Last week I noticed a placard advertising that Uncle Moishy would be coming to one of the local s’farim stores here in Monsey to promote his new book and CD. When I came home, I mentioned to my wife that our four-year-old twins would enjoy meeting Uncle Moishy. My intention was that they would really enjoy it if she took them, but since I was the one who had the bright idea, I was granted the privilege of taking them. I don’t know if that automatically qualifies me to win Dad of the year, but it should definitely be taken into consideration.

 I have never been good with names or faces. I joke that my wife never forgets a face, and I never remember one. So, while she will meet a woman and recognize her from kindergarten, I will meet a student and not be able to remember why he looks familiar (Well, not that bad, but close).

 The Wednesday morning before Purim, when I woke up, I told my wife that I had a most fascinating dream. I should preface by saying that I hardly ever remember my dreams, and when I do, I am always annoyed with them because they are scary and nonsensical. That made this dream all the better.

 This past Friday, our Shabbos guest pulled up in front of our house an hour and a half before Shabbos. He parked a bit awkwardly in the street because of the high mounds of snow pushed to the side of the road. He closed the car’s doors and came into the house carrying a bunch of bags. When he went back out to park the car for Shabbos, he realized that he didn’t have the key. It’s a remote key, so it doesn’t get inserted into the ignition. As long as the key is somewhere in the car, the car will start. The fact that the car wasn’t starting meant that the key wasn’t anywhere in the car either. He looked under the car, then retraced his steps into the house, and looked in all the locations where he had been, but the key wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Whenever a situation warranted it, my Bubby a”h would quote an old Yiddish saying. When I then asked her what it meant, she would always say that you can’t properly translate such witticisms, because something gets lost in the translation.

I have a hobby of collecting newspapers that contain memorable headlines. So, when major events occur, I buy the next day’s paper and add it to my collection. I have newspapers from when the last few presidents won elections, when President Clinton was impeached, the day after 9/11 (September 12, 2001), when President Trump was impeached (both times), and some papers after worthwhile teams I root for won a championship.