. I vividly remember the whole family shlepping to the Bronx to see a game or two; I remember how much we cheered for Thurmon Munson and how tragic it was when he died; and I remember how we idolized Reggie, and his eponymous candy bar.

However, by the time the 1980s rolled around, we had started to mostly follow the major league team in Flushing. I think it was the return of Tom Seaver to the Mets for the 1983 season that caught our imagination, although I do recall that Josh was also a big fan of Danny Heep. Josh started following the Mets regularly, and the rest of us followed suit.

Josh was eager to attend games at Shea Stadium, and so my parents took a step that still boggles my mind today. They bought season tickets to Mets games. Now, we didn't buy tickets for the whole family, nor did we buy tickets for every single home game in the season. Rather, we bought a package of tickets for all Saturday games, and we only bought two seats for those games. The theory was that Josh would get to go to each game, and someone else in the family would take him. Most of the time either Mom or Dad would take Josh to Shea, but occasionally Jon or I would do so.

And to my mind, Shea was the most beautiful stadium in the world. It was big, and blue, and always (believe it or not) very clean. The fans felt united in our love of the team, something I felt whenever the announcer spoke or when they played "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" during the seventh-inning stretch. Our seats were a bit far up, so the field looked somewhat far away, but the view from our seats (along the first base line) was unobstructed. When I sat with Josh at a game, I would take in the expansive, deep blue sky, breathe in fresh parkland air, and root, root, root for our home team. And if they didn't win, it was a shame.

Now, baseball fans are aware that we all have our own little superstitions and idiosincrasies. And it did not escape my notice that every time I attended a Mets game at Shea, the Mets would lose. Rationally, I knew that my presence in the stadium had no effect whatsoever, but in the back of my mind, I felt like a jinx.

So when 1986 rolled around, and the Mets ended up in the World Series, and my family acquired tickets to games one and seven, I was torn about whether or not I should accompany Josh to the games.

For about one second. World Series? I'm there, baby!

Josh was amused when I "offered" to take him to the World Series games, but the fact was that both Dad and Mom didn't care that much about attending in person, and neither did Jon. (Mom's only concern was that we would be safe among the crowds, and I promised her that I would look after Josh.) Josh and I attended game one on Saturday, October 18, and I recall how raucous and boisterous the other fans were. There was something magical in the air – at least, until the Mets lost to the Red Sox 1-0.

We watched the rest of the games on television with trepidation. On the one hand, we wanted the Mets to win the World Series, and as quickly as possible. On the other hand, we had tickets to game seven, and if the Mets won too soon, we wouldn't be able to attend game seven as it would not be played. So we watched, as the Mets lost game two, then won game three and four, then lost game five...

I won't reiterate the details of game six here, except to note how quickly we went from depression to elation. Game seven was delayed by rain and held on the evening of Monday, October 27, and Josh and I went. I remember how disappointed we felt when the Sox took an early lead in the second inning; how delighted we felt when the Mets scored three runs each in the sixth and seventh innings; how nervous we felt when the Sox scored two more runs in the eighth; how pleased we felt when the Mets scored two more in the bottom of that same inning; and how the stadium erupted in joyful cheers when the game ended with a Mets win. The Mets were champions again, for the first time within our lifetime, and we dearly hope to see them win a World Series again at some point soon. (Please.)

The last time I was in Shea was to see the Mets in one of the 1988 playoff games. I don't remember which game it was I saw, or even who I was with. All I remember is that they lost that game, and went on to lose the pennant.

And now, I'll probably never return to Shea again. For this season is the last one that will be played at Shea, as in 2009 the Mets will take up residence in Citi Field, just next door. And of all the news sites to praise Shea Stadium and William A. Shea, oddly enough, it's the Post-Tribune of Northwest Indiana with the best tribute. Check out the article "Mets shouldn't forget Shea when new stadium opens" by Bob Estelle, and learn about how Bill Shea worked to replace the Dodgers and Giants. If it weren't for Bill Shea, I wouldn't have the fond memories of the Mets – and of Shea Stadium – that I have today.

Thanks, Bill.

Tags: baseball, history, mets, mom, nyc, personal

[The following is a personal anecdote about our past weekend trip to New York City. Just so you know what you're getting into before you start reading. The short version includes seeing friends, spending shabbat in Queens, and celebrating the recent wedding of my brother Danny and his wife Barbara. But the long version includes some pictures, so click on the link and enjoy.]

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I'd like to end this post with a philosophical note. This is the first time we've been back to New York City since my brothers and I sold Mom's house, and it felt odd. Nomi and I want to continue taking vacations to New York City to see friends, but we're going to have to start relying on some of those friends to host us on those vacations. I feel blessed by knowing that whenever I've mentioned this concern, we've been flooded with offers. Thank you all.

