Kritzerland

He was scared. More scared than he'd ever been in his entire life, and Benjamin Kritzer had been plenty scared before. After all, hadn't he been tormented by the Bad Men for years? Oh, yes, he'd been tormented by the Bad Men for years, but this was 1960 and he was thirteen now and the Bad Men seemed to have moved on, presumably to torment some other little boy. However, the Bad Men had been replaced by something equally as frightening to Benjamin Kritzer and, stranger still, the new, equally frightening thing had the same initials as the Bad Men. B.M. Only this time B.M. didn't stand for Bad Men. It stood for Bar Mitzvah.

Today was the day Benjamin Kritzer was going to be a man. That's what Rabbi Pressman had told him, that's what his Hebrew School teacher, Mrs. Slatinsky, had told him and that's what his Martian parents, Ernie and Minnie Kritzer had told him. Yes, from today forward he would forever be known as Benjamin Kritzer, Man. Lately, he'd taken to answering the phone like that: "Benjamin Kritzer, Man," he'd say to whoever happened to be calling. He wanted to have business cards printed up like that......Benjamin Kritzer, Man......like Paladin had on Have Gun, Will Travel.

Benjamin Kritzer, Man, was sitting on the stage of Temple Beth Am (at least he thought of it as a stage), dressed in an ugly black suit, an ugly white shirt, an ugly tie, and ugly black shoes, and he looked about as comfortable as Janet Leigh after her shower in Psycho. He'd seen Psycho that summer at the El Rey Theater on Wilshire Boulevard and it had, as Minnie Kritzer put it, scared the bejeezus out of him. He didn't really know what the bejeezus was, but whatever it was, Psycho had scared it out of him, although apparently there was still some bejeezus left in him, given his current state.

Rabbi Pressman put his hand on Benjamin's knee, not so much in reassurance, but because Benjamin's knee was going up and down a mile a minute, like one of those oil pumps on La Cienega. His heart was thud-thudding in his chest, because soon he knew he'd be at the podium, soon he'd be going through his Bar Mitzvah ceremony, speaking all of the haftorah he'd so dutifully memorized. Soon he'd be making his "Today I am a man" speech, which he'd also dutifully memorized and rehearsed into the Webcor tape recorder that Ernie had dutifully bought him. He didn't know why he was so petrified - after all, it wasn't like he hadn't performed in front of people before. He'd been doing The Benjamin Kritzer Hour for years. But this was different, and although he'd survived the Bad Men, survived his brother Jeffrey (so far), survived being hit with the hanger, and even survived a broken heart, he was not at all certain he'd survive this.

Suddenly, Rabbi Pressman was standing up, which meant that Benjamin had to stand up. The Rabbi gestured for him to go to the podium. Benjamin rose from his chair in slow motion. He crossed to the podium in slow motion. Why was everything in slow motion, he wondered? He got to the podium and looked out at the congregation. Sitting in the second row were his parents and brother. Jeffrey was making faces at him, Ernie was sitting there, hands resting on his rotund belly with his eyes shut, and Minnie, wearing a lurid green dress (of course she was...what other color dress would a Martian wear?) and her pointy rhinestone glasses, was waving at him. Waving at him, for heaven's sake. That simply made Benjamin Kritzer want to vomit on the ground. Why did mothers behave that way? It was so embarrassing, but there she was, nevertheless, waving at him like some out-of-control train signal.

Benjamin took a deep breath, tried not to look at his family, and began reciting the haftorah.

"Barchu et adonai hamvorach--"

Out of the corner of his eye, Benjamin could see Jeffrey giving him the finger. Yes, today Benjamin was going to be a man, all right, and the first thing he would do as a man would be to stab Jeffrey with a kitchen knife when he got home. Benjamin's knee was still shaking uncontrollably and was actually hitting the podium, which added a nice rat-a-tat rhythm to his sing-songy recitation. He continued reciting as the congregation looked on, watching proudly as Benjamin Kritzer became a man.