Me and Mimi Stolzenberg had our share of tussles over the years. Many was the time I wanted to wring her scrawny neck, truth be told. She was a force, and not always for good — the prototypical mother-in-law, on steroids.

She was a Real New Yorker, opinionated, loud, and in-your-face. She was a lot for me to handle, when I first met her at age 23 or so. She immediately started to steamroll me, and I pushed back hard.

But politically, and morally, she was always on the right side of the issues. The yellow playground-image poster of the sixties (“What if they gave a war, and nobody came?”) hung in her kitchenette. She was a fearless progressive and supporter of the underdog. As a child, she entered the NYC public school system barely understanding English, for only Yiddish was spoken in her home.

She had a lot of tough breaks over the years, challenges that would have flattened lesser mortals. Her first-born son died young, and her husband followed suit two years later. He died of a broken heart, I imagine, although the three pack a day habit sure didn’t help.

But Mimi? She was a grinder. She kept chipping away at life as best she could, creating a household atmosphere where learning and self-improvement were fostered and cherished — and enforced. Overbearing? According to her kids, that was an understatement.

To her credit, and against all odds, she earned two masters degrees in primary education when she was well into middle age. She taught kindergarten in South Ozone Park for decades, was a macher (that is, a big cheese) in the SEEK program, and pushed her students until they all READ by the time they went on to first grade.

After retirement, her former students wrote her Christmas cards with words of appreciation for their first teacher.

No one lives forever. But this virus is an inglorious way to go out. The De Witt Clinton High School, all-id part of my brain says “Hey, pick on someone your own size, covid-19. Let’s take it outside…” The adult part of my brain says, “Hey, take care of your loved ones, appreciate every day, and STAY SAFE!”

Alev hasholem, Mimi Stolzenberg.

I’m waiting for a moment like this, to unite us, coast to coast:

It is 9/21/01, 10 days after that terrible Tuesday. Me, Ronni Stolzenberg and Daniel Kleinman agreed we should go out to eat and get out of the house. We went to 200 Fifth which is a sports bar with many monitors and a very mixed crowd. That is, liberals of all colors, religions and views, and conservatives, from blue-collar white ethnics to Wall Street Masters of the Universe.

We wait for our burgers. There is a pre-game show for the Mets; it is the first game in NYC on TV after 9/11. On the monitors, the crowd at the stadium stands and the music plays.

Suddenly, the restaurant is silent. Everyone — EVERYONE — stands, sings and cries. It was heartbreaking and yet weirdly wonderful. I’ll never forget that moment when, for once, we were ALL on the same page and truly in it, together.

Oh, and the Mets won, off Piazza’s HR in the 8th.