Category Archives: My Memoirs

Christmas Gifts

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It’s the night before Christmas and all through the night, not a creature is stirring not even a mouse. Well, that’s not entirely true because I’m wide awake. My imagination is going wild, thinking of all the exciting surprises that might happen on Christmas morning. I know I’ll never fall asleep.

I’ve been counting the days down until Christmas for over three months. I asked Santa for art supplies. I love to draw, and I really want a Barbie doll. My best friends have one and I want one too. I imagine combing her long hair and making clothes for her. I have tried so hard to be good this year so that my dream will come true.

I keep jumping out of my bed and staring out my bedroom window, trying to catch a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer. Can you imagine being able to see him? I would so love to have a ride in his sleigh and meet all the reindeer and fly through the sky all through this snowy and magical night.

My parents promised me that Santa would bring me whatever my heart desires. I believe them.

Glass fireplace

My father spent most of his free time in the past couple of weeks decorating our house for Christmas. In our living room, we have a glass fireplace that my father made many years ago. It’s made from glass blocks instead of bricks. My dad puts colored lights inside the glass blocks at Christmas time. It’s beautiful.

My dad loves to create beautiful and unusual things. He made our Christmas tree this year out of umbrella frames that he attached to one another. And then he hung up strands of golden, glass beads all around it. He places it carefully in front of the mirror that is at the bottom of the glass fireplace. At night we turn out all the lights in the living room. My dad turns on the Christmas lights on the umbrella tree and inside the fireplace.  The lights and colors twinkle on and off. It is so neat. I know that no one else will have a tree-like ours.

We have a wreath on the front door made from huge, plastic poinsettias. And there’s a fat Santa that resides on the front stoop. Christmas lights decorate the rose arbor that my father-built years ago on our front porch. In the Spring and the Summer, it is covered with the most beautiful red roses you can imagine. And the aroma of the roses and the lilac bush as you walk up onto our front step is unforgettable. My father loves roses, and he planted a rose garden in our backyard with all the colors of the rainbow. I love to sit back there and watch the bees travel from one bloom to the next.

Our kitchen table has a little water fountain on it that my father fashioned out of hubcaps and metal ashtrays. My dad puts different colors of food dye into the water every few days. Right now, the water is red for Christmas. I love to watch the fountain while I eat my breakfast of fried eggs and toast.

My mother started baking Christmas cookies a couple of weeks ago. I love to help my mother make the cookies, but I usually eat too much of the raw dough and get a stomach ache. She mixes all the dough in a huge metal mixing bowl, and then she puts the dough in this thing called a Cookie Gun. And on the front end of the gun, you can put different shaped cookie cutters, and each cookie comes out in a different shape, like snowflakes and stars and snowmen. After the cookies are baked, my mom and I decorate them with red and green icing and different colored sprinkles. They’re delicious, and I look forward to eating them. My mother places all the cookies in a huge tin can with wax paper between the layers. And she hides them in the basement. But I always find the cookie tin way before Christmas and eat a bunch.  My mother never yells about eating them. My mother hardly ever yells, no matter what we do.

As I’m putting on my Christmas outfit, I hear my mom calling, “it’s time for you to get up. The bells for the nine o’clock Mass are going to start ringing.”

Before we open our presents on Christmas morning, I have to go to the children’s Mass at the 9” o’clock mass.  The service is really long on Christmas. Father Nolan tells us the story from the bible about the birth of baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph.

“I’ll be right down, Mom,” I scream from my bedroom upstairs. As I jump down the steps two at a time. I rush through the swinging door that’s between the living room and the hallway. I let the door slam shut. My father shouts, “don’t slam the door.”

“Susie, will you stop making so much noise? It’s enough to wake up the dead. My mother adds.”

My new coat.

“Sorry, Mom. I yell at the top of my voice.” I pull the hall closet door as hard as I can because it sticks. I grab my coat, which was an early Christmas gift. It’s white and has fake fur, and there are snowflakes all over it. I absolutely love it. I pull up the hood, and I’m off to the nine o’clock Mass.”

I run up to the Church, slipping and sliding the whole way. There’s a good three feet of snow on the grass. The sidewalk was shoveled yesterday by everyone who lives on Fellowship Road a couple of days ago. But there’s a thin layer of ice on the entire sidewalk all the way up to the church. Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church is only two houses away from where I live. I arrive just in time to get in line to go to the children’s Mass on time. The church bells are ringing and playing The First Noel.

There is one thing that I love about living next to the church is that I can hear the church bells ringing all the time. The bells ring before each Mass and on Holy Days, and Saturdays. When people get married or there’s a funeral and when a baby is baptized. I love hearing those bells. It’s a joyful sound.

Sister Joseph Catherine grabs ahold of me as I run up the steps. “Hold on, Susan Carberry, remember what I told you,” I don’t want you to sing out loud, mouth the words. You have a terrible voice.”

“Yes, Sister,” I say. As I turn around, I stick out my tongue.” I suppose I’ll go to hell for that.

At this moment, I decided that I despise Sister Joseph Catherine. She is the bane of my existence. She was my fourth-grade teacher. And she made me hate every day of fourth grade. She made me follow her around wherever she went and carry her stuff. Reminding me every day how stupid she thought I was. I decide that I will sing as loud as I can during Mass, I love singing Christmas hymns.

All during Mass, I keep praying for a Barbie doll and art supplies. After we take Communion my stomach starts growling loudly. My friend, Helen Hartman, starts laughing and then I laugh too. Sister Joseph Catherine comes over to our pew, and scowling at us clicks the clicker in our hand. And gives me the evil eye.

I start thinking about Christmas breakfast. My mother will be cooking a special Christmas breakfast. She will make scrambled eggs and scrapple. And my father makes the toast and butters it. Or maybe biscuits. Oh, how I love my mother’s homemade biscuits. My stomach starts growling even louder. This starts the whole pew of my friends laughing. Sister Joseph Catherine looks like she wants to wring my neck. I will have to make a quick getaway after Mass is over. And I won’t see her until after the New Year, so maybe she’ll forget about it by then. I’ll have to pray about that before the end of Mass. I start saying some extra Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers.