[For gnomi's take on the weekend, click here.]

Tags: jewish, mom, nyc, personal

Here in Bursteinville, gnomi and I are anticipating a busy weekend, starting tomorrow.

Folks may recall that last month, my half-brother Danny got married to Barbara Heller in Michigan. This Sunday is when they're having a second celebration, and so Nomi and I are heading down to New York City for the weekend. We decided to get to the city in time for lunch tomorrow so we could meet up with one of my high school friends, a gentleman we don't see as often as we'd like.

I know there's a lot going on in the area this weekend, and I know there's always a lot of people to see, so if we miss you this time, maybe we'll catch you next time. For this trip, we're taking advantage of the gracious hospitality of sdelmonte and batyatoon for shabbat, so we're pretty much spending the weekend with them in Queens. Shabbat afternoon, we'll also be getting together with chaos_wrangler and G.

Early Sunday afternoon, Nomi and I will take a cab to the Heller-Burstein celebration, which is at a deli in the northernmost parts of Riverdale. Here's where things get personal in a way I had not expected.

I had decided to call for a cab from Boulevard Taxi, a company that Mom used to use for her daily commute to work. All the folks at Boulevard, the drivers and dispatchers alike, got to know my mom as that nice lady judge in Forest Hills.

Since we needed to know how much the cab would cost, Nomi suggested I call Boulevard last night to find out the price of a ride from the middle of Queens to Riverdale in the Bronx. So when I called last night, and explained I was calling from Boston and why, I made sure to mention my mom. I told the dispatcher that my mom was the judge who they used to pick up in Forest Hills.

"You mean Judge Burstein?" the dispatcher asked.

I was flabbergasted. "Yes."

It turns out they still remember her very fondly, and the dispatcher was delighted to hear me tell him how much Mom had always praised their company's service. On Sunday, he said he's going to take personal charge of making sure I get the cab I need.

Tags: mom, nyc, personal

Recently, I've been listening over and over to Kimya Dawson's song "Tire Swing," which can be found on the Juno soundtrack. I've been enjoying all aspects of the song – the rhythm, the melody, the vocals, the texture – while I try to puzzle out the lyrics. The lyrics in the song are not as difficult to decipher as those in some of her other songs, but I suspect that one can find many shades of meaning hidden within.

For me, in particular, I find the following verse to resonate with something I am sure Dawson never intended:

Now I'm home for less than twenty-four hours
That's hardly time to take a shower
Hug my family and take your picture off the wall
Check my email write a song and make a few phone calls

Now, maybe my mind is only drifting in a certain direction because of the time of year. It was a year ago this past weekend that we held Mom's funeral, and I keep going over my memories from that period. But the lyrics of this verse remind me of a day a few months later, when I managed to squeeze out a tiny amount of time to visit the house where I grew up a final time. My younger brother Josh and I were doing another check of the house to clear out the possessions that we wanted to rescue before we sold the place. I'm very grateful to Josh that he found the time to return to the house a few more times and supervise the final pickup of our stuff, but that particular day was my own last day in the house I grew up in. And the lyrics of "Tire Swing" seem to echo that day for me.

Why? Because I remember being on the train to New York City, and realizing that I would literally have less than twenty-four hours to take care of everything. Because I find myself missing the shower in the bathroom. Because we rescued (I hope) all the family photos, and we took off the wall a picture that Mom had painted as a little girl, a picture that now hangs in my apartment. Because while at the house, I'm sure I made a few phone calls, even if I didn't have my computer with me to check email.

(Okay, so I didn't write a song. But you wouldn't have expected me to, now would you?)

So, for all those reasons, "Tire Swing" resonates. And I'm sure Dawson would find my resonance with her song orthogonal to her own.

Tags: mom, music, personal

A year go this morning, at 6:39 am, as Nomi and I were getting ready to go to work, we received a phone call from my brother Jonathan. Mom had died, and suddenly much of our lives were put on hold as we dealt with the aftermath.

I felt the need to mark today with some sort of mention, but the truth is that the anniversary isn't hitting me emotionally as much as it could. For one thing, I already marked Mom's yahrzeit on the Hebrew calendar a few weeks ago, bringing my religious mourning period to a close.

For another thing, it's been a very busy week. We started the week at Arisia, and on Tuesday and Thursday evenings I had my first two classes in the Boston University Certificate in Publishing program. Furthermore, I've had a lot to do at work and I had a medical follow-up appointment yesterday afternoon. And finally, as I mentioned earlier, the son of a good friend of mine was diagnosed with leukemia, leading me to think about his plight a lot more than mine.

