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Solomon's got a hell of a name.

It's almost akin to being named Moses or Abraham in his mind, only without the obvious connotations. "Solomon" does, however, bear almost the same weight when it comes to the biblical implications. And he's okay at bearing it. He'd be better if his grandfather didn't remind him of it with his very presence.

Dave (because neither Gramps, Grandpa, nor Grandfather fit) was this close to being ordained a rabbi. He won't tell Solomon why he quit but Solomon suspects the Vietnam War (which David also won't talk about) has a lot to do with it. One of the first things he was taught was to never, ever sneak up on Dave. Just don't. But even without the title, Dave knows a lot about Jewish history and the religion itself.

Solomon took his 13th birthday in stride, along with the bar mitzvah that accompanied it. It was worth it to see Dave beam at him, to see the pride that spilled out in tears. But since, it's only gotten worse.

Even though it's not, almost every conversation seems to have the words "kibbutz," "Israel," and "rabbinical school in New York." And although Solomon likes being Jewish well enough, he wants to be a beat writer. He knows Dave is aware of this but is in denial. And Solomon hasn't got the heart to confront him about it.

Eventually the discussion will have to happen. Every time Solomon opens the newspaper or turns on ESPN he is reminded of how badly, how ardently he wants to be a sports journalist. And he's got the skills and the knowledge to do it. Already he's enrolled in Rutgers, and already he's signed up for every related class he can handle. All that remains is Dave.

Ah, Dave…

He's a really, really good guy – he just wants Solomon to be what he wants Solomon to be. No parent (or grandparent) is completely blameless in that regard. Dave comes from a different time. His father was a prominent rabbi, and as such Dave was expected to follow the same footsteps. Maybe he wanted Solomon to compensate for his own "failure" to do so (if serving your country when called upon is a failure).

Solomon's eighteenth birthday is approaching, and he's pretty sure he knows what he wants. He wants this talk to go over well. He wants Dave to be prouder than ever, and to have faith in his boy. Solomon has always loved Dave.

He's just entering Dave's study when he sees Dave's face resting in his palms, shoulders sagging, glasses hanging from his fingers. Solomon doesn't speak, only waits. Dave waves him over to the other rolly chair he used to spin around in when he was little.

"Dave?" he prompts. The yarmulke normally atop his head is noticeably missing.

"Solomon, it's cancer."

"What?" He didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Lung cancer." He chuckles without humor. "I always knew HaShem would punish me for those Cuban cigars."

Solomon blinks a few more times before finally asking "Is it operable?"

"Yes."

"Good." Yeah, that's really good. "Others should be so lucky."

"I know. I'm just having a bit of a crisis of faith right now," Dave snaps.

Solomon's not hurt. He opens the top drawer and pulls out the dark blue head covering and Hebrew Bible, places the former on Dave's head and opens the latter to Psalms. "Read."

Solomon runs to his room and finds his own white yarmulke, and dashes back to the den.

They start reading out loud together.

Solomon's changed his mind about what he wants for his birthday.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: who forgives all your iniquities, who heals all your diseases…