I remember seeing all those ads as a child about how to look younger. “Who cares about that?” I thought. I want to be older. Who has time to put on make-up? And exercise? Oh, maybe one day down the road, and please pass me the doughnuts. When I turned 40, I begrudgingly started using lipstick because my lips had lost their color. When 50 rolled around, I sort of panicked. Young mothers started calling me “Mrs.” – and not because I was choshuv. I began to like it when people said to me, “Oh you look so young.”

My best friend and I are so grateful to Hashem that we still go out for Yizkor on Yom Kippur. We say, “kein ayin hora” when we talk about it, like two old ladies. As of late, we wonder how we’ll ever manage life without our dear parents.

 I work in an inner-city neighborhood as a speech pathologist. I teach three- and four-year-old toddlers how to talk. Speech therapy sessions take place in the family home, usually with the mother, child, and me. I bring the toys, and we play. Somehow, by talking about what the child is engaged in, through modeling, repetition, and using single words, a light switch turns on, and in a short time, the child begins talking. It’s amazing and gratifying.

The mothers and I often have a very good relationship. They are kind and respectful to me, often referring to me as Ma’am, as in “Yes, ma’am.” I am kind and respectful to them. When I arrive at the client’s house, I greet the child and his mother with a hearty hello. I tune in to the child with love and kindness, much the same way as I would treat my own grandchildren. I ask the parent how they are doing and really listen to what they have to say. When explaining my treatment methods to them, I am patient and understanding. In short, I am sincerely kind to them. I find being kind with sincerity, goes a long way. After a few sessions, the family acts like they are glad to see me; they smile and treat me with like a friend, and their children run to the door to greet me.