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November 19, 2004
A gift that went astray
With the best intentions, a dad buys his son a watch.
TED ROBERTS
Yes, I know we're not supposed to give opulent presents on Chanukah.
That's why I usually give my kids a fine pair of socks. Brand new!
And a pair for each child. (Nothing tawdry; I always spend an extra
25 cents for the reinforced heels.) But one of my kids this year
has been exceptionally patient with this patriarch. If sons got
medals from fathers, he'd be wearing the Silver Magen David Award
with oak leaf clusters. He deserved something special – something
shiny and expensive for Chanukah.
A Rolex. Yes! A Rolex. Would he not be proud? And was I not going
to New York anyway to attend the hair-cutting of my three-year-old
great-grandson?
Herb, my best pal, who often visits the city, knows his way around
Manhattan like Judah Maccabee knew the hills and valleys of Judea.
"Ted," he says, "go down to Canal Street. There's
a Rolex dealer on every corner. And if you change your mind and
wanna buy him the Kohinor diamond, I know a stand where they've
got a stack of them."
"But Lenny, the watches, are they real?"
"Real steal – who knows the difference? The dial says
Rolex, not Schmolex and even the second hand has moves as smooth
as mayo. And by the way, this precision chronograph will cost you
less than the price of two corned beefs, plus a side of slaw."
This was news! I was prepared to pay 60 to 70 dollars.
"Tell you what," says my friend. "I'll even go with
you." Wow. This is like shopping for stocks with Warren Buffet
at your side.
So, it's two weeks later and I'm standing on the corner of Canal
and Vine in New York City. I'm surrounded by a horde of marketeers
waving Rolexes in my face. My wife, who worships at the shrines
T.J. Maxx and Steinmart, sneers like she doesn't believe in bargains.
On her own pink and dimpled wrist, she wears a Gucci that I bought
from an enterprising marketeer of chronographs in this same low-rent
bazaar.
Anyhow, one of the guys with two dozen Rolexes on his arm is waving
it at me faster than all his competitors. And honesty glows in his
face. I can tell because his eyes are set widely apart and they're
not shifty and they are as big and round as his reliable product.
I select him as my trading partner.
He explains that this particular Rolex was put together in Hong
Kong – not exactly a hotbed of Swiss expatriates and maybe
the bezel wasn't 24-karat gold and so what if the insides were soft
as Philadelphia cream cheese. The classic face and the name were
a perfect replica. And what kind of racist nonsense dictated that
a bright young Hunan province rice-picker couldn't make a timepiece
as well as a Swiss engineer. A Rolex by any name would keep good
time, right? Just because it was a Chanukah gift, did it have to
come from Petach Tikvah?
"How much?" I ask as I point to one shiny specimen –
only six watches up his wrist - not way up on his bicep where the
band would be stretched.
"Ninety-nine dollars."
As silent as a dead watch, I turn and walk off.
He sprints after me. I'm hoping my watch won't fall off as he runs.
"OK, OK, gimme 66."
I offer 35 and the deal is done.
Maybe, I'm thinking, 20 years from now when I'm sick and old and
honest, I'll confess with a thin laugh that maybe it wasn't the
true goods. And it wasn't really a lie. Who knows. Maybe it was
the genuine article – maybe the one they kept to copy got mixed
up with the dupes and ended up on Canal Street? Could happen, you
know.
And I had every intention of sending it to my son – with a
terribly detailed story of its authenticity. But then something
about the elegant look of it with its gleaming (yellow) band, and
the little magnified bubble that displayed the date, captured my
greed. Besides, how could I tell a lie to my oldest son? Clearly,
the ethical choice was to keep it. And I did. It was my Chanukah
gift to myself.
Ted Roberts is a nationally syndicated Jewish humorist
whose work regularly appears in the Jewish press. He can be reached
at [email protected].
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