I was 11 years old, interviewing myself in the bathroom mirror, door locked, settled on top of the counter. The upstairs bathroom, we called it, aptly so. It had a full bathtub and a true laundry chute and a working lock- all draws to any kid in a family of six (kids, that is). Add in the parents, 8 of us, privacy hard to come by. The chute looked like a large wooden milk crate with a latched lid; you could open it and deposit clothes or towels down a large rectangular tube of aluminum into the laundry room below. Other things that went that way-toys, shoes, and my sister’s fingernail collection once when I was so red faced enraged at her and could think of no worse punishment than to spend out what she had carefully saved. There is no replacement for a dumped collection of fingernails in dirty laundry, no dash to the local K-Mart. A year later, I would unravel her knitting, one row at a time, tears pouring down my face as I pulled on the string first one direction, then the other, recommitting to the destruction each time the row came to an end and I moved on to the next one. I can’t remember what it was that she did to me in either instance, only the feeling of being so very angry that I had to do something, and then the shock and power of reacting with irreversible damage. I can’t think of doing it a third time.
I'm 9 years old and it is a bright sunny day in northeastern Ohio. I am outside on our back patio which was just a slab of concrete, but to me, my siblings, and my cousins it was a space where we could have many adventures. We are all wearing our swimsuits, lying on beach towels, and soaking up as much sun as we can. I am filled with energy, excitement, and happiness because I'm surrounded by family and enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and it feels like I'm being hugged by the sun. There is music playing and we all begin to dance around. I am carefree in that moment. I am not filled with anxiety or worry, just being fully present in the moment. I truly feel like a child in that moment, as it should be. This moment feels like it will last forever and I don't want it to end. Little do I know at that moment how precious this memory is and how important it is to fully cherish one's childhood.
I don’t remember when we stopped talking. There was no big scene - just drift. And now, looking ahead in line to buy my movie ticket, I see her, taking money, handing over tickets. When I get up to the front, I see her stomach is huge and round, impossible to avoid, and yet I do. “Hi!” I say in my friendliest voice. “One for Raiders of the Lost Arc. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen you!”
How is that even possible - this town is not big.
It’s possible because I have been spending my weekend nights babysitting and watching The Love Boat with my best friend, and having short-lived romantic encounters with boys that end in slobbery kisses and pawing hands and me avoiding the phone afterward, while she has obviously been hanging out with a much cooler crowd and going a lot farther than second base.
I'm 76 on Monday, my mantra and my hex. My fingers and toes are twisted with arthritis, I watch my step. But once, I climbed trees. A pine tree in my front yard near the road. A strong friendly tree with thick even branches a ten year-old could swing up into. (An odd endeavor, climbing trees, one you do alone and don't talk about, like prayer.) But when I reach the top, my face in the sunlight, the tree holding me, swaying, keening its lullabye of life, and I look down on the house my parents made, I get an inkling (just enough to tide me over, get me through the madness) that theirs is a small world, not mine, one I'll leave when I'm old enough.
I’m painting a squirrel in my tiny studio, doing tiny brush strokes that will become the squirrel’s bushy tail..,
I have a small plastic boom box, playing WBGO, a local jazz and blues station. All of a sudden, Dave Brubeck’s version of “That Old Black Magic”, with Tony Bennett singing, comes forth from the boombox. “That old black magic has me in its spell…”
Suddenly I see my Dad at the piano, playing and singing this song in his own special way. “That old black magic that you weave so well…”
My Dad was a wonderful jazz pianist and singer – he ultimately didn’t pursue it as his profession, but he was a trained pianist since very young and kept playing until he couldn’t any more. He got so much joy out of playing, and we got such joy out of hearing him. “Down and down I go, round and round I go…”
This was a song he particularly got a kick out of, and I can hear him belting it out, hamming it up and making it very dramatic and almost humorous, but his playing and singing really was so good that it was a celebration of the song. “In a spin, loving that spin I’m in…” I remember singing along with it too, as it was one of his favorites and he would play it often. “Under that old Black Magic- of Looooove!!”
I can picture him playing this in our living room so many times, along with the other wonderful jazz songs and songs from the Great American Songbook. Then I see him playing at our aunt and uncle’s house at a holiday gathering with aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. Our uncle exclaiming, “oh John, that’s just ….” I don’t know how he finished the sentence or if he even did –
As a child, I loved hearing my Dad playing in the next room as I fell asleep. Feeling the coziness of my bed, and the beautiful melodies drifting me off to sleep…
I'm 9 years old and it is a bright sunny day in northeastern Ohio. I am outside on our back patio which was just a slab of concrete, but to me, my siblings, and my cousins it was a space where we could have many adventures. We are all wearing our swimsuits, lying on beach towels, and soaking up as much sun as we can. I am filled with energy, excitement, and happiness because I'm surrounded by family and enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and it feels like I'm being hugged by the sun. There is music playing and we all begin to dance around. I am carefree in that moment. I am not filled with anxiety or worry, just being fully present in the moment. I truly feel like a child in that moment, as it should be. This moment feels like it will last forever and I don't want it to end. Little do I know at that moment how precious this memory is and how important it is to fully cherish one's childhood.
