My daughter is dating a non jew

After dinner at Shakey’s Pizza, we drove up to Missionary Ridge to a small park that overlooked downtown.

In the center of the park was a Civil War monument flanked by old cannons.

It was one of the rare times my parents saw me go out with a girl.

It was so proper, four nice Jewish kids out on a Saturday night.

I didn’t feel that I was supposed to be living for them. We did it because neither of us was ready to have a baby. That one sentence with its insistence that the charade continue and the old cliché that dating a shiksa would kill your mother, was crushing, but not in the way Dad intended. He had dismissed my relationship with Claudia as if it was nothing more than sexual recreation.

On my eighteenth birthday, Dad caught me having sex with Claudia in Mom’s car. Dad waited until he had a chance to speak to me alone. Until then, I considered him to be a more understanding person.

If the systematic murder of six million Jewish men, women and children didn’t make you xenophobic, then nothing would. I was always going to be a Jew, but when I was with my girlfriend, I wasn’t anything more than her boyfriend. Our birth control method of choice was the rhythm method.

At Sunday school, my classmates and I were shown Holocaust films. I have to wonder if this method has ever worked, because it certainly didn’t work for us.

Only once did I make the mistake of going on a date with a Chattanooga Jewish girl.

A Jewish friend of mine needed a guy to go with his girlfriend’s best friend on a double date.

She had colossal breasts, so I tried to cop a feel, but she was wearing a really tight bra with a complicated set of hooks.

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