After Father Nolan and the altar boys slowly march out of the church, Sister Joseph Catherine signals us with her clicker to start filing out of the pews. As I walk by her, she makes a grab for my collar, but I manage to get away. And before she catches up to me, I run out the double doors and nearly break my neck, jumping down the steps two at a time, forgetting that they are covered in ice. But it’s my lucky day, and I get up relatively unscathed and slip and slide my way to my front door. I fling open the door and knock my boots off. And slam the door behind me.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Susan, why do you always have to slam the door and make such a racket?”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m starving. When will breakfast be ready?”

“Go wash your hands, Susan, and then you can have breakfast.”

I don’t know what my mother thinks I was doing in church to get my hands dirty. But I go in the bathroom and run the water. And sit down at the table. “Hi, Daddy, Merry Christmas.”

“How was Mass Susie?”

“Oh, the same Dad, nothing new. I’m starved.”

“Yes, we heard you, Susan. Here it comes.”

Family Chrismas Morning 1962

After we eat breakfast, my married older sisters and brother will come over with their little kids. And we’ll open up the presents and have cake and Christmas cookies. I really love all my nieces and nephews. They are so much fun. They’re so excited and happy about Christmas, and they make me feel excited and happy too. I always take them over my friend’s house to show them off.

My daddy puts some Christmas music on the stereo. I sit on the floor and watch all my little nieces and nephews open their gifts. They are all laughing and throwing Christmas wrapping paper all over the living room. My mother is busy starting to get dinner ready. Even though we just ate breakfast. My mom never stops cleaning and cooking. She hardly ever sits down except to say the rosary in the morning.

It was a great Christmas. I didn’t get a Barbie Doll, I got a Miss Joan doll. But that’s alright. She came with an extra dress and high heels. And my best friend’s name is Joanie. So, I love her anyway. I also got an art set that has pictures that you can color with paint that has sparkles in it. It’s going to be such fun to paint.

When my sisters and brother and all their kids leave, I run down the street to visit my best friend, Joan’s house. And I see all her gifts and her beautiful Christmas tree. And best of all I get to have a whole lot of Italian Christmas cookies and they’re delicious. It’s been a great day. And I start looking forward to next Christmas.

LET A SMILE BE YOUR UMBRELLA

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Harry wakes up feeling weary even though he overslept. He feels as if something is amiss. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and takes a deep breath. It smells like a wet dog in the room. Then he remembers that last night his dog, Andy escaped the backyard enclosure.

Andy made his way to a lake and took a little midnight swim. When Andy returns home, Harry is waiting up for him at the worn Formica kitchen table. He smoked one cigarette after another and drank stale coffee while staring out the kitchen window. About twelve-thirty in the morning, he sees Andy making his way up Fellowship Road. He seems in no great hurry.

Father

Harry Carberry, my dad circa 1960

Harry opens the front door and is about to give Andy the dressing down of his life when Andy suddenly pushes past Harry and runs excitedly through the house and into the front bedroom. He jumps on the bed and shakes himself off, spraying stinking lake water all over the floor and onto Marie’s bed for good measure.

Marie wakes up and says, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what is going on? Oh, I should have known. It’s that damn dog. Why didn’t you put him in the cellar until he dried off? I swear to god you love that dog more than you love your own kids. For the love of Mike, will you put him in the basement so we can all get some sleep?”

Harry grabs Andy’s collar and drags him down to the basement. Then he puts some water in his bowl and says, “Andy, you can wait until the morning for something to eat. I’m tired of your shenanigans. I’m going back to bed.”

Marie is probably praying for his heathen soul this morning as she did every morning. The house is empty because the kids are off to school. Their cereal bowls are drying on the rack. Marie left half of a grapefruit in the refrigerator for his breakfast. She cut all the sections for him and sprinkled sugar on the top. Two pieces of white bread waited patiently to be toasted.

Harry knows he’s lucky to have married Marie. She’s a loving and faithful wife and a wonderful mother. But somehow the words “I love you never make it past his lips except for the day they exchanged their vows in August 1929. He reasons that she must know he loved her because here he’s still by her side after all these years.

Harry hurriedly gulps down his cup of Joe and eats the grapefruit and toast. It’s his day off. He had his day planned. First, he’ll go hit his regular stops in the dumpsters behind all the local stores. There was Woolworth’s, Three Guys, the Acme and the 5&10. He always got a little excited. you never know what treasures are waiting to be found.
Then he’ll stop at the Chinaman’s fruit and vegetable store and see if he can get some good deals. While he was at the Mart, he’ll stop at the Penny Auction and see if he can find any treasures. He’s always amazed at what people throw away. Harry thought if anything is a sin, that sure as hell is.

Why last week he bought a whole box of the Reader’s Digest books for fifty cents. He would have enough books to read for a year. Marie said it was all trash. But he made use of everything he found and bought.

His widowed mother raised Harry, and she had taught him how to squeeze a penny until Lincoln yelled uncle, why he had built almost everything in this house from bits and pieces and scraps he had found for practically nothing.

Marie complained that they never bought anything new. But thanks to his dumpster diving, they had never gone hungry in the crash of 1929 like so many others had. They have never gone without food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs.

But the best part of the day is when he goes to the Garden State Race track and bet his $2.00 on his favorite horse. He had been studying the horses for the past week, and he knows this time, this time he will win big.

After breakfast, Harry opens the cellar door, and Andy’s waiting there patiently. Harry steps aside and lets him pass.” All right, Andy, my boy, all is forgiven. Come on, and I’ll give you some breakfast. I think today’s your lucky day because there’s some left-over chicken for you.”

Harry leaves Andy to his own devices and walks out to his 1956 Turquoise Rambler and checks the trunk to make sure he has his supplies for his treasure hunting. Yup, he had heavy gloves, a pole with a nail at the end. Just in case there was the odd rat or mouse occupying the dumpsters, and a stepladder and bags.

The hunt gets off to a good start behind Woolworth’s when Harry finds five beautiful white wedding gowns at the very top of the dumpster. He lifts them carefully out and places them in a plastic bag he keeps in his trunk. His daughter, Susie, will be thrilled when he gives her these. She just loves to sew, and she’ll prize these gowns as if they’re made of gold.

