My dog’s name is Bernie, named after Bernie Sanders and Bernie Williams. And when Carl Reiner asked the 2000-year old man who invented sex, he said, “That’s easy. It was Bernie!”
Bernard Jonas. We called him BJ, but his siblings called him Bunny all their lives.
He was a prince, born in Brooklyn. A few things that made him lovable:
A veteran of D-Day+1, he went to Yale on the GI bill, and went back to France for cooking lessons. He met my mother at Scottish dance class, where he was a master.
BJ worked for social services in downtown Brooklyn, probably the most compassionate person at the office. I'd take my sketchbook to the Promenade for harbor views, then he'd meet me there for classic deli sandwiches.
I had an Uncle Bernie. He called me Stretch because I was tall and skinny. He had a great smile. A Jew from the Bronx who wore gold necklaces which made me think of him as an Italian man. He was on line at a bank when he had a heart attack and died. Maybe he was in his 40s? My cousins were young teenagers when they lost their dad. I remember him fondly.
I had a Tom, a bunch of dicks, and my Harry was a beagle. I had a Joaquin, and a Lucian, and a Richard. A bunch of others whose names I've forgotten. No Bernies at all. I think I missed something. Were all Bernies like these Bernies?I'm going to borrow all the Bernies below and the one above. Just for now. And thank you.
My father's best buddies in Brooklyn junior high, early 1930s, were two Big Bernies. They were friends for life. I remember their outgoingness, different from my dad.
My children's paternal grandfather, Bernie, escaped Germany at age 16 in 1938, returned to fight in special forces for the USA ... My son and grandson carry his name as their middle name : ) His memory a blessing.
And I thought this poem was going to be about Bernie Sanders! My Bernie Sanders story is that he and I both came from Brooklyn to a kibbutz in 1963. He went to Kibbutz Sha'ar Ha'amakim for three months and then went back to Brooklyn on his way to Vermont, while I stayed on the Kibbutz Barkai for 13 years, before eventually making my way to Tel Aviv, But I have no uncles named Bernie.
I knew a Bernie in high school. Her name was Bernadette but we all called her Bernie. Everyone loved Bernie. She had the most amazing smile (and she still does.)
I knew a second Bernie as an acquaintance when I was in my twenties. Bernie was a punk-rocker and she preferred to be called “Burn” … especially on stage.
Random thought: If Burt and Ernie (from Sesame Street) could morph into one puppet would they call themselves Bernie?
Finally, I have a Bernie Sanders magnet on my fridge. Let’s not give up!
My dog’s name is Bernie, named after Bernie Sanders and Bernie Williams. And when Carl Reiner asked the 2000-year old man who invented sex, he said, “That’s easy. It was Bernie!”
My stepdad's name was Bernie, short for
Bernard Jonas. We called him BJ, but his siblings called him Bunny all their lives.
He was a prince, born in Brooklyn. A few things that made him lovable:
A veteran of D-Day+1, he went to Yale on the GI bill, and went back to France for cooking lessons. He met my mother at Scottish dance class, where he was a master.
BJ worked for social services in downtown Brooklyn, probably the most compassionate person at the office. I'd take my sketchbook to the Promenade for harbor views, then he'd meet me there for classic deli sandwiches.
Everyone deserves a Dad like BJ.
I had an Uncle Bernie. He called me Stretch because I was tall and skinny. He had a great smile. A Jew from the Bronx who wore gold necklaces which made me think of him as an Italian man. He was on line at a bank when he had a heart attack and died. Maybe he was in his 40s? My cousins were young teenagers when they lost their dad. I remember him fondly.
I had a Tom, a bunch of dicks, and my Harry was a beagle. I had a Joaquin, and a Lucian, and a Richard. A bunch of others whose names I've forgotten. No Bernies at all. I think I missed something. Were all Bernies like these Bernies?I'm going to borrow all the Bernies below and the one above. Just for now. And thank you.
My father's best buddies in Brooklyn junior high, early 1930s, were two Big Bernies. They were friends for life. I remember their outgoingness, different from my dad.
My children's paternal grandfather, Bernie, escaped Germany at age 16 in 1938, returned to fight in special forces for the USA ... My son and grandson carry his name as their middle name : ) His memory a blessing.
And I thought this poem was going to be about Bernie Sanders! My Bernie Sanders story is that he and I both came from Brooklyn to a kibbutz in 1963. He went to Kibbutz Sha'ar Ha'amakim for three months and then went back to Brooklyn on his way to Vermont, while I stayed on the Kibbutz Barkai for 13 years, before eventually making my way to Tel Aviv, But I have no uncles named Bernie.
I knew a Bernie in high school. Her name was Bernadette but we all called her Bernie. Everyone loved Bernie. She had the most amazing smile (and she still does.)
I knew a second Bernie as an acquaintance when I was in my twenties. Bernie was a punk-rocker and she preferred to be called “Burn” … especially on stage.
Random thought: If Burt and Ernie (from Sesame Street) could morph into one puppet would they call themselves Bernie?
Finally, I have a Bernie Sanders magnet on my fridge. Let’s not give up!