When I was in kindergarten, my mother married George Mitchell David. My first memory of him was of a very tall, dark-haired man wearing a trench coat with pockets full of Juicy Fruit gum and Mary Jane candies which he happily doled out to this wee holder of boring suspicious eyes. He was a wonderful man who not only stepped into the very difficult position of stepfather to two young children but also folded us into his very large, very close Lebanese family.
Growing up in a large extended family, I learned two very important family meal rules pretty quickly. First, never giggle while saying grace. The hand of Bunny, backward with onxy ring a’flashing would be down on the back of your head in a New York second. Second, and probably even more importantly, never ever sit across from Cizzie at the table.