In the trash at Three Guys, he finds a set of four perfect beach chairs. His older daughters will enjoy taking them with them when they go down the shore for the weekends this summer. He can picture his beautiful daughters sitting on the beach at Wildwood, getting their Irish tan. He can’t wait to see their expressions.

As Harry makes his way toward the Pennsauken Mart, he starts reviewing the races that will be taking place after lunch at the Cherry Hill Race Track. There’s nothing that makes his heart beat faster than watching the horses take off at the starting gate and run full out around the track. Harry has a large circle of friends at the track and is known as “Smiley.” Because no one ever had a bigger smile, then he does when his horse comes in a winner.

Harry picks up some lettuce, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, and beets at the Chinaman’s vegetable store and then heads towards the auction.

There’s the usual group of people there, and he waves at the regulars. Then the first box is brought out. It’s a surprise box. So, the bidding starts low, a dime. The excitement of the crowd grows as the bidding reaches a dollar. Harry never spends more than two dollars. Sometimes there was only one thing in the box of any value. Sometimes nothing at all, but occasionally he’ll get a real winner, like that time he found a gold pocket watch. His son Hugh was thrilled when he received it at his high school graduation.

The auctioneer reaches Harry’s two-dollar limit, so Harry heads home for lunch. There would always be next week. Harry doesn’t let the occasional loss bother him. After all, when you gamble, you have to be able to afford to lose and accept that it’s all a part of the game.

As Harry pulls his Rambler into the driveway, he sees his wife Marie putting something in the garbage. He waves at her, and she flat out ignores Harry. She’s probably still mad about Andy’s midnight escapade.

Still, when he gets into the kitchen, there’s his lunch waiting for him. There are his Lebanon Bologna sandwich and a pot of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup cooking on the stove just like any other day. Marie comes into the kitchen just as the kids walk in the front door for lunch.

“Hi, Daddy.” The kids say together as if they practiced it on the way home. “Hi, Mom, lunch smells good. Umm, my favorite Chicken Noodle soup and Lebanon Bologna sandwiches, I’m starving.”

“Good morning Marie, or should I say good afternoon. I brought home some beautiful vegetables from the Chinaman’s today for you.”

“Harry, you know you shouldn’t say Chinaman. Here’s your soup.”

“Why the hell not? He’s a man from China, isn’t he?”

“Never mind, Harry eat your lunch. Will you help me hang the curtains this afternoon they should be dry by then?”

“Well, I can see later this afternoon. I ‘m going to the track for a couple of hours after lunch.”

Marie’s frowns. She decides to keep her mouth shut because she’s told Harry many times that gambling was an evil thing to do and a waste of good money. She sits down, and without looking up at Harry, she mumbles, “alright later this afternoon then.”
When Harry returns home from the track, he’s so excited he thinks his head might explode. He practically breaks the door he opens it with such force. “Marie, Marie, where are you?”

“I’m right here, Harry. I thought you would get home in time to help me hang the curtains before dinner.”

“Hang the curtains, hang the curtains. Marie, I just won a hundred dollars at the track. And I’m giving you $20.00, and you can buy new curtains for the whole house if you want. And with the rest of the money, we’re all going to go out for dinner for Sunday dinner. Now, what do you think about that?”

Well, it would be hard to judge who had the biggest smile on their faces that night at dinner. When the kids come to the table and sit down, they look from one to the other of their parents.

Finally, Eileen says, “Daddy, Mom, what’s going on?”

“Well, have I got a story to tell you, it’s all about a Mudder.”

GOOD MORNING STUDENTS,MY NAME IS SISTER JOHN MICHAEL

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In she storms her full skirt, making a swishing noise as she moves. When she stops, the giant rosary that hangs from her waist swings back and forth, she’s dressed in black that flows down to the top of her black boots; a white wimple covered her forehead and chin. And she wears a white bib that spans her shoulders from one side to the other. 

If she has any hair, you can’t see it; a black veil covers her head. She appears six feet tall. My first thought is she’s the Wicked Witch of the West.

Today is my first day of school at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary School. I’m seven years old.   The classroom is overflowing with kids. There’re more kids in the class there than desks. A bunch of other kids and I have to sit on the windowsill. I saw three first grades in line in the schoolyard.

There’s a low murmur as the students whisper to one another. Suddenly, Sister yells out, “that will be enough of that. No one is to speak unless they have permission to speak, or unless I ask you a direct question, is that understood?” None of us made a sound.

She screeches, what’s wrong with you? Answer.

We mumble, “Yes.”

She says, “when you reply, you are to say, yes, Sister, or no, Sister.” Now repeat after me, yes, Sister, no. Sister.”

And we did.  “Yes, sister, no sister.”

“If you have to go to the bathroom, you must raise your hand, and ask for permission, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sister.” We say as one.

She walks up to the blackboard and picks up a piece of chalk, and writes her name, Sister John Michael. None of us can read.   “My name is Sister John Michael. You may call me Sister. By the end of the school year, you all will be able to read and write your names. You will know how to do Arithmetic.”

“Good, now let us begin. I’ll start with the fist aisle. You will stand and state your name, now go.”  I ‘m not in an aisle, so I’m hoping I won’t have to stand up and say my name.

After everyone who has a desk says their names, Sister tells the students sitting on the windowsills to speak. When it’s my turn, I stand up, and with my head down, mumble my name, “Susan Carberry.”

“What? I can’t hear you, speak up, and put your head up.”

I put my head up, but I don’t look at her. I stare at the large round clock that’s on the column in front of her. I don’t know how to tell time, but I hope it will be time to leave soon.  I spit it out all at once, “my name is Susan Carberry.” Then I sit down so hard, I jar my whole body.

After everyone has introduced themselves, Sister picks up a long wooden stick that’s pointed at the end. We all hunker down in our seats. Wondering what she’ll do next. Is she going to hit us all one by one?

She points at green cards that line the top of the walls along the front of the room. “Boys and girls, this is the alphabet. I’m going to point at each letter and say the name, and you will all repeat it after me, do you understand?”  She puts her hands deep into the pockets hidden in her long skirt.“Yes, Sister.” We said in unison.

“Good, now we will say the alphabet over and over until we know it by heart. You will all have a chance to show your classmates that you recognize and say each letter out loud. Later we’ll begin writing the letters in a special copybook. And you will learn how to read words that are made by putting these letters together. You will learn how to read and write by the end of the year. You will have to work hard. But you will learn. Do you understand?”

