A Slice of Life: Family Vacation

Ever since I wrote about Aunt Betty, I've felt nostalgic for the vacations my family spent with her family in Ocean City, Maryland. They started around 1974 and went until about 1983...after that, we grew up and grew apart.

We looked forward to Ocean City vacations all year. Usually, we'd go for a week in August. My parents would split the cost of renting a unit with my aunt and uncle. The units were big enough to hold us all comfortably: my parents, me, my brother, my aunt, uncle and two cousins. We never stayed in the same place twice...that was part of the fun.

Here are my parents with my aunt and uncle.


I love everything about the ocean: the sight, the smell and the sound of the surf. On Sunday morning and every morning afterward that I could manage it, I would get up just before sunrise to go down to the beach and watch the sun come up. Most of the time I went alone because I couldn't persuade anyone else that the sight was worth it.


There was always something to do, rain or shine, day or night. On a cloudy, cooler day, we'd walk along the beach and collect shells or go down to the arcade on the boardwalk.

On sunny, hot days, look out! We'd be in the water, body surfing or riding the waves on rented rafts. These pictures are of first me and then my brother riding a raft.



We didn't need TV at all. In the evening, there was lots of ways to entertain ourselves:







Going to the boardwalk at night was always fun. There were two fantastic artists there. One sculpted in sand and I know his artwork has been on the internet. The other worked in chalk crawings. Both artists' work was religious and beautiful.

Other things we'd do on the boardwalk: shop, visit the arcades and play games, and go to the amusement parks. Those were always a lot of fun! I enjoyed taking my young cousin on the scariest rides or in the haunted houses. She loved going with us!

Our most favorite night time activity, though, was a big roundof UNO. The more of us that played, the more fun it was and we had some side-splitting times with the game!


Ah, those were the days!

A Slice of Life: My Favorite Aunt

I really think the song "Sisters" (from the movie White Christmas) was written with my mother and my aunt in mind. My mom and aunt are the youngest in a family of six children; both are deaf and both went to the same school in New York City. In this picture, my aunt is standing, looking down lovingly at my mother. They've always been really close.


The school they went to was Lexington School for the Deaf and in those days (the 1930s), the educational philosophy there was oralism (not signing). Not only was signing forbidden, the kids were taught that there was something nasty about it and so my mother and aunt were ashamed about using their hands to communicate. Isn't that sad?

The repressive attitude stayed with my aunt throughout her life. Out in public, her signs were always small and close to her body. She seemed very shy and inhibited but a great spark of humor burned within her.

Some other impressions of my aunt: she loves me a lot, is over protective and bossy (but it's out of love), and she loves to tease and have fun. She wouldn't let me cross the road with my 5year old cousin (I was 15) to buy a sand bucket but she loved playing practical jokes on everyone.

Here is a typical joke of hers: dropping ice down your back. The victim this time is my uncle.

When my brother was 25, he was singing "Happy Birthday to me" as the rest of us serenaded him.

My aunt decided to surprise him just after he blew out the candles.

Just check out the look on her face! Is that someone who enjoys life or what?

For whatever reason, my aunt took a special shine to me. Maybe it's because I am my mother's daughter. She always wanted me to come and stay over with her, my uncle and my cousins. When I was younger, I had a severe case of separation anxiety and so I was always reluctant. One time I finally agreed and she was so excited. She always made a special effort to talk with me...and this was when I didn't know any sign language at all. That's a long story best saved for later.

Once I did learn how to sign, my aunt and I would spend hours just chatting. Now she lives in Georgia-at least part of the year-with the 5 year old who grew up and became a wife and mother herself.

After my uncle died, a lot of the spark went out of my aunt I'm sorry to say. She still has a good sense of humor but it's just not the same. Still, I have very happy memories.

A Morning At The Lake

After playing at the playground, Little T and I went down to the edge of the water. I showed him how to toss stones into the lake. He loved it!

A Girl's Best Friend

Although our Buddy is technically our son Bill's dog, he really belongs to all of us and most especially to Kristin. It's Kristin who's been caring for him since Bill started college and she, of all of us, manages Buddy best. They really love each other, you can see it.

Want more Camera Critters? Click here! :)

A Slice Of Life: Billy

Soon my son Bill will be 21 years old and yet I remember his birth as if it was just the other day. One thing I remember clearly is the baby pool taking place at work. My first husband, Rich, and I worked for the same market research company up until about 2 weeks before I was due. My due date was May 1, 1987, but people were guessing as early as April 1 and as late as Mother's Day.

