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Family Stories
and Folklore
FAMILY STORIES
Before my mother
was born, her sister, Gloria, had been told that
this was going to be "her" baby. Shortly after
my mother was brought home from the hospital, my
grandmother got up to discover that the baby was
missing. This was only a few years after the
Lindbergh kidnapping, and she was frantic. It
turns out that her sister, Gloria, had taken her for
a walk to show her off to her friends. When
she returned, my grandmother yelled at her, and she
told her mother, "Fine, you can have her, I don't
want to play with her anyway. She can't even
play ball."
My mother was a
baby when Pearl Harbor was attacked, igniting the
United States' involvement in World War II. My
grandmother, hearing the news on the radio, had
bundled up my mother and was preparing to leave the
house when her husband arrived home. He asked
her where she was going, and she said that they had
to evacuate because Pearl Harbor had been attacked.
He asked her if she knew where Pearl Harbor was, and
she replied that she didn't. He told her it
was in Hawaii, and she replied, "Oh," and put the
baby down. They lived in Massachusetts.
When my mother
was little, her older sister, Gloria, stole some
money out of their mother's purse for spite.
Gloria then took my mother to the corner store,
where she proceeded to purchase cracker jacks and
ice cream. Upon their return, their mother
confronted Gloria about the missing money. My
mother was indignant. She said, "My Gwory
wouldn't take any money. Gwory just took me
out for cracker jacks and ice cream." It was a
long time before she understood why Gloria was mad
at her for "sticking up for her."
When my mother
was five years old, she loved to tag along with her
sister Gloria, 12, and her friends. Gloria, of
course, wanted to be alone with her friends and talk
about boys and related topics, and didn't want a
five-year-old along to ruin the fun. They were
staying with their grandmother at the time, who
insisted that she take my mother along whenever she
complained. So Gloria and her friends would
search for my mother high and low, and when they
determined that my mother was nowhere in sight, they
decided they could escape without her. Little
did they know that she was hiding out in the loft in
the barn, and would come out of hiding and shout,
"Grandma, Gwory's leaving without me again!",
whereupon she would be allowed to go, much to
Gloria's chagrin. She never did figure out
where my mother was hiding.
When I was about
six months old, my mother placed my training cup on the
right side of my high chair tray. I glared at
her, took it with my left hand and put it on the left
side of the tray. My mother figured then that
I was left-handed. When I was about four, and
my mother was tying my shoes, starting with the
right foot, I asked her, "Mommy, how come you always
do everything backwards?" It never occurred to
me that I was the minority. This delighted my
grandmother to no end, who was also left-handed, but
whose parents had tried to change her to being right-handed.
When I was a
baby, we had a black cat named Shadow. We
adored each other, but my mother didn't want him to
go into my crib. So we worked out a system.
I would look all around for my mother, and the cat
would do the same. When we thought the coast
was clear, I would motion to the cat to come, and
the cat would take one last look around. Then,
with a burst of glee, the cat would run and jump
into the crib, whereupon I would commence roughly
patting the cat, and he would lay there and purr.
Of course, my mother was watching from around the
corner.
When I was
little, I had special words for different things,
like "whee-see" for horse and "buppy" for bunny.
I was rather opinionated about these words and would
correct others if they said them differently.
One day a sweet, docile girl who was older than me
and nearly twice my size, sat me down to read a
story book. She pointed to a picture and said,
"Look, it's a bunny rabbit." I glared at her
and said, "Buppy." She looked at me and very
patiently said, "No, it's a bunny rabbit." I
made fists and said a little louder, "Buppy!"
She very carefully enunciated, "Bun-ny Rab-bit."
I'd had enough. I punched her hard enough to
knock her over, and stood over her and shouted, "Buppy!"
My mother has no idea where I get my stubborn streak
from. :)
When I was a
kid, it was always fascinating to me all the worms
that were around after it rained. However, the
really big earthworms were called "bloodsuckers" in
my neighborhood, and I remember being terrified of
them.
My grandmother,
a native of Massachusetts, was visiting us in New
York one summer. She announced one day that
she would like to go into town and purchase some
"shots." My mother, who had worked long and
hard to get rid of her New England accent, didn't
understand what she was talking about. All she
could think of was ammunition for a gun, and it
didn't make sense that her mother would want to
purchase that. So she asked her again what she
wanted to buy. "Shots!" came the reply.
"You know, shot pants!" It was then she
realized that my grandmother wanted to buy shorts.
GROWING UP, 70'S STYLE
Kids growing up
in the 70's had no basis for comparison, that is,
they assumed that what surrounded them was normal.
The psychedelic shirts, bell bottoms and platform
shoes, the afros, disco and the like. I
remember putting rubber bands on the bottom of my
bell bottoms to keep them from getting caught in the
chain of my bike. I was going to run away and
live either with the Brady Bunch or the Partridge
Family. I loved the Monkees (Davy Jones in
particular), the Rockford Files, Emergency! and
Chico and the Man. We somehow managed to grow
up without computers, compact discs, videos, DVDs,
remote controls, cable television, walkman players,
mp3 players, roller blades, cell phones, gameboys,
playstations, tamagotchis, cupholders in cars,
four-wheel drive, antilock brakes, touch-tone
phones, caller ID, etc. We didn't even have
color television in my home until 1975.
