When I was a kid in Camp Munk, they would give an award to every boy at summer’s end, and I invariably got the loser award: best middos.  It meant I couldn’t hit a baseball or sink a basket.

I found it sort of embarrassing, and I would hide the award in my luggage after camp, but my mother would find it and dig it out.

I remember how she and my father called me into a room.  They had tears in their eyes.

They indicated the award and said, “David, this is our greatest hope for you.  Do you think being able to score goals or make jump shots means something to us?  This is what’s important, that you be kind, that you be empathetic, that you be honest, that you be a mentch.”

You know what?  That stayed with me…the tears, the way they let me know that they really cared. That remains.

~ Dr. David Pelcovitz