Chanukah night 7
Title: Chanukah, Night 7
Fandom: Power Rangers SPD
Rating: K/G/general audience
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Seventh of eight fics for Chanukah.
Disclaimer: not mine, alas
Saturday December 24, 2022
Age eighteen
The lights were all off when he came to the front walk. He knew his mom was pulling extra shifts at the hospital that weekend to cover the people that wanted to be home for Christmas, but he hoped she’d be home in time for dinner at least. She knew he was coming for the weekend. He pulled out his keys and let himself in. Digging through the kitchen, he realized he was just too tired to cook much and no way would his mom want to cook after having worked such long shifts. He spied the folder of take away menus on the counter and figured he’d do them both a favour.
He passed on the Chinese food. Sunday would be their annual Chinese-food-and-a-movie Christmas date, and he didn’t want to have it both nights. Pizza was okay, but nothing really sounded that great. He settled for the local sub shop and placed the order. Half an hour and they’d have a nice dinner with very little effort involved.
He pulled a small gift from his overnight bag before dumping it in his bedroom, and then set the gift on the coffee table. It wasn’t much, but he hoped his mom would like it. He kicked his feet up, turned on the tv, and waited.
He was lost in the show when the lock clicked in the door and his mother walked in. He barely registered her and didn’t look away from the tv.
“A Charlie Brown Christmas?” she asked. He smiled.
“Mmm. It was this, A Christmas Story, or three different channels of It’s a Wonderful Life. Besides, I like the Snoopy dance.” She chuckled and headed upstairs to change out of her work uniform. By the time she was done, the sandwiches had arrived and Bridge was getting them all laid out. She collapsed on the couch next to him and he passed the pastrami on rye her way.
The sun was well set before they finished eating. Bridge cleaned up while his mother got the chanukiah ready. Seven candles plus one shamash. It would be stunning with all the light. Bridge shut off the television on his way over to the little table in front of the window. His mother struck the match for the shamash, and then within a matter of seconds, had lit everything else. The living room glowed with the warmth and Bridge smiled. This always was his favourite part. He recited the blessings with his mother and then thrust the present into her hands and demanded she open it right away.
“You didn’t have to get me anything!” she exclaimed. He just smiled when she pulled out the small silver star of david necklace. It wasn’t much, but it would replace the one she’d broken months ago. She hadn’t worn one since.
“Oh Bridgey,” she sighed. She hugged him tight and kissed his forehead as thanks, just as she’d done when he was small. She clasped it around her neck and it glinted in the candlelight. He reached for his and she stopped him with a hand.
“There’s a story to it first, honey. I’ve had it waiting for you for years now, but I waited until now for a reason.” He waited patiently. She took a deep breath and he saw her hand shaking. “I thought about giving it to you at your last birthday. Eighteen is a big deal. The number of chai. The number of life. Very important. But this… it’s a religious object and I thought, well, a more religious date might be more appropriate.”
“Chanukah’s not that religious, Mama. Pretty minor holiday, really, in comparison.” She glared at him and he knew better than to interrupt again.
“I realize that, but it’s the only other time you get presents. And before you say a word, Purim doesn’t count! I know you don’t go to shul and I know the religious significance is moot. But it was still important I give it to you.” Bridge furrowed his eyebrows and opened the box. Inside, folded in half, was a dark blue silk kippah. It had delicate silver designs stitched around the edges, looping the entire way around. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“It’s a kippah,” he said. He wanted to say thank you, he knew it was important, but he couldn’t figure it out. She knew he wouldn’t wear it but two or three times a year and this seemed too fancy, very well made, to just be a once in a while ritual gift.
“It was your Zayde’s,” she replied. He sucked in a deep breath. His Zayde’s kippah. Well that changed everything.
“Zayde’s…” he whispered. He took one glove off and delicately fingered the stitching. He didn’t get any memories, but he could feel his Zayde still hiding in it, his emotions, his devotion, his very essence intertwined with all the fibers of the kippah. Zayde had worn it every single day and all that life had been infused to the kippah. Bridge immediately put it on and vowed to wear it at every opportunity, no matter what his actual beliefs were.
“You don’t mind?” she asked. His swallowed over a lump in his throat.
“It was Zayde’s.” It was the only answer he needed to give. She understood. No man had ever been so important to him as his grandfather. His mother had raised him well all on her own and he absolutely attributed everything he was becoming to her. But his Zayde had shown him how to be a man, what a true man should be. He had spent his whole life trying to be someone his Zayde would be proud to call family.
He took off a glove and held his mother’s hand tight. They sat in silence as the candles burnt down beside them.