Rich was one of the latter and I was horrified. "I'm ready NOW," I kept saying to him. "How could you have picked that day?"

He shrugged. "I just have a feeling," he said.

May 1st came and went and I was disappointed but not surprised. First babies are always late; however, I was more and more uncomfortable as each day passed. My midwife, Ellen, advised me to keep walking.

On May 8, a Friday, I set out to walk, lost my balance and fell hard on my hands and knees--right in front of the mailman, who totally freaked out. He helped me back to my apartment where Rich took over and cared for my badly skinned knees. Bandaged and wearing a new set of maternity jeans, I set out again. A block down, I ran into the same mailman.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "You're going to give me a heart attack!"

"I'm having this baby," I told him. "If I don't have this baby by Sunday, on Monday I have to be induced." Oh, horrors!

The following afternoon, May 9th, my water broke while Rich was at work. I was totally unhappy about that because I'd learned in childbirth class what that meant: go to the hospital. I didn't want to ... yet. I wanted the contractions to start. I called Rich and Ellen. Ellen said I could stay home only until 7 p.m. and then I had to get to the hospital. Meanwhile, I walked in circles.

My contractions still hadn't started by the time we got to the hospital. Ellen agreed to let me walk around the floor another 2 hours but then she had to follow the rules and have them start a pit drip (induction of labor). Oh, how I dreaded that...I'd learned that the contractions would come hard and fast!

Unfortunately, by 9 my contractions were still mild and I'd dilated only to 3 cm and so they would have to induce me. Yes, the contractions were hard to manage and very painful but I have to say I had the best coach in the world. I would not have been able to endure it without an epidural were it not for Rich's steadfast support. Every time I'd start to lose control, he'd say "Look at me, look at me" and then he'd begin breathing. I focused on him and breathed along with him.

Some funny things I remember from that night:

When I had to bend my knees to start pushing, the nurse took one look at my knees and freaked. "What happened to you?" she wanted to know. She wanted to redress the scrapes. I kept telling them I was fine and leave me alone.

When I got to the transitional stage, I kept falling asleep between contractions. It was so weird.

Another woman was admitted to the hospital soon after I was and we both had the same doctor. Actually, Ellen was in attendance but since she hadn't been credentialled at that hospital yet she wasn't allowed to "catch" the baby. For some reason, they put this lady way down at the end of the hall. We both began pushing at the same time and I could hear my chubby doctor running from one end of the hall to the other.

"Who's going to go first?" the nurse asked him.

Already I'd been pushing almost 2 hours and Billy was just beginning to crown.

"This one," the doctor decided. He ran into the room and began pushing on my abdomen.

I had enough presence of mind to be totally surprised and annoyed. I didn't complain, though, because Ellen had already saved me from a C-section. The doctor wanted to do one because he felt I wasn't progressing fast enough.

Doctors.

So Billy was born at 4:23 and the doctor ran down the hall to the other lady. Her baby was born less than 5 minutes later.

It was Mother's Day.

Rich won the pot and I got a rose at each and every meal. Best of all, we had a brand new, perfect little boy.

"Billy Bear," I whispered to him when I finally got to hold him.

He is the best Mother's Day present I will ever get.

Small Memories

The very first memory I have is going into the kitchen to get a bottle of milk from my mom, returning to the living room and flopping on the couch to watch cartoons...always the TV, right? And this would have been back to around 1956 or 1957!

I also remember a dog named Sweetie who wasn't sweet at all. Whenever I would run, she would chase and snap at me. She had to go when she attacked my knees and bit me so hard they bled.

I remember my grandparents would come and pick me up to take me berry picking with them. I loved it! Blackberry bushes weren't as much fun, if I remember correctly--the branches could scratch you. Grandma used to take me to the grocery store with her on Saturdays and there I could pick out a Little Golden Book to bring back to her house. All the books were shared with my cousins and I got over that minor annoyance by telling myself that I was the one that got to pick them out.

I was luckier than most kids nowadays because families tended to live within close proximity of each other. Until I was 10, my cousins were also close playmates. In this picture, my mom holds my brother Pete. My arm is around my cousin Robert and that's my cousin Anne to our right.



When I was 5, I went to kindergarten. Our bus driver was a Ketcham, a distant relation of mine through my grandmother's family. Everyone knew everyone else back then. I could go to the corner deli by myself as a very little girl and buy red licorice whips with money my parents gave me.

This is my kindergarten picture. My hair used to be a shade of auburn!



