Yeah, I know we’re not supposed to give opulent presents on Chanukah. That’s why I usually give my kids a fine pair of socks. Brand new! And a pair for each child. (Nothing tawdry; I always spend an extra 25 cents for the reinforced heels.)
But one of my kids had been exceptionally patient to this Patriarch. If sons got medals from fathers, he’d be wearing the silver Magen David with oak leaf clusters. He deserved something special — something shiny and expensive for Chanukah.
A Rolex. Yes! Would he not be proud? And was I not going to New York anyhow?
Herb, my pal, who often visits the city, knows his way around Manhattan like Judah Maccabee knew the hills and valleys of Judea. “Ted,” he says, “go down to Canal Street. There’s a Rolex dealer on every corner.”
“But Lenny, the watches, are they real?”
“Real, steal — who knows the difference? The dial says Rolex, not Shmolex. And by the way, this precision chronograph will cost you less than the price of two corned beefs, plus a side of slaw.”
“Tell you what,” says my friend. “I’ll even go with you.”
So, two weeks later I’m standing on the corner of Canal and Vine, surrounded by a horde of vendors waving Rolexes in my face.
Anyhow, one of the guys with 24 Rolexes on his arm is waving it at me faster than all his competitors. And honesty glows in his face. I can tell because his eyes are set widely apart and they’re not shifty and they are as big and round as his reliable product. He explains that this particular Rolex was put together in Hong Kong. Not exactly a hotbed of Swiss expatriates and maybe the bezel wasn’t 24-karat gold and so what if the insides were soft as Philadelphia cream cheese. The classic face and the name were a perfect replica.
“How much?” I ask.
“Ninety-nine dollars.”
I turn and walk off.
He sprints after me. I’m hoping my watch won’t fall off as he runs.”OK, OK, gimme 66.”
I offer $35 and the deal is done.
I had every intention of sending it to my son — with a terribly detailed story of its authenticity. But then something about the elegant look of it with its gleaming band and the little magnified bubble that displayed the date, captured my greed. Besides, how could I lie to my oldest son? Clearly, the ethical choice was to keep it. And I did.
It was my Chanukah gift to myself.
Ted Roberts is a humorist based in Huntsville, Ala.