PIPSQUEAKS

 
Most of the art in my house is by Irwin Weinberger, Yiddishe Cup’s former singer. Irwin is a good painter as well as a good musician.

Irwin did a portrait of my kids 35 years ago. I thought my kids — pipsqueaks — were cute. But then the pipsqueak-dom dragged on for years, and I would stare at the painting and say, “Grow up already!”

Schlepping kids crosstown to gymnastics meets was not fun. Schlepping my youngest to an 8 a.m. hockey game in Parma Heights was not fun. Sitting through my daughter’s swim meets was not entirely pleasant. (The diving part was fine, but the swimming races — which she had nothing to do with — weren’t fun.)

Granted, the kids did play without supervision, too. Free range, as it’s now called. My oldest used to ride the crosstown Lee Road bus just for fun. And he would ride the Rapid out to the airport. I got in trouble for that. The fuzz at the airport called me once and said I had to go out to the airport and pick him up.

I’m looking at Irwin’s portrait. Reminds me of my grandkids. Raising my own kids is a blur.