This handsome young man is my very first fiance, Glen. Everyone thought we were so adorable saying we were going to get married when we grew up. We would sit together on the bus and it wasn't always so great. Once Glen stepped into a pile of dog poo and it didn't all quite come off his shoe. He was pretty stinky and I think I would have sat somewhere else except that we were engaged and I felt obliged to stick by hi. Pee-yoo! We would visit each other for play dates and here we are, graduating from kindergarten!



I've often wondered what happened to Glen and if he is happily married now. Before second grade, my parents bought a house in Brentwood and we moved from Islip. I remember how my grandmother cried and my mom tried to reassure her we'd just be 10 minutes away. I think Grandma enjoyed the fact that we could walk back and forth to visit. This picture was taken while I was in first grade but I'm not sure if I was still going to Islip or if we'd already moved to Brentwood.


This picture was taken in third or fourth grade. My hair had already darkened to brown and I'm now totally brunette except for the gray.

My Grandparents

Here are my grandparents as I remember them. They'd moved from their big house to this little cottage. My grandma had to give up her grand piano and was so sad about it. None of her grown children had room for it either and so she had to sell it. They don't look thrilled, do they?

I remember my grandfather was dour and stern and so I rmeember he always looked grumpy. My grandma, though, usually smiled for pictures.

This is more the way I remember my grandma. She loved her garden! Grandma is a mixture of heritages. One side of her family has lived on Long Island almost from the beginning. She was related to the Smiths and Ketchams, two prominent Long Island famillies.

She is also descended from a French Huegenot, Ruel Rulon. His brothers smuggled him out of the country by hiding him in a wine barrel headed for "the colonies". He landed in Barnegat NJ and went on to found a family that eventually included my great-grandfather, a lighthouse keeper.


Here Grandma looks very serious again but she's in her kitchen. I thiink she loved this room best of all. You can't tell it from this picture though!


I don't know a lot about my grandfather except that:
He was from Arendal, Norway; was a fisherman and a carpenter (hmmm); was a Seventh Day Adventist and read from his Bible daily; was totally against guns; had two deaf sisters, was hearing impaired and suffered from diabetes; and raised sunflowers. He just loved them. I learned from my grandma's diary that he was an abusive man, beating on not only Grandma but his own children as well.

I'll write more stories as I remember them.

Little Me

So now I finally make my appearance on December 19, 1954. I was two weeks late which meant that Mom brought me home around Christmas. She told me later it was very busy and she had trouble getting my grandmother to help. Grandma was very busy with all the Christmas preparations, Mom complained, and there was baby me crying and crying. Oh dear. At least I'm not crying in this picture.


My Grandma was the most important person in my life other than my parents. I loved going to see her and was very attached to her.


Here is my mom and me...


and my dad and me. My parents look so young, hardly more than kids themselves! Things were different in the 1950s, though, and they were considered mature adults at 24 and 25.


Here I am again with my grandparents. Although I remember my Grandma hugging and kissing me, I don't remember my Grandfather ever showing any affection. He was very cold and aloof and pretty sick by the time I developed any memories of him.

I was fascinated with our Christmas tree. I believe this picture was taken in 1956, when I was around 2 years old. I loved all the pretty lights.

In 1956, my parents were struggling and it was hard for them to make ends meet. My father was and is a proud man and never liked to ask for help from family or a handout. That year, my mother told me they couldn't afford to get me any presents but that she'd saved up all these Campbell's soup labels so that she could get me a doll. She said that I looked so sad that year and they felt guilty. I don't know...I think I look pretty happy in this picture. I think Mom's guilt may have been getting the better of her.

1957 was a much better year in terms of Christmas. I loved my rocking horse and spent hours rocking back and forth.


I got another gift earlier that year, one that I think I was not so pleased with at first: a baby brother, Peter Jr. I remember going to see my parents at the hospital after my brother was born. I wasn't allowed inside so my grandparents stood with me on the lawn while Mom and Dad appeared in the window with baby Pete. I don't think I was very impressed at first.



Later, though, he became more interesting and I liked him a whole lot better. The quality of this picture is terrible, I know, but I wanted to show the contrast of feelings I had for my brother when we were just babies.

My Parents

This is my mom in her early 20s. She was born in 1930, the youngest of 6 children. My grandmother's friend once told me that my mom was so small, "she could fit right into the palm of my hand." Mom's older sister was born deaf (in 1928) and it turns out, Mom was born hearing impaired. She remembers hearing music and dancing in front of the radio. After a bout with an illness that caused a high fever, Mom couldn't hear anymore.