I enjoy telling
the Cosby tale as my own--how we had to walk to
school barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways, and
all we had to eat was dirt, and we were grateful
to have it... :)
PET STORIES
When I was a
kid, we had a parakeet named Sweety Bird.
According to my mother, she had every flaw a show
bird could have, but we didn't care. What she
lacked in perfection she made up for in personality.
Here are a few anecdotes about her:
Sweety was a fan
of Sha Na Na. Whenever the show came on, she
danced around her cage, chirping and cackling, and
since she was allowed out of her cage until bedtime,
would often fly around the house and swoop down at
people because she was so happy her show was on.
One time, she was simply too tired to revel in her
usual activities during Sha Na Na. But
although her head was tucked under her wing and she
was perched on one leg, her claws tapped and her
wing fluttered while she made some low chirps.
One time my
mother had made herself a bologna sandwich and had
just settled on the couch to eat it. As she
was raising it to take a bite, Sweety Bird swooped
past and neatly removed the bologna from the middle
of the sandwich. She didn't eat it though--we
found it behind the couch a couple of months later.
An insurance
salesman came to the house for an appointment with
my mother, and she had forgotten to put a twist tie
on Sweety's cage to keep it shut (Sweety knew how to
open her door). While they were in the middle
of discussing my family's insurance needs, Sweety
swooped down and landed on my mother's head.
Sweety proceeded to give the salesman her patented
vulture stare. This disconcerted the salesman
quite a bit, but my mother pretended nothing was
amiss.
We had a rabbit
named Thumper that Sweety loved to torment.
She could easily slip between the bars of his cage.
When we gave Thumper lettuce, she would always want
the piece he had. Being a gentle creature,
Thumper would dutifully give up his piece and start
on another, whereupon Sweety would demand the new
piece.
Sweety loved to
sneak up behind Thumper and nip him on his tail, and
Thumper would whip around, alarmed, looking for his
attacker. She would cackle, wait a while, then
try it again. One time, she was sneaking
silently up behind Thumper just as he was backing
into a corner to urinate. We heard the
outraged squawk just in time to see Thumper jump up
and turn around, surprised she was behind him.
Sweety was soaked and highly offended. It was
a while before she played this trick on Thumper
again.
At the same
time, we also had a guinea pig named Blackie.
Blackie had no tolerance for Sweety's nonsense.
For a while she would peel up a corner of the screen
on Blackie's cage lid and enter his tank to torment
him as well. She would land on his back and
nip at his ears. The only problem is that it
was not as easy to make an exit as it was in
Thumper's cage. One time, Blackie had had
enough and chomped down on her tailfeathers as she
was attempting to get away. We rescued her,
but I don't believe she ever bothered Blackie again.
She did, however, perfectly mimic his guinea pig
whistle.
I had an antique
school desk at which I did my homework and played
school. I kept a pile of papers inside the
top-hinged desk, assuming they were safe from Sweety
Bird, who was an infamous paper shredder. I
had underestimated her. One day I heard a
scurrying sound near the desk and went to
investigate. Sweety popped her head out of the
inkwell, looking very pleased with herself, and
dropped back inside the desk. I opened the top
of the desk and found half of the papers shredded.
Too bad none of it was homework--I would have had a
good excuse. After that I just kept
unimportant papers in the desk for her to shred.
My mother liked
to give our pets a little variety in food than just
the store-bought pellets and seeds. One day
she thought she'd see if Thumper liked raisin bran.
She watched as he methodically picked all of the
raisins out of the cereal and made a little pile.
Then he munched on the bran flakes. Finally,
with a blissful expression, he would devour the
raisins in a few bites. He was so fun to watch
that we fed him raisin bran at least once a week.
We often took
Thumper out on a leash--he had a special leash with
a harness. One day my mother took him to
Woolworth's, where she worked. He was
perfectly calm the whole time my mother's co-workers
were admiring him, until they came to the pet
department. When he saw the cages containing
parakeets, he went ballistic. He clawed his
way out of my mother's arms and tried to take off
down the aisle. When my mother gathered him up
in her arms again, he gave her a reproachful look,
as if to say, "You didn't tell me there was more
than one!"
FOLKLORE
I have a cousin
who lives in Maine, and she has a story she likes to
tell that has to do with a rivalry between those
that live near Maranacook Lake and those who live
near Annabessacook Lake. The story goes that
near the end of the 19th century, there was a
solitary trapper who only ventured into groups of
people to trade his wares and purchase supplies.
One day while out checking his traps, he fell into a
ravine and hurt his leg. He was rescued a
group of American Indians, who brought him to their
village. He stayed with them for a year after
he had healed, and the chief was so grateful for all
the help he had given them during that time that he
offered one of his two daughters to him in marriage.
The trapper was flattered, but didn't know which one
to pick. "Chief," he said, "both of your
daughters are equally beautiful and sweet. I
don't know which one to pick." The chief sat
him down and told him, "I'm going to give you a
hint. Marana cooks just fine and will keep you
content all of your days, but Annabessacook."
Guess which one he picked?
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