Sorry, I’ve got to brag! No, not brag exactly; the best word for what I am about to do here is “Kvell”. It’s a Yiddish word. I know less than twenty words in that language of my forebearers, and like most of the Yiddish words I know, “Kvell” has no exact English equivalent. If those Yiddish terms were easily translated, I wouldn’t bother to know or remember even twenty of them.
The spelling of “Kvell” here is phonetic and arbitrary; who knows how to spell Yiddish words in English. It has a different alphabet and is primarily a spoken language among the 2nd and 3rd generation American born, although there is quite an impressive collection of Yiddish literature for those who do read it . We Yankees don’t read it. We just draw on it for the “precise bon mot” on a given occasion. (An aside: Interesting that we’re illiterate in Yiddish: considering we are called the people of the book. Which brings me directly to the thing I‘ve got to Kvell about. )
Here we go: Remember that 4 ½ year old grandson I have talked about before—the dude who asked his mother for a new baby once he felt he had taught his 18 month old brother everything he knows and so is ready for a new blank slate recipient for his wisdom? Well, he’s done it again---made me Kvell. This is a biggy.
He ran out of school one day recently (a new pre-school for him) and rushed excitedly to his waiting mom. “Mommy, Mommy,” he shouted breathlessly, “Guess What? Guess What?” My school has a library in it!!!!” He was carrying evidence—a newly stamped library book. And this after he had very recently said to me on the phone, “Oh, Grandma, I love reading books”. He doesn’t read yet, but he sure is getting ready. Wouldn’t you kvell if he were your grandson?