Day 03 - Your parents, in great detail
I have been very remiss and will endeavor to get caught up here.
My parents... wow, that's a heavy topic. As some of you know, I had a complicated relationship with my parents which holds true to this day, may years after their deaths. Well, best to get started.
My father was Robert, usually known as Bob. He was a talented linguist and could speak 8 languages and make himself understood practically anywhere. He was a very talented musician. He could play (and play well) the recorder, the tin whistle, banjo and several different styles of guitar: flamenco, classical and folk. He played 6 and 12 string guitars and also steel string.
His background was a bit of a mystery. He rarely spoke about his family, we never saw anyone except his mother who lived in a mental institution (I didn't know that until years and years later - they just told me she lived in a hospital) and we would make trips out to Long Island periodically to see her, but my brother and I were never allowed in to see her. We waited outside and sat on a wooden bench and squinted in the sun. He was born in Poughkeepsie, NY and was drafted into the army during WWII. He never spoke much about his time in the army, but I do know he was in Paris and was part of one of the teams that liberated one of the concentration camps - I never could get him to tell me which one. He went to college on the GI bill and that's where he met my mother. He started out planning to be a professional photographer and he had a successful studio for several years, but the pressures of raising a family sent him into teaching. He loved teaching and became a high school History teacher, specializing in the American Revolution. He pioneered a class teaching that period through the songs of the era and later designed and taught a similar course on the Civil War, also using the songs that were being sung throughout the war years and also Reconstruction. That was one of the ways news was passed - through song. He wrote several textbooks too.
He was a smoker for many years, as was my mom. She quit when I was in high school, he kept smoking (partly out of defiance) until I was in college. He ended up with severe edema (water retention) around the heart and he also had micro strokes - hundreds of them. The effect was to mimic Alzheimer's - he lost his short term memory and became very childlike. It was heartbreaking to watch. He died, hooked up to the machines he hated, just before my birthday in 2000.
I look more like my dad than my mom. I have his temper and his talent for languages too. I wish we had been closer.
My mother was Rita. (Yes, the Beatles song was a favorite.) She was blond and rather Nordic looking with blue/gray eyes and fair skin that tanned at the first hint of sun. She was taller than my dad by a couple of inches and I always thought she was beautiful and very regal looking. She was very smart - could do the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle in ink in about 20 minutes. Drove me nuts. She was born and raised in Brooklyn in fairly traditional Russian household. Her father was an insurance salesman - very gregarious, knew and was liked by everyone but was a bit of a tyrant in his own home. Her mother, my grandmother Manya, was a sweet, soft-spoken woman who never crossed her husband. My mother had an older brother (by 6 years), my much beloved Uncle Sonny. His real name was Bernard. My uncle felt incredible guilt for the way my mom was treated in their house by their father, but that's how it was. Everything was for Bernard - new clothes, the best of everything. My mom got hand-me-downs and was basically treated as second best. Sonny never thought of her that way.
My mom still managed to go to college which is where she met my dad. They had a rather bohemian life style: apartment in Greenwich Village, clubbing all the time, working for the Communist party, hanging out with the Weavers and Paul Robeson and supporting local craftspeople. I still have their wedding rings, which were handmade for them by a goldsmith in the Village out of 3 different kinds of gold. They were married a week after my grandfather passed away suddenly from a heart attack. In the Jewish tradition, the needs of the living take priority over death. My mom wore a yellow silk suit and they moved into an apartment in Coney Island, Brooklyn with my grandmother. I think my parents would have been much happier if they had stayed in Greenwich Village, but they did what was expected of them.
My mom became a teacher, which was her life-long passion. She stuck to the elementary school years - her favorites were the second and third graders. She taught in Brooklyn until we moved out to Long Island.
My mom was slow to make friends, a very private person. Once she let someone in, they were friends for life. She was close to many of the teachers she worked with, and I grew up surrounded by them.
I think Rita suffered from life-long depression; never diagnosed, never treated. We were opposites in so many ways - I have a fairly sunny outlook on life and tend to think the best of people and anticipate good things. (Yeah, I know you've all seen some of my darker moments, but really, I'm a Pollyanna at heart.) I can remember my mother admonishing me not to look forward to a friend's birthday party because I shouldn't get my hopes up. It can be tough to grow up around that.
My mom had Multiple Sclerosis, which they diagnose as coming on around the time I was born, in 1958. She had the looooong slow decline type of MS - many plateaus, many delays and then a sudden drop and degradation of symptoms until she would hit another plateau. The last time I remember her walking was for my wedding, in 1983. After that she ended up in a wheelchair, which she hated. She had to retire early from teaching because her walking was getting worse and she was afraid to drive. My dad retired early, in part to take care of her. She tried all kinds of treatments, flew to Canada to see a specialist in Toronto, quit smoking, changed her diet and investigated new therapies and medications. Sadly, most of the advances in MS (and there have been many and major) didn't happen until it was too late for her.
My mom passed away almost exactly a year after my dad. I knew that once one of them went, the other would follow soon after. They were devoted to each other and I don't think could really function without the other.
From them I got a love of music, exploration, New England, art and theater. I didn't get anything from them as far as parenting goes, except a clear example of what not to do.