We all sit and stare at her. No one answers. Her voiced booms out, “I said, do you understand?” I for one don’t know what she’s talking about. But I yell out as loudly as I can,” Yes, Sister.”

“Well, Miss Carberry, you’re learning already. Now, I want to hear the whole class. Do you understand what I said?”

All a sudden everyone yells as loud as they can, “Yes, sister.”

“Good, let us begin. I’ll point at each letter and say the name. You’ll all repeat what I said, out loud. Let’s begin.”

After we repeat every letter out loud, Sister announces,” we’ll practice this every day. Beginning next week each student will be called on and they will have to repeat each letter as I point at it. Everyone will have a chance. “Do you understand class?”

There was a moment of silence and then sister repeats, “Do you understand?”

We all yelled out,” Yes, sister.”

My stomach tightens up. I feel sick. I know I’ll never be able to learn all these letters and say them all out loud in front of the class. I want to run out the door and go home.

And then sister says, “Alright class, it’s time to use the girls and boy’s room before recess. Will aisle one and two come to the front of the room and stand at the door?” I look around at the rest of the class, and I wonder what’s a boy’s and girl’s room? Does everyone else know?

And then the first two rows go up to the front and sister says. “boys in front, girls in the back. Go out into the hall and wait until I come out there and direct you to the bathrooms. Be silent, do you understand?”

“Yes, sister.”

And they all walk silently out into the hall. Well, at least I now know we’re all going to the bathroom. I wait my turn hoping I don’t have to wait too long because my stomach is really hurting.  Finally, it’s the turn for the people sitting on the window sills to go to the bathroom. We march out to the hall.

Sister says. “No, talking.”

Suddenly I feel someone t.ake my hand I look to see who it is. It’s a girl with curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She smiles at me and I smile back. My stomach starts to feel a little better. Sister yells, “go into the bathroom now. When you finish, form a line and wait until you are all done and then go back to the class and sit where you were sitting before.

My new friend and I hold hands until we get in the bathroom. We see four doors inside. We each open one of the doors and look inside. There is a toilet in there. We go in, and then we shut the door. It’s weird, but at least I have a moment alone when sister will not yell at me. When I’m done, I flush, the toilet and my friend is waiting at the door for me.

‘Hi, my name is Irene Simpson. What’s your name? “

“My name is Susie Carberry.” I, smiling shyly at her. We walk out hand in hand into the hall.  After all the kids are out, there we march back to the classroom and sit down again.

“Alright class, quiet, please we’ll begin practicing our letters. The first person in each row pass the copybooks to the person behind you. I would like a volunteer to come up to the front of the class to pass out the copybooks to the people who sit next to the windows. What no one wants to volunteer?” She looks up and down the aisle.

I feel her eyes resting on me. I turn my head slightly and put my head down. I’m thinking, please, please don’t call out my name.

“No volunteers? Alright then, Miss Carberry, come up here and get the books, please and pass them out.” I try to shrink down lower. “Miss Carberry, Susan Carberry, come up here this minute. I can see you.” I hop off the windowsill and walk up to the front of the class, and stick out my hands to take the books.

“Very good Miss Carberry, that wasn’t that bad was it?’ She hands the black and white books to me. I turn around and walk to the back of the class to the window and give each of the kids a book. And then I plop back on my window seat. I take a deep breath.

“Alright, let us. Begin I’m going to pass out pencils to each student and you must never lose it. This will be your pencil. And then, we will begin learning to write the letters.  Do you understand students?”

We all say, “yes, sister.” And sister hands out the pencils and shows us how we are to write the letter on the special lines of the copybook. It takes forever to fill up one page of letters.

I’m tired and want to go home. I feel like crying, but I hold it in. “Alright girls and boys, it’s almost time to go home for lunch. Please put your pencils and books on your desk or on the windowsill next to you. I ‘ll be calling each row and we will be walking outside. You will wait until you are dismissed and then you can go home for lunch. There’re people who will help you cross the streets if you need them. They are called safeties they have badges on over their uniforms. Do what they say. You have to come back to class at 12:30 and meet in the schoolyard and stay there until the bell rings then line up and you will come back here to class for the afternoon. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sister.”I have no intention of ever returning to this classroom. But later my mother told me I would have to go back there. My older sister tells me I will have to go to school for twelve years. But I know that can’t be true. So I stick my tongue out at her.

THE FIRST DAY OF FIRST GRADE

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It was September of 1957 when my sister Karen and I entered first grade at Our Lady of Perpetual Help School in Maple Shade, NJ.

“Karen, Susan, Karen, Susan get up it’s time to get ready for school.” My mother yells from the bottom of the steps. We moan and reluctantly throw the covers off. And slowly we get out of bed.

School Yard – Pixabay

My mother had put our school uniforms out for us. They look exactly alike, a maroon jumper with a white blouse that had what my mother called a Peter Pan Collar, black and white saddle shoes, and white socks. And worst of all, a hat called a beanie that was also maroon. I put on the blouse and the jumper, and it is so itchy I can’t believe it. I don’t think I’ll be able to wear it all day. I start scratching. I put on my new shoes. They look kind of neat but feel heavy. Since I haven’t worn shoes all summer.

As soon as I start walking around, my feet start hurting. I take them off and put my old sneakers on instead.

Karen looks over at me and says, “What are you doing? You have to wear  school shoes.”

I stick my tongue out at her. She says I’m telling Mom.

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up, I’m telling Mom.”

We walk down the steps to the kitchen. Karen’s shoes are making a lot of noise as she clumps down the stairs. I’m wearing my sneakers, so I’m not making any noise. I hear my mother yell.

“Pick up your feet.”

I start laughing at Karen. She rushes down the rest of the steps and runs in the kitchen.” Mom, Susie isn’t wearing her new shoes, she’s wearing her old sneakers.”

My mother says, “Don’t tattle Karen; that’s not nice.”

Karen is mad now, “but Mom, she’s not wearing her school shoes.”

“Alright Karen, sit down and eat your cereal, I’ll talk to your sister.”

I am hiding at the bottom of the stairwell, so I know my mother is coming to talk to me. There’s nowhere for me to hide, so I just stand there and wait for my mom.

