didn't know it could be so great to be Jewish," he admitted.
"You see," Miss Booe said, "things aren't so bad. All you have to do is learn to live with them instead of fighting them all the time."
"Yeah," Nemiroff said, "I guess you're right."
"It's the same with your kids at camp," Miss Booe went on.
"What do you mean?" Nemiroff looked puzzled.
"Why do you treat them the way you do?" she asked.
Nemiroff thought for a moment, then he spoke. "Well, it's just that I didn't want them to grow up thinking life was just a bed of roses." He looked at Miss Booe. "It isn't, you know."
"Go on."
"Well, I figured I'd give them a taste of what life was really like. Sort of show them how things really are. Get them ready for it."
Miss Booe held Nemiroff's hand. "But it isn't like that for everybody. You made things tough for yourself."
"Maybe you're right. But then, I didn't have you." He leaned over to kiss her again.
She held his hand tighter. "Give them a chance. Show them you like them. Show them you trust them."
Nemiroff pulled his hand away. "Are you kidding?" he shouted. "Besides, it's too late now. How could I do it?"
"Well," Miss Booe said, "you could ease up on them. Show them you're with them. Then, when you have their confidence, show them you trust them. Do something significant, like turning your back on them."
"What," Nemiroff screamed. "Turn my back on those sons of bitches?"
"Why not?"
"I'll tell you why not," Nemiroff stammered. "Because it would be the last time I turned my back on them. They'd kill me."
"Don't be silly," Miss Booe said. "Once they know you like them and trust them, they won't do anything to you."
"I don't believe it"
"Try it, Nemiroff," she said, "for me."
Nemiroff looked down into her eyes and weakened. "I'll tell you what," he said, "I'll start slow. I'll give them a little freedom. I won't try to get them, and I'll see what happens."
"Thanks," Miss Booe said, blowing him a kiss.
"But I won't turn my back on them. Never."
Nemiroff slowly marched his group over to the baseball field. They fought him all the way, but he made them go. Nemiroff wanted his group to play this game. Without Nemiroff as the umpire. Nemiroff sat down in the sand and watched as his group took the field. They were very suspicious, thinking that maybe Nemiroff had mined the baseball field late at night, and that the only reason he wouldn't step out on the field was that he was afraid he would blow himself up.
Nemiroff's group took their positions. They were playing Mr. Robinson's group, and Mr. Robinson found himself in the unfamiliar role of umpire. The first kid up hit a high fly ball. The centerfielder ran under it and stuck out his glove. The ball fell in. The centerfielder immediately ducked to get out of the way of Nemiroff's flying body. But it wasn't there. Nemiroff actually let him make an out. The kid looked over to the sidelines and saw Nemiroff stand up and cheer him.
"That a boy, Howie, give 'em hell," Nemiroff shouted. "That's the old stuff."
The centerfielder couldn't believe his ears. He looked around at the rest of the group, but they all just stared dumbly at him. Nemiroff didn't make a move. He just smiled and waved at them. The centerfielder threw the ball in to the pitcher. The next two outs were quick.
Nemiroff's team played as they never played before. The chains were gone. They were playing like champions. They completely demolished Mr. Robinson's team, and were cheering wildly when the game was over. "We won, we won," they shouted. Then they looked over at Nemiroff, who had worn himself out cheering for his team.
"Let's have a cheer for Nemiroff," they began. "Two, four, six, eight who do we appreciate? Nemiroff. Nemiroff. Nemiroff."
Nemiroff looked back at them, a small tear starting in the corner of his eye. Nobody had ever cheered for him before. Maybe Miss Booe was right "O.K.," he told them, "now let's bring on Marshall Pace and his fucking group of
"You see," Miss Booe said, "things aren't so bad. All you have to do is learn to live with them instead of fighting them all the time."
"Yeah," Nemiroff said, "I guess you're right."
"It's the same with your kids at camp," Miss Booe went on.
"What do you mean?" Nemiroff looked puzzled.
"Why do you treat them the way you do?" she asked.
Nemiroff thought for a moment, then he spoke. "Well, it's just that I didn't want them to grow up thinking life was just a bed of roses." He looked at Miss Booe. "It isn't, you know."
"Go on."
"Well, I figured I'd give them a taste of what life was really like. Sort of show them how things really are. Get them ready for it."
Miss Booe held Nemiroff's hand. "But it isn't like that for everybody. You made things tough for yourself."
"Maybe you're right. But then, I didn't have you." He leaned over to kiss her again.
She held his hand tighter. "Give them a chance. Show them you like them. Show them you trust them."
Nemiroff pulled his hand away. "Are you kidding?" he shouted. "Besides, it's too late now. How could I do it?"
"Well," Miss Booe said, "you could ease up on them. Show them you're with them. Then, when you have their confidence, show them you trust them. Do something significant, like turning your back on them."
"What," Nemiroff screamed. "Turn my back on those sons of bitches?"
"Why not?"
"I'll tell you why not," Nemiroff stammered. "Because it would be the last time I turned my back on them. They'd kill me."
"Don't be silly," Miss Booe said. "Once they know you like them and trust them, they won't do anything to you."
"I don't believe it"
"Try it, Nemiroff," she said, "for me."
Nemiroff looked down into her eyes and weakened. "I'll tell you what," he said, "I'll start slow. I'll give them a little freedom. I won't try to get them, and I'll see what happens."
"Thanks," Miss Booe said, blowing him a kiss.
"But I won't turn my back on them. Never."
Nemiroff slowly marched his group over to the baseball field. They fought him all the way, but he made them go. Nemiroff wanted his group to play this game. Without Nemiroff as the umpire. Nemiroff sat down in the sand and watched as his group took the field. They were very suspicious, thinking that maybe Nemiroff had mined the baseball field late at night, and that the only reason he wouldn't step out on the field was that he was afraid he would blow himself up.
Nemiroff's group took their positions. They were playing Mr. Robinson's group, and Mr. Robinson found himself in the unfamiliar role of umpire. The first kid up hit a high fly ball. The centerfielder ran under it and stuck out his glove. The ball fell in. The centerfielder immediately ducked to get out of the way of Nemiroff's flying body. But it wasn't there. Nemiroff actually let him make an out. The kid looked over to the sidelines and saw Nemiroff stand up and cheer him.
"That a boy, Howie, give 'em hell," Nemiroff shouted. "That's the old stuff."
The centerfielder couldn't believe his ears. He looked around at the rest of the group, but they all just stared dumbly at him. Nemiroff didn't make a move. He just smiled and waved at them. The centerfielder threw the ball in to the pitcher. The next two outs were quick.
Nemiroff's team played as they never played before. The chains were gone. They were playing like champions. They completely demolished Mr. Robinson's team, and were cheering wildly when the game was over. "We won, we won," they shouted. Then they looked over at Nemiroff, who had worn himself out cheering for his team.
"Let's have a cheer for Nemiroff," they began. "Two, four, six, eight who do we appreciate? Nemiroff. Nemiroff. Nemiroff."
Nemiroff looked back at them, a small tear starting in the corner of his eye. Nobody had ever cheered for him before. Maybe Miss Booe was right "O.K.," he told them, "now let's bring on Marshall Pace and his fucking group of
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