"A Lasting Impression" continued.

This duality was emblematic of the feeling I had around Mr. Forman. The familiarity of his ways - always the vest with the double pockets, the pipe, the contained walk - gave to me as a child a sense of initiative, forward movement as if one could safely adventure forth. At the same time, I felt within that container there was a magical world of struggle and self-reflection. He would watch and every once in a while offer a new perspective, often through his use of words, on whatever we were doing. His voice itself, which is what I remember most about him, seemed to evoke both possibility and the need to persist. It was raspy, with a kind of depth formed from years of smoking a certain kind of tobacco that came in a round tin. His voice seemed to come from so low in himself, and at times it felt to me like it came from beyond himself, full of mystery. It is Mr. Forman's voice that persists in me most clearly, as if it is still here, still struggling and still hopeful.

Yes, this jam was "extraordinary!," remarkable!...  I watched the adults in the room in amazement, three or four at each table were tasting this jam as if for the first time, and also marveling at its taste, adding their own accolades.  

The thing was, I was on the set-up team and personally scooped Smucker’s jam from oversized jars and divided it up into little bowls.  Needless to say, this was an everyday jam.

It was a shock, as a child, to look at half the room of adults, not knowing what to trust. I even tasted some of the jams myself, all the while looking at Mr. Forman and Nathalie waiting for a punchline or any hint of a wink, or a pause in their acting - relief that never came.  To this day, I can’t be sure if they were acting.