“Susie, please go back upstairs and change your shoes. We already talked about this the other day you have to wear shoes and a uniform. It’s a rule.”

I look at my mother, and I want to cry, but instead, I say, “I hate school, I don’t want to go.”

“No, you don’t Susie, you don’t even know what it’s like. You’ll make new friends, and learn all kinds of new things. Now, please go upstairs and put on your new shoes. And while you’re at it, get your beanie. And after breakfast, I’ll fix your hair and help you brush your teeth.”

Now I stomp up the steps, muttering under my breath, “I hate school, I hate school.” I hear Karen laughing in the kitchen.

When I come down, I hear my mom talking to Karen in the bathroom while she is brushing Karen’s curly, dark hair. I start shoveling my cheerios in as fast as I can. I feel like I’m going to start crying. Karen and my mother come back into the kitchen. I feel a tear and then another run down my cheeks.

“Look, Mom, Susie’s crying, she’s such a baby.”

I look at Karen, and I’m so mad at her that I stop crying and stare at her hard. I stick my tongue out at her.

She yells, “Mom, Susie is sticking out her tongue at me again.”

“Alright Karen, that’s enough, go get your school bag, and wait for Susie on the front porch she’ll be outside in a minute.”

“Come on Susie, I’ll fix your hair, and you can brush your teeth.”

I follow my mother down the hall passed the Blessed Mother grotto towards the bathroom. I start feeling sick to my stomach. “Mommy, I don’t feel good, I feel sick.

“You’ll be alright, Susie, you’re just nervous. Let me brush your hair and then brush your teeth. Don’t forget to put on your beanie, or you’ll get into trouble.”

I look in the mirror, I see my tear-streaked face, it is all red from me rubbing it. I had washed my hair last night, but I didn’t comb or brush it so it is full of knots.

“Susie, your hair is a rat’s nest. Didn’t you comb it last night after your bath?’

“No, I guess I forgot.”

Then my mother starts pulling the brush and then the big comb through my hair. It hurts. I look in the mirror. I have blond hair, but my sisters always tell me it’s “Dirty blond.” I hate when they say that cause I wash my hair every week.

“OK, Susie, here’s your brush, put some baking soda on it and start brushing, brush all your teeth not just the front ones.”

“OK, Mom, I will.” And I try to brush all my teeth, but my arm starts to feel tired so that I may have missed a few of the back teeth.

“Alright, let me see your teeth, Susie, open up.”

I open my mouth wide. She looks in. “Looks like you missed the ones in the back, here’s your brush. Do it again, and then rinse out your mouth.”

I do it again, I hate baking soda it tastes like poison. I brush the back teeth, rinse and spit.

“Put your beanie on Susie.”

I put it on the top of my head, it’s sticking up weird in the back, because of my ponytail. I make a face. My mom looks at my face in the mirror. “Here Susie, I’ll put a couple of bobby pins on the beanie to keep it on. Don’t lose them.”

She sticks the bobby pins into my hair, and I flinch. Now, my feet and my head hurt. I want to cry again, but I don’t.

My mother leans down and gives me a little hug. It makes me want to cry again, but I hold the tears back. “Bye, Mom, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, Susie I forgot to tell you. You can come home for lunch. Sister will tell you when it’s time. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”

For a minute, I feel a little better. Then I run out of the front door, and I see Karen has already left. Now I have to go by myself. Karen’s a pain, but I always feel a little better when I can go with her somewhere I’ve never been to before. My stomach starts to hurt in earnest. And I get the weird scratchy feeling in my throat right before I start crying.

I cry all the way to the schoolyard — the school bell ringing. There are hundreds if not thousands of kids in the schoolyard. I don’t know where to go. Then I realize that I forgot my school bag — the crying increases. I run into the schoolyard. There is a sea of unfamiliar faces. I can’t find Karen. All the girls look alike in their uniforms.

I see a “nun” coming toward me. I want to run away. She looks like a giant. She has a really long black dress on and around her waist is a giant rosary swaying back and forth. As she comes toward me, I see she has a giant bib on her neck that comes down to her chest. And a stiff white piece of fabric is across her forehead and chin. There is a black veil on her head hanging down her back.

I ‘m terrified. “You’re late, don’t let that happen again. What is your name, and what grade are you in?”

I looked down at the ground. For a moment, I can’t remember my name or what grade I’m in.

“Look at me and speak up.”

I look up momentarily and mumble, “Susan Carberry, first grade.”

“Alright, Miss Carberry, follow me.”

The “Nun” takes me across the schoolyard and over to the line with the smallest kids. I see my sister, Karen. And I have never been so happy to see her in my life, as I did at that moment. She looks over at me, and she gives me a little smile. And then the second bell rings and all the kids start marching toward the school. The first day of school begins.

The Bells of St. Mary’- Highschool Graduation

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I wake up, and my first thought is today is my last day of high school. I have this fear that someone will tell me that I’m not going to graduate and will have to start all over. I know it’s a ridiculous thought, but still, it could happen. I look at my hand and see my high school ring. It bears the name St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy and 1969. My high school yearbook is sitting on the floor next to my bed. So, it must be true. This is it. I’m graduating. 

Can you believe it’s 1969? Where did the time go? I can remember my younger self going to my first day of grammar school and being terrified. I guess that was about 1957. And here I am embarking on the world., I have babysat my nieces and nephews since I was about eleven. But this is my first real job and I’ll be getting a paycheck.

I was hired a dental assistant for Dr. Edward G. Wozniak in Oaklyn, in NJ.  I knew nothing about working in an office, let alone a dental office. Sister Eileen Marie the principal and Mother Superior of St. Mary’s, recommended me for the job. So, I took the bus over there from St. Mary’s one afternoon. It’s on Haddon Ave. in Oaklyn, NJ, not all that far from the school. St. Mary’s is on King’s Highway in Haddonfield, NJ. And about a half-hour bus ride from Maple Shade, where I live.

Dr. Wozniak’s wife, Connie Wozniak, interviewed me. I was so nervous I don’t really remember what I said. But she called Sister Eileen Marie back the next day and told her she wanted to hire me. I can’t imagine what I said to convince her. Anyway, I’m starting there next week and will work part-time at first and then eventually full-time.