In short, the week has been filled with enough of its own distractions that the anniversary of Mom's death ends up being just one of many things, and not a looming single presence of its own.

And you know what? I know she would have preferred it that way.

Tags: mom, personal

On the Hebrew calendar, Saturday night and Sunday corresponded to 6 Shvat 5768. The significance of this date is that Mom died on 6 Shvat 5767.

In other words, from a religious perspective, my year of mourning is over.

The anniversary of Mom's death on the Gregorian calendar isn't until January 25, 2008, but as far as religious observance goes, I'm done. Starting tonight, I'm free to join in celebrations, and to attend live musical events and theater.

As it is, I spent the yahrzeit (Hebrew anniversary of Mom's death) engaged in nice, low-key activity. Last night, my younger brother called, and we talked for almost two hours about a lot of stuff.

Today, Nomi and I went out shopping in the early afternoon to get groceries for the Arisia science fiction convention next weekend. The supermarket was crowded, no doubt due to the predictions of a major snowstorm starting tonight, requiring all of New England to stock up on eggs, bread, and milk.

(Aside: this evening, as we were watching the news, Nomi and I played a game. Every time the newscaster said the word "snow," we shouted "SNOW!" It was fun.)

And this afternoon, Nomi and I went to a siyum and azkara at our synagogue, Congregation Kadimah-Toras Moshe. To explain those terms, a siyum is a completion of study, and an azkara is a remembrance. Both of these are often done in honor of someone recently deceased, and today happened to be thirty days since an honored member of our synagogue had passed away. Thirty days after a parent's death is the end of the shloshim period of mourning, so today was a significant day for the siyum.

Marvin Benjamin Levenson was an 85-year-old man whom Nomi and I first met in late 2006. At the time, we had no idea who he was; just a funny older gentleman who joked with Nomi when he discovered that she had started to help set out the food and drink for kiddush following morning services. Marvin became responsible for a new tradition at the shul, as it used to be that the only drink set out for the kiddush was wine. But Nomi and I don't drink alcohol, so she would always make sure that we each had a cup of grape juice instead. When Marvin found out, he asked us to provide him with grape juice as well, so Nomi poured three cups instead of two. Well, it soon became easier for Nomi to set up a plate of cups of grape juice, and to label it with a card, so as to differentiate it from the cups of wine. It proved so popular that we now have two plates of grape juice that Nomi sets up at the end of one table, and it's all because of Marvin.

Who, it turns out, had been instrumental in the creation of Kadimah-Toras Moshe as a combined synagogue in the 1960s. Marvin had also served as one of the most popular presidents of the synagogue.

After we learned of Marvin's death last month, we were saddened, and even more so when we discovered that his family lived in New Jersey and Israel, and so we would have no real chance to pay our respects. But the family grew up with Kadimah, and so they arranged for today's remembrance. Nomi and I went, and the shul was packed with more people than I had ever seen in there before. Marvin's four children and three of his grandchildren spoke, and they brought him to life for us. Marvin was a man who loved his family, giving charity, and Judaism. It was reassuring in some way to hear how the picture of their father and grandfather was consistent with the gentle, funny man that Nomi and I had gotten to know, all too briefly.

It was a very appropriate way to spend Mom's yahrzeit.

Tags: jewish, mom, personal

Today is the last day for me to recite Mourner's Kaddish for my mom.

Because it's a Friday, Nomi and I asked friends of ours who live near the shul if we could come over for dinner, and we're looking forward to enjoying their hospitality tonight. This afternoon, I'm going to go to the Mincha service, during which I will recite Mourner's Kaddish. Immediately following it will be the Kabbalat Shabbat and Maariv service, and I suspect that some folks may have a momentary minor jolt when they realize that my voice is no longer among the chorus reciting the Mourner's Kaddish.

There will be no fanfare to mark the moment, just a quiet acknowledgment that my year of mourning has only one Hebrew month left to go.

I find myself with mixed feelings. On the one hand, and I know this isn't the best way to phrase it, but I'm sick and tired of mourning. I want it to be over with, so I can get back to a closer semblance of normality in my life.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, after you lose a parent, you never want the world to stop acknowledging that loss. Obviously, in the week and month immediately following the death, you need a lot more special consideration. But for the rest of my life, I will be an "orphaned adult," and I would want people to know that and to understand that in their dealings with me. Reciting the Mourner's Kaddish is a very public way of reminding people of your current fragility; that reminder will now get lost in the seas of time.

