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Jacobs did not approve of me. A guy knows when he is being disapproved of;having her not like you makes you feel tarnished. She approved of Hersch. There were times when I thought that my mother should be more like Mrs. Jacobs, calm and interested in stimulating her son. Mrs. Jacobs pronounced words real clearly, too.
    Before Hersch had moved, neither of us had liked Barry Jacobs much; we both had thought that Barry Jacobs was a guy you just couldn’t get close to. He had such big personality bumps that they would rub you raw. We used to play the sarcastic game about him. Hersch was great at the sarcastic game. Actually, he was talented at it.
    In the sarcastic game we each had our parts—like our friendship. I remember how it went the time that Barry didn’t have his Hebrew homework done, before we were in the Bar Mitzvah business, when we had ordinary Hebrew lessons only twice a week. The rabbi kept saying about how if your parents care enough to send you to Hebrew School, and if he cares enough to teach, we should care enough to do our homework. He finished by saying, “We prepare for the larger future of our manhood by preparing for each tomorrow. And if that tomorrow includes homework, prepare it!”
    Barry answered, “I’m sorry, Rabbi, but I’ve been involved in this science project, and I find it so stimulating that I lose track of time.”
    Everyone knew that Barry had won first prize in the Science Fair in his Crescent Hill school, and he was getting ready to compete in the district Science Fair. Hersch and I sat across from each other, and we exchanged glances. I caught Hersch’s eye and raised my eyebrows. That was a signal for us. I can’t tell exactly what it meant, but back then we each knew.
    Hersch waited for me by the door as we were leaving class, and as soon as we cleared the corridor, we began.
    I opened with, “Now tell me, Hairsch, vy iss it zat you don’t haf your homevork done?” That was my part: the German accent.
    “Well, you see, sir,” he responded, falling right in with it. “I got involved.”
    “Inwolved, yunk man? Inwolved viss vatt?”
    “Picking my nose, sir!”
    “Unt you considair pickink your nose more shtimulatink zan your homevork?”
    “Well, sir, it is not always more stimulating, but there are times when it seems more necessary.”
    And then Hersch and I would yuk and poke each other as much as carrying our books would allow, and we were home before we knew it.
    At first after Hersch moved, we both missed each other a lot. And then it became just me missing him. Ididn’t notice the first few times he said, “Listen Moshe, I’ve got to hang up now. I’ve got to go.” I believed that he had to take out the garbage or something. After a few weeks I noticed something else; it was always me who was doing the calling and it was always he who had to go. But I never thought of Barry Jacobs. Not seriously at least, not until one night late in November. It was the night I got disapproved by Mrs. Jacobs. She had phoned my mother and asked if I could come to supper. Only she called it dinner. She mentioned that Hersch was also invited because she “liked Barry to experience all kinds of people.” Mrs. Jacobs was very interested in Barry’s getting experiences and getting stimulated. My mother was interested in my getting places on time. When my mother asked me if I wanted to go, I wanted to have the courage to say no, but I didn’t. Because the truth is that I wanted to see how things were at the Jacobs’. Kind of like the way people would like to know how things are on a family night at Jacqueline Kennedy’s without reporters.
    My mother drove me there giving me all kinds of hints about using a napkin and not talking with my mouth full. Besides being on time the only thing my mother wanted me to experience was good manners.
    After the meal started Mr. Jacobs said, “We left offour discussion of the emerging African nations with an analysis…”
    I caught