Even in her Alzheimer fog, my mother had a way of attracting the opposite sex. I always called it a "knack" that some people have and some people wish they had. It is certainly an intangible.

After my father died at the age of 58 it seemed like a host of suitors descended onto and into my mother's kitchen. She was not that great a cook but I guess that is where that "knack" comes in.

My children, her grandchildren, were always being introduced to some new senior citizen. Each widower had his own charm and interesting story. One was Hungarian, one was Polish, but they were all Jewish. My mother's kosher kitchen became a refuge for the single men on Pelham Parkway and Lydig Avenue of the Bronx. She treated them all the same, with a little bit of scorn and a lot of gentle badgering.

I attended funerals of some of these suitors and they were all gentlemen from the old school.

Alzheimer's disease is not easy to recognize in its beginning stages. Perserveration (repetition) of sayings and unusual behavior slowly add up to the correct diagnosis. Denial adds to the inability to see problems in a loved one.

On one visit to the Bronx, my mother introduced me to a new friend she had met in the supermarket. His wife had died recently and somehow he and my mom started taking walks together on the Lydig Avenue. He seemed like a reluctant boyfriend but that did not stop my mother. She introduced him to all her pals and acquaintances (which were legion) as they strolled.

She did the same to me when we walked together, "This is my son Stanley, the dentist" she would offer to every person and especially to policemen and storekeepers. She was on "automatic pilot" and every passerby got a salutation.

This particular gentleman grew tired of it very quickly. He called me on the phone and he pleaded his case to me. "Your mother is a lovely woman, but my wife just died and I am not ready for a relationship. Besides that, she introduces me to everyone in Pelham Parkway, and it's getting embarrassing."

"I understand," I said, "I will tell my mother." After all, I had no power to make him stay and be a proper suitor to my mother.

All my life I was the "apple of my mother's eye." She never found fault with me and she rarely reprimanded me. But this time, out of her Alzheimer's fog, she said in Yiddish, very coolly and very thoughtfully, "You have given him the right to leave me."

Try as I might, I could not change her appraisal of the situation. She was correct, I was her son and I let somebody hurt her. It hurt me deeply.

Soon, she was over it and there was another gray-haired escort walking down the avenue with my mom.

I never got over that reprimand and that is why I am writing this column.