ODE TO NAOMI

You’re the player who shot a basketwhen the team needed a point,but you came home shouting,

with your nose quite out of joint.“Our baskets don’t really count, they’d say,

We’re simply too darn young.Well, just you wait till next year,

And they’ll be biting their tongue.

At home we never know if you’re in the house or not.Silent as a mouse you study,

the A’s pile up, just part of the plotto keep your loving familyone step behind your plan,

not to see that you’ve grown up. You’re a player now, not just a fan.

Today you’re a middle teen – fifteen,Neither here nor there.

You could set the table or brush the cats,wash your own clothes, cut your own hair.

But you stay in your room, as snug as a bug,waiting for your phone to ring.

It could be good friend Jake, perhaps Karen from school,Or dear Benjamin, that crazy wild thing.

You’re now in the last stage of childhood, One more year and you’ll be driving Dad’s car,

And we’ll start to worry, “Why, Nome, what’s the hurry?OK, but don’t take it too far.”

This birthday’s the year to start thinkingabout the grown-up you’ll be –

A teacher-of-the -year like Mom or a champion golfer like Dad ,a photographer like Alice, a collector like Ben, a cook like David,

a big dog lover like Rhonda, a little dog lover like Jon, a bookworm like Seth, a shopper like Carolyn, a baker like Debbie, a barker like Sam,

a fire pit minder like Emily, a bad poet like Savta...and in any caseyou’ve booked your place,

A solid branch on the family tree.

In honor of Naomi Katharine Grossman’s 15th birthdayBy Savta Ellen Hirsch, 13 February 2013