I have only been to the dentist a couple of times myself when I have had toothaches and had to have my tooth pulled. So, my understanding of what I will be doing is very limited. I don’t suppose I’ll be pulling out people’s teeth.

Anyway, up until Sister Eileen Marie called me into the office to tell me about the job, I hadn’t really put any thought about what I would do after I graduated. I’m not kidding, I never thought about it at all. No one ever asked me what I wanted to do either. Not my parents, or my older sisters and brother, not my best friends. Nobody.

When I was a little kid, I thought I would like to be a veterinarian or an artist. I just love to draw and make things. And animals, well I prefer them over humans. But still, I had no clue how to go about doing either of those things, and no one ever talked about it with me. My mother always had the mindset that things would just work out somehow. And things did work out. At least I hope it will all work out. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Today I’ll be bringing my yearbook into school with me. So, my friends can sign it. And I can say good-bye to everyone. I guess this will be the last time I see them. Almost all of them are going off to college in September. I’ll be working at Dr. Wozniak’s.

It’s Saturday, June 7th, 1969. The day I graduate. I’m excited and terrified. Happy to be out of school, but terrified of being grown up. Because I don’t feel any differently than I did before graduation. 

I have been working at Dr. Wozniak’s dental office part-time for the past several weeks. And I think I’m going to like it. It turns out having a good memory is a good thing. And twelve years of memorizing prayers and commandments were all worthwhile.

I answer the phone and assist Dr. Wozniak at the dental chair. He also taught me how to develop x-rays. And I started learning how to send out bills. Apparently learning how to type was a good thing too. Also, I have to call all the patients the day before their appointments and confirm them.

I received my first paycheck and that was amazing even though it is not a lot of money. Apparently, the government gets a big chunk of each paycheck. I’m not entirely sure why. And no one has explained that one to me either. It’s my money, and I earned it. I’m going to start saving to buy a car.

Here I am sitting in the pew at Christ the King Church in Haddonfield. Everyone in the graduating class was given a dozen yellow roses. My favorite flower and m,y favorite color. So, I take that as a good sign. I’m waiting for my name to be called, holding my breath. And low and behold they, call my name. There are fifty-three students graduating, and I’m one of them.

So, I guess I’ve taken my first step into adulthood, out of school and getting paid for my first job. I have no clue what comes next. Do you?

 

Afterword: This year, my class of 1969 St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy marked 50 years since graduating. Can you believe it? Overall, it all worked out just as my mother promised..

Red, White And Blue, You Got It Made In The Shade

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I awoke that morning with a great sense of anticipation. I could hear the soft whirring of the fan that was so large it blocked the view from the one window in the bedroom. I shared the room with my three sisters. My twin sister, Karen, was still sleeping in the bed next to me, she was a sound sleeper, and it took something like a bomb going off in the room to wake her up.

Photo by Big Bear Vacations on Pexels.com

My older sisters, Eileen and Betty, were out to the world too. I could smell the bacon my mother was frying, and the coffee brewing in the kitchen. We usually only had a big breakfast on Sunday mornings, but the Fourth of July was a big deal, and a cause for celebration in my town, Maple Shade.

It was 1960; I was nine years old that past May. I had been looking forward to the Fourth of July. My parents felt I was now old enough to ride around town on my bike and see the parade, with all the other big kids.

I quickly threw on the clothes that I had carefully chosen the night before. I put on my white Keds sneakers, red top, and navy-blue shorts. I jumped down the steps two at a time, and rushed into the kitchen and sat down.

My father looked up from his morning paper and said,” what’s the rush, Susieque?”

I stared at him. He had on his usual banlon shirt, with cigarettes in his pocket. It did have red and white horizontal stripes, but there wasn’t any blue in sight.” Hi, Daddy, it’s the Fourth of July, did you forget?”

My mother, who still had her hair set in bobby pins, looked over at me and said,” hold your horses, Susie, you have plenty of time for all that. I’m making breakfast. How about some scrambled eggs and ham, and toast?”

“Of course, I want scrambled eggs and ham Mom, you know it’s my favorite and lots of butter on my toast!” I licked my lips in anticipation.

My dad laughs and says, “Wow, she must be hungry today; she usually eats like a bird.”

Just then, my twin sister, Karen, steps into the room, and quips, “yeah, a vulture!”

I pouched up my face and told Karen, “shut up.”

My mother said, “Susie, you know better than to tell your sister to shut-up. You aren’t allowed to tell anyone to shut-up.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I said. But I wasn’t sorry at all. When my mother turned her back, I stuck my tongue out at Karen.

She immediately said,” Mom, Susie stuck her tongue out at me.” I mouthed at her, ‘Tattle tail.’

“Ok, that’s enough, or neither one of you will be going to parade.” My father said gruffly.  Karen and I knew better than to argue after that when my father got that tone in his voice, we knew he meant business and to be quiet.

My father went back to the paper, and toasting the bread, which was his job whenever my mother made a big breakfast for the family. My mom walks over to the steps and yells up to my sisters, “get up, it’s time for breakfast, Eileen and Betty.”

By the time they got up out of bed and came down for breakfast, Karen and I were already finished eating, and out the side door. Karen and I were twins, but we didn’t look alike, and we had different friends.

We got on our bikes and went in a different direction, without even a wave good-bye to each other. My mother calls out the kitchen door, “be back on time for lunch.”

I rode over to my best friend, Joanie’s house. It doesn’t take that long because she only lives three houses away. I got off my bike and put down the kickstand and immediately start yelling at the top of my voice. “Joan, Joanie get up, come outside it’s the Fourth of July.” No response, so I yelled again, Joan, Joan, get up!”

That was a mistake, because that’s when her father, Mr. Gioiella, came out, and he was only wearing his boxers. He yelled at me, “For the love of god, go home. Why are you always here at the crack of dawn, waking everyone up, go home, you practically live here.”

He looks like an angry hornet. “Sorry, Mr. Gioiella, I didn’t mean to yell so loud. I’ll wait for Joanie to come out.” Joanie likes to sleep in on mornings when she doesn’t have to go to school. In fact, sometimes she even slept until lunchtime. It wasn’t unknown for her to stay in bed all day and read. I liked to read too, but I read after dinner. I wouldn’t dream of sleeping away on a Saturday or a holiday.