Fandom: Power Rangers SPD
Rating: K/G/general audience
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Seventh of eight fics for Chanukah.
Disclaimer: not mine, alas
Saturday December 24, 2022
Age eighteen
The lights were all off when he came to the front walk. He knew his mom was pulling extra shifts at the hospital that weekend to cover the people that wanted to be home for Christmas, but he hoped she’d be home in time for dinner at least. She knew he was coming for the weekend. He pulled out his keys and let himself in. Digging through the kitchen, he realized he was just too tired to cook much and no way would his mom want to cook after having worked such long shifts. He spied the folder of take away menus on the counter and figured he’d do them both a favour.
He passed on the Chinese food. Sunday would be their annual Chinese-food-and-a-movie Christmas date, and he didn’t want to have it both nights. Pizza was okay, but nothing really sounded that great. He settled for the local sub shop and placed the order. Half an hour and they’d have a nice dinner with very little effort involved.
He pulled a small gift from his overnight bag before dumping it in his bedroom, and then set the gift on the coffee table. It wasn’t much, but he hoped his mom would like it. He kicked his feet up, turned on the tv, and waited.
He was lost in the show when the lock clicked in the door and his mother walked in. He barely registered her and didn’t look away from the tv.
“A Charlie Brown Christmas?” she asked. He smiled.
“Mmm. It was this, A Christmas Story, or three different channels of It’s a Wonderful Life. Besides, I like the Snoopy dance.” She chuckled and headed upstairs to change out of her work uniform. By the time she was done, the sandwiches had arrived and Bridge was getting them all laid out. She collapsed on the couch next to him and he passed the pastrami on rye her way.
The sun was well set before they finished eating. Bridge cleaned up while his mother got the chanukiah ready. Seven candles plus one shamash. It would be stunning with all the light. Bridge shut off the television on his way over to the little table in front of the window. His mother struck the match for the shamash, and then within a matter of seconds, had lit everything else. The living room glowed with the warmth and Bridge smiled. This always was his favourite part. He recited the blessings with his mother and then thrust the present into her hands and demanded she open it right away.
“You didn’t have to get me anything!” she exclaimed. He just smiled when she pulled out the small silver star of david necklace. It wasn’t much, but it would replace the one she’d broken months ago. She hadn’t worn one since.
“Oh Bridgey,” she sighed. She hugged him tight and kissed his forehead as thanks, just as she’d done when he was small. She clasped it around her neck and it glinted in the candlelight. He reached for his and she stopped him with a hand.
“There’s a story to it first, honey. I’ve had it waiting for you for years now, but I waited until now for a reason.” He waited patiently. She took a deep breath and he saw her hand shaking. “I thought about giving it to you at your last birthday. Eighteen is a big deal. The number of chai. The number of life. Very important. But this… it’s a religious object and I thought, well, a more religious date might be more appropriate.”
“Chanukah’s not that religious, Mama. Pretty minor holiday, really, in comparison.” She glared at him and he knew better than to interrupt again.
“I realize that, but it’s the only other time you get presents. And before you say a word, Purim doesn’t count! I know you don’t go to shul and I know the religious significance is moot. But it was still important I give it to you.” Bridge furrowed his eyebrows and opened the box. Inside, folded in half, was a dark blue silk kippah. It had delicate silver designs stitched around the edges, looping the entire way around. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“It’s a kippah,” he said. He wanted to say thank you, he knew it was important, but he couldn’t figure it out. She knew he wouldn’t wear it but two or three times a year and this seemed too fancy, very well made, to just be a once in a while ritual gift.
“It was your Zayde’s,” she replied. He sucked in a deep breath. His Zayde’s kippah. Well that changed everything.
“Zayde’s…” he whispered. He took one glove off and delicately fingered the stitching. He didn’t get any memories, but he could feel his Zayde still hiding in it, his emotions, his devotion, his very essence intertwined with all the fibers of the kippah. Zayde had worn it every single day and all that life had been infused to the kippah. Bridge immediately put it on and vowed to wear it at every opportunity, no matter what his actual beliefs were.
“You don’t mind?” she asked. His swallowed over a lump in his throat.
“It was Zayde’s.” It was the only answer he needed to give. She understood. No man had ever been so important to him as his grandfather. His mother had raised him well all on her own and he absolutely attributed everything he was becoming to her. But his Zayde had shown him how to be a man, what a true man should be. He had spent his whole life trying to be someone his Zayde would be proud to call family.
He took off a glove and held his mother’s hand tight. They sat in silence as the candles burnt down beside them.