By Marjorie Gottlieb Wolfe
I called dad, but the line was
busy. Today's conversation has been dubbed the "25
Cents Memory Call." As I waited impatiently for my
AT&T 4110 cordless telephone's "last number redial"
to work, I began to reminisce.
As is true with so many young
girls, I had something special with my dad when I
was growing up in Rockaway Beach, New York. There
was a magical bond that still cements an adult
relationship between a "mature" mother of three,
grandmother of four, and active senior citizen.
Unlike today's dad, mine didn't
use words like "bonding," "Quality time," "dumkop!"
(dumbbell) or "playdates." He never felt so verbally
tongue-tied that he mailed me a Hallmark card that
began, "Between You and Me..."
No, dad didn't participate in
"Jump for Joy" programs, Gymboree, or all-day
conferences titled, "Child Care: The Bottom Line."
He was too busy working in his butcher shop.
He did, however, compliment me
when I wore those ultra feminine bouffant skirts
filled with crinoline petticoats.
Our kitchen had a "Pushkey"--a
Blue Box, and a framed sign that said: "Remember the
poor--it costs nothing." We were never served a "Dr.
Rutheimer" sandwich, or a Sheky Greene Stage Deli
special: Pastrami, Corned Beef, Finlandia Swiss,
Cole Slaw, and Russian dressing. We never knew from
"nouvelle cuisine," "power lunching," or Carmel
Kosher Imitation Chicken Flavored Fat.
I was reared in a home where you
had two mealtime choices: take it or leave it. My
classmates' school lunches contained Spam; mine
contained "tant"--orange juice as good as your aunt
Sally used to make, a brisket sandwich, and carrots
(they're definitely good for the eyes! Ever see a
rabbit with glasses?)
In our low-tech home (pre VCR, "boombox,"
computer or Bowie Twin Triple Hitter treble woofer
speaker), we listened to the radio together: "The
FBI in Peace and War," "My Friend Irma," "You Bet
Your Lfe," and "Fannie Brice" as Baby Snooks. Rumor
has it that my first words were "Vos you dere,
Charlie?"
Dad never adhered to the motto,
"Tout Bien ou Rien" - Everything Wonderful or
Nothing At All." I learned at an early age the
meaning of the word "compromise." (Compromise is the
art of dividing a Sara Lee cake in such a way that
everybody believes he got the biggest piece.)
It was dad, not a driving
instructor, who taught me to operate our Nash
Rambler. He began each lesson by saying, "Midge,
drive with care. Life has no spare."
Dad followed the philosophy of
"Don't just view it; do it!" We vacationed in the
White Moutans (Bethlehem, NH), ice skated at the
Brooklyn Ice Parlor, and (in 1943) enjoyed the
Broadway show, "Tomorrow the World," starring Skippy
Homeier.
When our first television set
arrived, dad hung a 9" x l2" sign which read:
"WARNING; Overexposure to this television can be
hazardoud to your spirit and lead to complications
such as borderline boredom, latent loneliness, and
chronic cabin fever."
Dad was a milk-and-cookies parent
(coined by David Elkind)--someone who has a
"reverence for childhood as state of life which is
just as valuable as any other and which must be
preserved," and who therefore have "a relaxed
attitude toward their children."
(Ring) "Hello."
"Hi, dad. It's Midge."
"I've been expecting your call,
Midge." |
