My Daddy (1918-2000)

Daddy's parents:

Daddy's father:

My paternal grandfather was a legendary disciplinarian that terrorized his family (wife and 6 children).  He was also religious, and made the family keep kosher (have 2 sets of dishes). I never met him, or my paternal grandmother.  Cousin S told me, as I blogged recently, that he was a tailor, and as you may remember, so was my maternal grandfather, who was the one and only "Zadih" I ever knew. I knew him until I was 3 years old, when he died, and it was the first time I ever saw my mother cry and I was terrified. All I remember about him was he would bring me cherries and his brother, my Uncle Kiva, carved me astoundingly intricate, beautifully made dollhouse furniture that in unfortunate childhood oblivion I did not see fit to preserve forever. To further add to the regrettability, my Great Aunt Helen (Zadih and Uncle Kiva's sister), who went sadly unappreciated by her nieces and nephews, had hand sewn all the bedclothes.

Daddy child:

Daddy tween:

Daddy teen:

My mom and dad were really romantic:

My dad always looked and sounded on the phone like he was really young. A typical family story is when my brother was born a nurse from some diaper service knocked on the door, and when my father answered she asked him if his mother was home. He told her, "I don't know. You could call her." I forget the rest of the long conversation before she figured out he was the father. My dad was SUCH a kidder. Famous for greeting my Aunt Mary at the door with, "Hello, Mary, did you bring your vagina with you?" I was around 3 and had no idea what a vagina was, but was still horrified and relieved to hear Mary's tinkling laughter resound through the house. Also famous for greeting Cousin Phil's first wife for the first time with: "Oh my, you're looking much better!"


You could never fully know my father without knowing his twin sister Ann, my Aunt Snoony. Here's a typical picture of her as I remember from my childhood:

Here she is with my dad and mom. She's on the left and my mom is on the right.

Here's more of my mom and dad:

As I write this it occurs to me for the first time in my life that I never saw a wedding photo of my mom and dad. Maybe there wasn't one. Or, is this it? That's a gorgeous dress my mom is wearing. I love the embroidery and buttons. I will have to get a better copy of this photo. Someone must have it.

I just now figured out that I don't have any baby pics of me with my parents, which is startling! I've never seen any, and neither have anyone else in my family. I grew up feeling so adored I just can't believe there aren't any. Here's my parents with my brother before I was born (1945ish):

Here's a picture of my 5th birthday party (1955). Note the carousel on the cake, and the following picture of it on my dad's head.

Here's my dad at the piano, where he could be found any time he wasn't eating, sleeping, or having to earn money.

Here's me (1955) sitting on the piano, which was a huge taboo, and greatly upset my parents. I remember my brother snapping this photo in the few seconds of opportunity he had before my parents would find me and start yelling at me to get down:

My mom and dad, 1958:

My dad at my brother's wedding, August 28, 1994:

At our first Cousins Reunion (1997?):

This is the last picture I have of him, typically laughing at I never knew what. He seemed to always have funny stories in his head, and come to think of it, that's probably why I do. Here's another old family story. Before we all followed our friends out to California, my father went first to get a job. He did, and sent for the family, then lost his job.  This was in the days of finding new ways to get out of paying “long distance” fees. My dad used his New York accent to advantage when he asked the California operator to place a person-to-person call to my mother from a Mr. J-A-R-B-L-E-S-S. While my mother hesitantly questioned the operator about a “Mr. Jarbless?” as my dad could count on her to do, he yelled out “Yes, JOBLESS. I'M JOBLESS.” So, she got the message to postpone coming out with the family. Another time when he lost his job he took the whole family out for a Chinese dinner.

I am shocked again to learn that these are the only pictures I have of me with my dad. I don't know how that could have happened. The first is 1955, the second 1958, with my mom:

June in the land of The Lady of Perpetual Petrification

Ah, June!  Dark thoughts finally dissipate and magic like this returns: The Abe tapes that had been passed down to roommate Ted by Barb, who had gotten them from David, and urged to listen to them by me (a fine example of Abe adherence when Barb first deposited me and Lulu in Ted's extra room after David died, where I collapsed, stayed stoned, and never came out), finally moved to the top of Ted's “to do” list and he just grandly announced that he received a great doctor report. This would be the first great doctor report in his entire life ever, and he’s my age. His muscle mass increased, and other signs of actual healing occurred. Ted describes his doctor, who cured himself of cancer, as “the doctor that doctors go to” because he has literally run into his other doctors in his office. After receiving his first ever great medical report he asked him how did he cure himself of cancer? His doctor told him Abe! This must be why Ted and I met. I was meant to introduce Ted to the greatest teacher in the world, and he was meant to introduce me to the doctor that I have been wanting. It's almost as if all you have to do is ask and it is given.

Good riddance to May, when the Thought Police come and imprison my inside crazy where I can't even find it. The Lady of Perpetual Petrification. When I say I lived my life on the edge, I don't mean as a daredevil, I mean life was one terror after another. As a child I once stayed awake an entire night, terrified of a button on my blanket. I was in a mental breakdown for a decade and even kept it from David, who knew me best. That was the hell he got me out of. He rescued me with his Abe CDs.

Now, most of the time, I just don't care that I'm terrified. Life seems odd if I'm not terrified. I have finally given in to my inner schizo and allowed my other personalities to deal with the fear while I live in a dreamy, misty world, the really true one. Lately, I have even been called “serene.”

There was this girl at work that was laughing and dancing alone in the kitchen and I asked her who she was talking to, and she said, “just the party in my head.” She changed my life. I stopped hiding the party in my head. I realized almost everyone feels as joyous and connected as I do, and as genuinely happy to see me as I am to see them. And almost everyone is as terrified as I am. Of the future, of each other, of ourselves. We're protesting the world over for our dignity, squarely facing bullets aimed at our hearts. How terrifying is that? The whole world is on the edge. So, I'm gonna join the party (where I can cry if I want to).

I'm out lookin' for trouble. And I want to see it coming. So I went to the eye doctor. I haven't been to the eye doctor in so long that my records were destroyed – all two (left & right) digital files of them. I was pissed and told my eye doctor that. This time he emailed them to me right after my appointment:

He also told me I had gotten so used to seeing misty that he couldn’t do an accurate exam. My brain just wouldn’t go there. Yep, the story of my life.