I was 11 years old, interviewing myself in the bathroom mirror, door locked, settled on top of the counter. The upstairs bathroom, we called it, aptly so. It had a full bathtub and a true laundry chute and a working lock- all draws to any kid in a family of six (kids, that is). Add in the parents, 8 of us, privacy hard to come by. The chute looked like a large wooden milk crate with a latched lid; you could open it and deposit clothes or towels down a large rectangular tube of aluminum into the laundry room below. Other things that went that way-toys, shoes, and my sister’s fingernail collection once when I was so red faced enraged at her and could think of no worse punishment than to spend out what she had carefully saved. There is no replacement for a dumped collection of fingernails in dirty laundry, no dash to the local K-Mart. A year later, I would unravel her knitting, one row at a time, tears pouring down my face as I pulled on the string first one direction, then the other, recommitting to the destruction each time the row came to an end and I moved on to the next one. I can’t remember what it was that she did to me in either instance, only the feeling of being so very angry that I had to do something, and then the shock and power of reacting with irreversible damage. I can’t think of doing it a third time.
I'm 9 years old and it is a bright sunny day in northeastern Ohio. I am outside on our back patio which was just a slab of concrete, but to me, my siblings, and my cousins it was a space where we could have many adventures. We are all wearing our swimsuits, lying on beach towels, and soaking up as much sun as we can. I am filled with energy, excitement, and happiness because I'm surrounded by family and enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and it feels like I'm being hugged by the sun. There is music playing and we all begin to dance around. I am carefree in that moment. I am not filled with anxiety or worry, just being fully present in the moment. I truly feel like a child in that moment, as it should be. This moment feels like it will last forever and I don't want it to end. Little do I know at that moment how precious this memory is and how important it is to fully cherish one's childhood.
I don’t remember when we stopped talking. There was no big scene - just drift. And now, looking ahead in line to buy my movie ticket, I see her, taking money, handing over tickets. When I get up to the front, I see her stomach is huge and round, impossible to avoid, and yet I do. “Hi!” I say in my friendliest voice. “One for Raiders of the Lost Arc. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen you!”
How is that even possible - this town is not big.
It’s possible because I have been spending my weekend nights babysitting and watching The Love Boat with my best friend, and having short-lived romantic encounters with boys that end in slobbery kisses and pawing hands and me avoiding the phone afterward, while she has obviously been hanging out with a much cooler crowd and going a lot farther than second base.
I'm 76 on Monday, my mantra and my hex. My fingers and toes are twisted with arthritis, I watch my step. But once, I climbed trees. A pine tree in my front yard near the road. A strong friendly tree with thick even branches a ten year-old could swing up into. (An odd endeavor, climbing trees, one you do alone and don't talk about, like prayer.) But when I reach the top, my face in the sunlight, the tree holding me, swaying, keening its lullabye of life, and I look down on the house my parents made, I get an inkling (just enough to tide me over, get me through the madness) that theirs is a small world, not mine, one I'll leave when I'm old enough.
I’m painting a squirrel in my tiny studio, doing tiny brush strokes that will become the squirrel’s bushy tail..,
I have a small plastic boom box, playing WBGO, a local jazz and blues station. All of a sudden, Dave Brubeck’s version of “That Old Black Magic”, with Tony Bennett singing, comes forth from the boombox. “That old black magic has me in its spell…”
Suddenly I see my Dad at the piano, playing and singing this song in his own special way. “That old black magic that you weave so well…”
My Dad was a wonderful jazz pianist and singer – he ultimately didn’t pursue it as his profession, but he was a trained pianist since very young and kept playing until he couldn’t any more. He got so much joy out of playing, and we got such joy out of hearing him. “Down and down I go, round and round I go…”
This was a song he particularly got a kick out of, and I can hear him belting it out, hamming it up and making it very dramatic and almost humorous, but his playing and singing really was so good that it was a celebration of the song. “In a spin, loving that spin I’m in…” I remember singing along with it too, as it was one of his favorites and he would play it often. “Under that old Black Magic- of Looooove!!”
I can picture him playing this in our living room so many times, along with the other wonderful jazz songs and songs from the Great American Songbook. Then I see him playing at our aunt and uncle’s house at a holiday gathering with aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. Our uncle exclaiming, “oh John, that’s just ….” I don’t know how he finished the sentence or if he even did –
As a child, I loved hearing my Dad playing in the next room as I fell asleep. Feeling the coziness of my bed, and the beautiful melodies drifting me off to sleep…
I'm 9 years old and it is a bright sunny day in northeastern Ohio. I am outside on our back patio which was just a slab of concrete, but to me, my siblings, and my cousins it was a space where we could have many adventures. We are all wearing our swimsuits, lying on beach towels, and soaking up as much sun as we can. I am filled with energy, excitement, and happiness because I'm surrounded by family and enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and it feels like I'm being hugged by the sun. There is music playing and we all begin to dance around. I am carefree in that moment. I am not filled with anxiety or worry, just being fully present in the moment. I truly feel like a child in that moment, as it should be. This moment feels like it will last forever and I don't want it to end. Little do I know at that moment how precious this memory is and how important it is to fully cherish one's childhood.