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A BAR MITZVAH STORYThere were close to 100 kids in my Hebrew school class, meaning that in 1992, Temple Sinai in Dresher, Pennsylvania was often bar mitzvahing two or three students per week. But there was no way my mom wanted me sharing the spotlight with some delinquent in a cheap sport jacket who was going to screw up his Torah portion and ruin my special day. So my parents scheduled my bar mitzvah for the only day that nobody else would want - December 26. Granted, it was the closest Saturday to my birthday, but still, the day after Christmas? Who wanted to attend a bar mitzvah then? Lots of people, apparently. My invitations were sent out a staggering ten weeks in advance so that winter vacations and holiday celebrations could be scheduled around my impending manhood. And so, dozens of pear-shaped older women and men in cumberbunds older than I was shuffled around their annual Florida trips so they could honor me by stuffing their faces with mini-quiches and handing me greasy envelopes filled with $36 apiece. It seems the only people for whom the date was inconvenient were my friends, about a third of whom actually showed up. Some had the decency to tell me in advance that they wouldn't be able to make it, while others waited until that day to call in sick with mysterious "illnesses". Yeah, right. Not that I'm bitter or anything. After all, not many bar mitzvah boys get to share that "special dance" with their second cousin. And my cousin was pretty hot, too.

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