Of course, we still do other things to remind the world. The Cheshvan before my Mom died, Nomi and I sponsored a kiddush at our shul in honor of my father's yahrzeit. In a way, it helped stave off questions people might have asked; when my mom died, folks already were aware that my father was out of the equation. After my year of mourning is complete, Nomi and I will most likely sponsor a kiddush again, to commemorate my mom and to remind the community that my year is complete. (Amusingly enough, we won't be able to sponsor a kiddush right after the year ends, as that would be Arisia weekend and we'll be at the convention.)

But even though I will continue to remember my mom, and my dad, today's final recitation of the Mourner's Kaddish means that the third phase of mourning is complete. I enter the fourth phase tonight, and, a month from now, the fifth and final phase...which will last for the rest of my life.

Tags: jewish, mom, personal

Is it just me, or does Thanksgiving weekend seem to go by quickly for other people as well?

Our weekend was filled with dentists, turkey, family, home electronics, errands, television, reading, and sleep. Let's take a look.

( Wednesday )

( Thursday )

( Friday )

( Saturday and Sunday )

And that was our Thanksgiving weekend. I'm very thankful for it.

Tags: brookline, mom, nyc, personal

Normally, I don't sit down on Thanksgiving and come up with a list of reasons to be thankful. It's not that I don't feel gratitude for the benefits I enjoy on a daily basis. It's just that sometimes those benefits seem so trivial to me sometimes, and I feel that expressing gratitude for them would border on gloating.

One friend of mine who posts on LiveJournal ends every single one of her posts with a statement of something she is grateful for. While I admire her dedication, I know it's not something that I could ever do personally. And I do wonder if my expressions of gratitude might come off as self-indulgent.

However, this year is different. It can be hard to express gratitude to the universe in the year of a parent's death, especially when it's the second parent one is mourning. I've been reading a lot about what it is like for people to enter this stage of their life, and I've come to believe that it really is unprecedented, something that can't be completely understood by anyone who hasn't yet experienced it themselves.

So this year, with the loss of my mother still fresh in my mind, and the loss of my father still as poignant as ever, I've decided to note a tiny handful of the reasons why I am grateful to my parents.

I am grateful to Dad for my love of and interest in science fiction. Although by the time I knew him Dad's fiction reading was mostly devoted to paperback mysteries, he had been an enthusiastic science fiction reader in his earlier years. Dad encouraged me to read the short fiction magazines, and he would never turn down a request on my part for a book. It was at Dad's insistence that the family shlepped to an Isaac Asimov appearance at the Books of Wonder bookstore on Sunday, November 4, 1979; I still recall that event vividly, and I sometimes marvel at how much that shaped my life. My only regret is that Dad died before he could see how involved I would become in the world of science fiction.

I am grateful to Mom for never throwing out my comic books. This may sound silly, but over the years I've met many people whose mothers threw out some of the valued childhood possessions. I was lucky in a sense, because my father's mother had thrown out his comic books and my father always regretted that. So armed with that knowledge, my mother never threw out a single one of my comics, and today I still own every comic I ever bought all the back to age five. (Well, except for the ones I chose to weed out of my collection myself.) Mom was never into science fiction or comic books herself (except for Wonder Woman, she once told me), but she once called DC Comics for me and got a young artist named Al Milgrom to give our family a personal tour of their offices. I was in heaven.

I am grateful to Dad for my love of the news and newspapers. I grew up in a home that got four newspapers a day, and each paper presented the news with its own slant and ran editorials that sometimes opposed each other radically. The newspaper business may be changing, but I will continue to believe the importance of receiving my news from many sources.

I am grateful to Mom for taking the family to musicals and shows on Broadway. When she had been growing up in New York, her family had gone to many of the classic original performances of well-known actors and actresses. Thanks to Mom, we got to attend revivals of many of these shows. I saw Richard Burton in Camelot, Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady, Herschel Bernardi in Fiddler on the Roof, Yul Brynner in The King and I, Mike Burstyn in The Rothschilds, and many others. After we saw Brigadoon, Mom took us to meet Lee Sullivan, who lived in a house across the street from ours, and who had played the original Charlie on Broadway. He signed our copy of the vinyl album jacket, and I still have that record.

I am grateful to Dad for instilling a love of justice, and of Judaism.

I am grateful to Mom for the laughter she brought to our world.

Finally, I am grateful to all my ancestors, Bursteins and Cohens and Bakers and Cohns and Sokolovskys who made the decision to come to this country, so I could lead a life that they could barely have imagined. In general, I enjoy my life a lot, and I am grateful for all the myriad steps that led to this point.

Tags: books, comics, jewish, mom, nyc, personal, science-fiction

Today is my mother's birthday, and if she were still alive, she'd be 71 years old today. Because it's her birthday, I've been thinking today about some of the ways I've been honoring her memory, and my father's memory as well.

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Tags: jewish, mom, personal