It seemed to us that the stores, like childhood itself, would last forever

WE were driving down the I-95 to Washington DC for a three-day vacation.

We pass a sign: “Rising Sun — 1 mile.”

“Rising Sun,” I point out to my husband.

“Hmm. Cute name,” he says.

“We had a store there.”

At its peak, my family’s business operated 50 stores, stretching across the Northeast down to Virginia. There was the Nanuet store, the Baldwin store, the Rising Sun store, and so on. My neighbor’s father was a rosh yeshivah of a local yeshivah — her family had “the yeshivah.” Our family had the store.

The store was so much a part of my identity it was like a member of our family. It was a relative that came to every family gathering. I remember hearing my mother ask my father how the stores were doing. I heard the concern in her voice. She really cared. Of course she did! Us kids, for the most part, couldn’t care less. It seemed to us that the stores, like childhood itself, would last forever.