I still miss them though. I wish they could have lived longer to see my children grow up.
My parents... wow, that's a heavy topic. As some of you know, I had a complicated relationship with my parents which holds true to this day, may years after their deaths. Well, best to get started.
My father was Robert, usually known as Bob. He was a talented linguist and could speak 8 languages and make himself understood practically anywhere. He was a very talented musician. He could play (and play well) the recorder, the tin whistle, banjo and several different styles of guitar: flamenco, classical and folk. He played 6 and 12 string guitars and also steel string.
His background was a bit of a mystery. He rarely spoke about his family, we never saw anyone except his mother who lived in a mental institution (I didn't know that until years and years later - they just told me she lived in a hospital) and we would make trips out to Long Island periodically to see her, but my brother and I were never allowed in to see her. We waited outside and sat on a wooden bench and squinted in the sun. He was born in Poughkeepsie, NY and was drafted into the army during WWII. He never spoke much about his time in the army, but I do know he was in Paris and was part of one of the teams that liberated one of the concentration camps - I never could get him to tell me which one. He went to college on the GI bill and that's where he met my mother. He started out planning to be a professional photographer and he had a successful studio for several years, but the pressures of raising a family sent him into teaching. He loved teaching and became a high school History teacher, specializing in the American Revolution. He pioneered a class teaching that period through the songs of the era and later designed and taught a similar course on the Civil War, also using the songs that were being sung throughout the war years and also Reconstruction. That was one of the ways news was passed - through song. He wrote several textbooks too.
He was a smoker for many years, as was my mom. She quit when I was in high school, he kept smoking (partly out of defiance) until I was in college. He ended up with severe edema (water retention) around the heart and he also had micro strokes - hundreds of them. The effect was to mimic Alzheimer's - he lost his short term memory and became very childlike. It was heartbreaking to watch. He died, hooked up to the machines he hated, just before my birthday in 2000.
I look more like my dad than my mom. I have his temper and his talent for languages too. I wish we had been closer.
My mother was Rita. (Yes, the Beatles song was a favorite.) She was blond and rather Nordic looking with blue/gray eyes and fair skin that tanned at the first hint of sun. She was taller than my dad by a couple of inches and I always thought she was beautiful and very regal looking. She was very smart - could do the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle in ink in about 20 minutes. Drove me nuts. She was born and raised in Brooklyn in fairly traditional Russian household. Her father was an insurance salesman - very gregarious, knew and was liked by everyone but was a bit of a tyrant in his own home. Her mother, my grandmother Manya, was a sweet, soft-spoken woman who never crossed her husband. My mother had an older brother (by 6 years), my much beloved Uncle Sonny. His real name was Bernard. My uncle felt incredible guilt for the way my mom was treated in their house by their father, but that's how it was. Everything was for Bernard - new clothes, the best of everything. My mom got hand-me-downs and was basically treated as second best. Sonny never thought of her that way.
My mom still managed to go to college which is where she met my dad. They had a rather bohemian life style: apartment in Greenwich Village, clubbing all the time, working for the Communist party, hanging out with the Weavers and Paul Robeson and supporting local craftspeople. I still have their wedding rings, which were handmade for them by a goldsmith in the Village out of 3 different kinds of gold. They were married a week after my grandfather passed away suddenly from a heart attack. In the Jewish tradition, the needs of the living take priority over death. My mom wore a yellow silk suit and they moved into an apartment in Coney Island, Brooklyn with my grandmother. I think my parents would have been much happier if they had stayed in Greenwich Village, but they did what was expected of them.
My mom became a teacher, which was her life-long passion. She stuck to the elementary school years - her favorites were the second and third graders. She taught in Brooklyn until we moved out to Long Island.
My mom was slow to make friends, a very private person. Once she let someone in, they were friends for life. She was close to many of the teachers she worked with, and I grew up surrounded by them.
I think Rita suffered from life-long depression; never diagnosed, never treated. We were opposites in so many ways - I have a fairly sunny outlook on life and tend to think the best of people and anticipate good things. (Yeah, I know you've all seen some of my darker moments, but really, I'm a Pollyanna at heart.) I can remember my mother admonishing me not to look forward to a friend's birthday party because I shouldn't get my hopes up. It can be tough to grow up around that.
My mom had Multiple Sclerosis, which they diagnose as coming on around the time I was born, in 1958. She had the looooong slow decline type of MS - many plateaus, many delays and then a sudden drop and degradation of symptoms until she would hit another plateau. The last time I remember her walking was for my wedding, in 1983. After that she ended up in a wheelchair, which she hated. She had to retire early from teaching because her walking was getting worse and she was afraid to drive. My dad retired early, in part to take care of her. She tried all kinds of treatments, flew to Canada to see a specialist in Toronto, quit smoking, changed her diet and investigated new therapies and medications. Sadly, most of the advances in MS (and there have been many and major) didn't happen until it was too late for her.
My mom passed away almost exactly a year after my dad. I knew that once one of them went, the other would follow soon after. They were devoted to each other and I don't think could really function without the other.
From them I got a love of music, exploration, New England, art and theater. I didn't get anything from them as far as parenting goes, except a clear example of what not to do.
I still miss them though. I wish they could have lived longer to see my children grow up.