Joanie finally comes out about a half-hour later. She’s wearing blue shorts with a shirt that looked like it was made out of an American Flag. I gawk at her, with my mouth open,” Joan, I think its disrespectful to wear the flag.”

Joan looks at me like I came from another planet and says, “everyone does it now, Susie, you’ve got to keep up with fashion.”

Fashion, I think. What the heck is she talking about? Just about everything I wore has been worn by one of my older sisters before me, including my school uniforms. I was lucky if I got a new Easter outfit. As it was, my father would buy my sister Karen, and I, boy’s shoes, because he thinks they last longer.

He was right, no matter how I tried to destroy those ugly shoes, they wouldn’t wear out. My current shoes look like bowling shoes and are a weird olive green. I always insist that Karen is lucky because her feet grew fast. Karen got new shoes twice as often as I did. She says she doesn’t feel lucky because her feet are getting so big!

Joan carries the streamers we had bought together at Ben Franklin’s 5 &10 Store the other day when we had walked down the pike. It’s Red, White, and Blue, of course. We had been planning on how we would decorate our bikes for weeks. We were going to ride in the 4th of July parade, with just about every other kid in town.

Joan’s bike is almost new. She got it for her birthday last August. My father had bought my bike used and then spent about a month, fixing it, and painting it. I thought it was beautiful, because he painted it in my favorite color, red.

We wove the streamers in and out of the spokes of the wheels, and cut short pieces and tied them together and put them on the end of our handlebars. I had also borrowed four of my fathers’ poker playing cards, which we attached with clothespins to the spokes on the wheels. When you rode, the cards made a fantastic snapping noise.”

Let’s go, Joanie. We have to get their early so that we can get a good place in line at the parade.” I thought it’s always better to be early than late. Joan is always late.

We ride down to the end of our street Fellowship Road. We make a left turn past the Rectory, at our school, Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary School. We’re heading towards the police station, which is attached to the library. That’s where all the kids are meeting up.

I can see that some of the older kids are there already and lining up. I see some of my friends riding toward us from the other end of town. Joan and I jump off our bikes and started walking towards them. Several kids yell, hello. And then Robin Schultz, this boy who makes my life miserable in school saw me, and yells, “look who’s here, it’s Susan Carburetor.”

God, I despise that kid. Every day he makes fun of me, calling me Susan Cranberry or Susan Carbuncle. I’d like to accidentally ride him over with my bike. My name is Susan Carberry. Is that so hard to say, you nitwit? Of course, I don’t say this out loud. He would probably smack me upside my head. He was a bully.

Joan says to me,” ignore him, Susie, he is a creep.” I probably should take her advice, but I was pretty sure one day soon, I was going to exact my revenge. I have been planning it for a long time, and he is going to get what was coming to him very soon, even if I had to stay after school and clap erases for the rest of my life as punishment for breaking one of the ten commandments.

I don’t think even Jesus would be that forgiving, and turn the other cheek if he had to deal with Robin Schultz every day of his life. For now, I’ll bide my time, and I settle on just sticking my tongue out at him.

Joan and I ride over to the kids we know and look at how they decorated their bikes. They were pretty cool, at the same time I was thinking of some new ideas for the next Fourth of July parade. I always look for new and creative ways of doing things.

Just then, Mr. Lombardi, my next-door neighbor, who’s a Maple Shade cop, blows his whistle and tells everyone to line up. They’re going to start the parade. It seems like most of the town was there, old people, babies with their coaches decorated. Most people were waving miniature flags.  They are all yelling hurrah, hurrah.

A lot of people had lined their folding chairs up along the Main Street days ago so they would get a good view of the parade. All the firemen from several towns are there with their newly washed fire trucks, and some old guys that must have been born about the same time as the dinosaurs were there with their old cars.  Beauty queens sat perched in the back seat of these old cars. They’re stuffed in their older sisters old prom gowns or bridesmaid dresses with stiff crinolines underneath. I was glad I didn’t have to wear anything like that, and I vowed to myself that no one would ever force me to wear such a monstrosity.

Then come the high school bands, girls in short skirts with batons twirling in the air, at the end of the parade were the veterans of foreign wars, who somehow managed to squeeze into their World War II, and some even from WWI uniforms.

All the kids are in turn excited, and bored because of the long wait. We all look

out into the crowd to see if our parents were there to see us. I see my older sisters on our corner waving, so I wave back and point at my patriotic red bike.

After the parade, Joan and I go down Main Street to the vegetable store. They have a snow cone cart out front. We treat ourselves to root beer ices. I love to watch them scoop out the ice; it looks like real snow. Then they pour your choice of flavor out of a tall bottle with a metal spout, be it vanilla, root beer, chocolate, or cherry. It tastes so great. After you eat all the root beer flavored ice, you tilt the paper cone and drink the unbelievably sweet juice at the bottom.

It’s so hot and humid outside, and we were in the shade. We took our time riding home and make plans to meet up after dark to see the fireworks.

After dinner, Joanie and I meet on the sidewalk in front of her house. We’re deciding what we would do. Then we hear Mr. Softee truck playing its familiar tune from the end of Fellowship Road.

We have each squirreled away some money in anticipation of its arrival, which signals the real beginning of summer for us. We decide to ride our bikes to the corner on Popular Avenue. There are ten kids standing in line ahead of us. As we wait, we decide what we were going to buy.

In my house, ice cream is a treat we only got on special occasions. I decided on a sugar cone with vanilla custard and dipped in chocolate. I loved the first bite into the hardened chocolate and the sweet first taste of vanilla custard.

Joan says, “are you crazy, sprinkles are the best.”

Everyone is excited, and there’s the buzz of their talking, and the longer we wait, we notice the buzz of hungry mosquitoes. For some reason, mosquitoes just loved me. And they’re landing a mass attack on my bare arms and legs, and even managed to bite my face a couple of times. Joan shares her mosquito wisdom with me, “ whatever you do, don’t scratch the bites, it just makes it worse.” I knew this, but could never stop myself from scratching myself raw.

“I hear putting peanut butter on the bites, makes it stop itching, Susie “

“Peanut butter, why would that work?