The youngest brother Gil (born in 1926) was their playmate and acted as the family interpreter. I think they used home signs with their brother. When they were older, my aunt and mother were sent to Lexington School for the Deaf in New York City.

At that time, the prevailing philosophy at Lexington was oral education only--no signing! The teachers and administrators told my grandparents if they used sign language it would inhibit their girls from learning to speak. My mom and aunt learned that there was something "wrong" with sign language--they learned but they had to keep their knowledge private. They'd sign in the bathroom or in other secret places. They developed negative feelings toward it thanks to these hearing idiots in charge of education for the deaf.

Communication was extremely frustrating for them both. At best, a skilled lipreader will pick up only 70% of the message. There are too many words and phrases that look alike on the lips. Mom grew sick of saying "ball ball ball" for hours and hours on end. She felt like she wasn't learning anything and so she dropped out of school when she was 16.

She's basically self taught. She developed a love for reading and so her skills developed that way.

My grandparents and the four brothers never learned to sign fluently. My Uncle John, my godfather, (born in 1922) tried to learn in the early 1980s but by then it was too difficult to pick up.




My dad had a totally different experience. He was born to my Irish immigrant grandparents in 1929, in either Harlem or the Bronx. We always thought he was #5 in a family of 6 but it turns out that there was another child who died. I'm not sure if this child was older or younger than my father.

Coincidentally (or not), the birth order in my father's family was 2 girls followed by 4 boys. In Mom's it was the other way around.

My father was very close to my Uncle Thomas. They were the closest in age and so Tommy acted as the family interpreter. The difference here is that the whole family used home signs to communicate with Dad. There was no shame amongst them and no one to tell them that my dad would never learn to speak.

We don't know why my dad is deaf. He thought it was because he had botched surgery as a child and that the surgeon cut into his neck and damaged a nerve. That's not right but what is the whole story? Not even the hearing members of the family seem to know.

My dad went to the state school for the deaf in upstate New York. They used sign language there and so he developed language early on. He learned to play the French horn! He participated in the school's marching band.

Dad's growing up years were rough. He won't talk about it. I know that his family was poor and that there are a lot of drinkers. Was his upbringing violent? Were there gangsters in his neighborhood? I can only guess. To this day he doesn't talk about it.



My parents met at a group date. They'd brought other dates to go out and when the evening was over, my dad escorted my mom to the train station. They hit it off and he asked her out. My mom thought my dad was so very handsome (and he was).

There were just a couple of stumbling blocks. Although my mom's family weren't especially well off my grandmother had a "pedigree" as long as your arm. It was sort of intimidating. The other bigger issue was of religion. My dad's family was Catholic and my mom's Presbyterian. Luckily my dad wasn't so attached to Catholicism and willingly gave it up to marry my mom.

Eventually any problems sorted themselves out and my parents got married in May 1951.

Beginnings

I started this blog with the idea that I'd go back and find pictures to blog about...pictures from my life.

I used to have pictures of my great-grandparents but those old photos have fallen apart and are gone. I think that's why I want to do this blog.



Here are my maternal grandparents at Seagate in 1915. They were married the following year on October 21, 1916. When this picture was taken, my grandmother was around 19 and grandfather was around 21. They were so young!

My grandmother was born here in the United States. Her family had been around since before the Revolutionary War. My grandfather emigrated from Norway. I still have family living there.




By 1927, Grandma was the mother of five children. I can't even imagine that! When I was her age, I hadn't even had Billy yet! My mother was born in 1930 and so she isn't in this picture. The baby is my aunt Betty and the four boys are (starting from behind Grandma's head) my uncles John, Russell, Gilbert and Bjorn.



Here is my grandfather with the kids. He doesn't look so terribly stern does he? Yet he was and he used to scare the dickens out of me! He was always gruff and cold. I don't remember him ever hugging me. On the other hand, my grandmother was always warm and loving.



This is a picture of my grandfather's younger sister, Ruth. She still lived in Norway and was in touch with us for many years.





Here is my grandmother on my dad's side of the family and her brother. I'm not sure where or when the picture was taken. My grandmother may have been as much as 10 years older than my other grandmother. I'm not sure where her brother ended up but my grandparents emigrated here from Ireland during the turn of the century. My grandmother was a super in her apartment building in the Bronx. I'm not sure about my grandfather; he was blinded by glaucoma. Sounds like A Tree Growns In Brooklyn, doesn't it?

Of all four grandparents, I know the most about my maternal grandmother thanks to her stories and thanks to members of the family interested in geneaology!