My father said to my brother and me: “Doesn’t she remind you of Evil Bavmorda?”

At restaurants on those August evenings after full days at the beach, the maitre’d or old couples would pass by our table and look at our suntanned faces, showered hair, and freshly washed clothes and say to my parents, “Oh, your family is so beautiful.” My parents said “thank you” and we would sit up a little straighter in our chairs.


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