It was my beloved cousin Michael's Bar Mitzva. He was like a brother to me. I wore my best dress. I was just 18 and decided to have a drink at the bar. I ordered something called a 'Tom Collins' and drank it like a soda. I went back for another.
The next thing, I felt so sick, I ran outside and was puking in the gutter.
My father came out, and saw me, and caught me, and walked me back home, as we lived two blocks from the synagogue.
Home alone, I took off my dress, lay on my bed, feeling the world turning.
In a few hours I was so ashamed. I pulled on my jeans and a blouse and ran across the Courtyard to my Aunt's house to apologise.
As I came before her, she imperiously glared at me and said; "Because you wore a mini skirt I didn't call you to the Bimah!"
I was in a state of shock, and walked away, went downstairs.
I stood in this amused disbelief.
There I was, going to apologise, and she, so focused on slighting me, didn't even realise I wasn't there.
It was then I realised how much my Aunt hated me.
Two years later, her second son was Bar Mitzva'd and I made sure my sister had a couple of drinks. We wound up sitting on the floor in the ladies room. My sister was talking about whatever when my Aunt pushed in to tell us to come up to the cake.
My sister, completely drunk asked; "Who's Birthday is it?"
Angrily, my Aunt glared at me, hatred dripping, then stormed out. We continued to sit on the floor for another thirty minutes or so, then staggered out.
Later, I told my cousin that as she hadn't called me for his brother, it wasn't right for us to be called for him.