“I don’t know, but it does!”

At this point, I’d covered myself in peanut butter from head to toe if it kept the little bloodsuckers off of me.

Just then Mr. Softee pulls up, and I can almost taste the ice cream in my mouth, I keep thinking, I can’t wait, I can’t wait! After we got our ice cream cones, we see the mosquito truck coming towards us.

So, Joan and I decide to follow it around town, while we eat our cones, some of the other kids came along too. This is as much of a summer tradition for us as catching fireflies in mayonnaise jars. We ride our bikes behind the trucks as it sprayed a mist of bug spray. All the kids in Maple Shade did it. We thought it was great fun.

When we got back to Joan’s house, Joanie tells me she had a surprise for me. She runs in her house, and when she comes out, I see she has a box of sparklers in her hand. She had a box of matches in her hand. She lit the first one; just then, her older sister, Elaine, comes out.

” Oh boy, are you two going to get it when Daddy finds out you are using matches, I am going to tell.”

Elaine is a tattletale, every time Joan and I are having fun, she tells on us, and gets us into trouble. She’s a jerk, and bossy, just because she thinks we’re babies, she was two years older than Joan and in the seventh grade.

Just then, we start to hear the fireworks. We can see them high in the sky above Maple Shade. All the kids that live on the block are outside, and some of the adults. They’re oohing and ahhing every time the lights hit the sky.

“Wow, Joan, this has been the greatest day ever. I can tell we are going to have a great summer. How about going to Strawbridge Lake tomorrow, and having a picnic?” Just then, I hear my mother calling,” Susie, it’s time to come in now.” I yell back,” in a minute, Mom, see you tomorrow, Joan,” ride down the street to my house.

Beddy-Bye

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At four-thirty sharp every morning, my eyes fly open, I‘m wide awake. This morning I look over at the digital clock that is large and glowing, and it is blinking 12:00. Oh, oh, it seems as if the power went out again. We must have had another electrical thunderstorm. Wonder, what time it is? I make a bet with myself that it is four-thirty in the morning.

I blindly make my way over to the bathroom and flip the light quickly on and off, long enough to see the alarm clock. It has a backup battery. I win or lose, depending on whether I’m feeling optimistic or pessimistic at any given moment. It is indeed 4:30 am. My inner clock has wakened me up at 4:30 am.

This had happened to me every night since August 23, 1986, when my mother passed away from a complete coronary and respiratory arrest. On that particular night, I had wakened up from a sound sleep at 4:30 am and knew my mother passed.

At five am the aide, Doris, who was staying with my mother during the week, called to let me know that my mother had died. The ambulance arrived at the house to take her to the hospital, but of course, I was too late.

Doris, the aide, thought my mother’s refusal to have the air conditioner on or any of the windows open had precipitated her death. It was the hottest August 23rd in the recorded weather history of NJ up to this time. I had a new air conditioner put in my mother’s room, early in the spring. She had mid-stage dementia. And she was sometimes argumentative and combative.

Her disease had caused a radical change in her personality. Formerly a shy and quiet woman that spent her time saying the rosary, reading from her prayer book, and for excitement, she read the Reader’s Digest.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention she was completely blind for the past ten years from glaucoma. She became a paranoid and terrified woman who called me ten times a day to tell me someone was breaking into the house to steal her money, or that someone was hiding behind the living room chair, and smoking pot.

Before I realized what was going on with her, I used to sneak over to her house and peak in the living window to see if someone was hiding behind the rocking chair in the living room. Of course, there never was. Sometimes she called the police. And then they would call me. And I would assure them that she was somewhat senile, and I would be over shortly to check on her. 

My mother suffered these delusions for three years before I was able to get her to agree to go to a psychiatrist who specialized in sedating senile patients into submission, or as in her case, sleeping away the rest of her life. Subdued.

But that day, she had refused to take the sedative and was acting delusional and stubborn. There wasn’t much left of her. But what was there was stubborn when she wanted to be.

I waited until seven in the morning to call the rest of my family, and they were all upset that I hadn’t called them earlier, as if it would have made any difference. She was buried four days later at Calvary Cemetery, next to my dad, who had passed away from lung cancer eight months earlier, after a short battle of eight months, the longest months of my life.

The day is quite long when you wake up at 4:30 every morning.  Sometimes the days seem to run one into the other. This day would be no different. I was exhausted when I fell into bed, into a deep sleep, at ten pm. A little tomato juice and Temazepam paved the way for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

It was Sunday night, I had a full week ahead of me, but thanks to Mama’s little helper, I fell asleep ten minutes after my head hit the pillow, and didn’t wake up until eight-thirty the following morning. I woke up slowly. The room seemed different somehow, oh I realized it was daylight and not the usual pitch dark I wake up to. I had slept the entire night. I thought this is going to be a good week.

Every Dog Has His Day

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I open my eyes and look at my clock. As usual, I wake up five minutes before the alarm goes off. It’s a weird and really useless superpower, but it seems to be the only one I possess. If I had a choice, I would choose to be able to become invisible at will.

There are quite a few reasons why I would like to claim this power. At school, it would be especially useful. I could disappear when I was called on in class when I didn’t know the answer.

I could listen in on conversations that I was not supposed to hear. For instance, I could listen in when Sister Joseph Catherine and Sister Saint George, the other fifth-grade teacher, are planning on giving us a pop quiz. I’d know exactly what to study and not get the second-lowest grade in the class in Math. Robin Schultz is always last.

Although I don’t know if invisibility would help, sometimes it seems no matter how hard I study, my mind goes completely blank when I take a test. As soon as sister says, get out a piece of paper for a pop quiz. It is as if my mind is a chalkboard that someone has hastily erased. I can almost see what is written there, but it’s blurry.

As long as I’ve mentioned Robin Schultz, I might as well tell you how he is my arch-enemy. I don’t know why he hates me so much, but it seems his sole purpose is to make my life a misery in school.

As if I don’t have enough reasons to hate it. What with Sister Joseph Catherine using me as her slave and telling me twenty times a day how she doesn’t understand why I am so stupid and not as smart as my sister, Karen?

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention, I have a twin sister, not the cool kind that looks just like me and is your best friend, but the fraternal kind, who has a million friends, never studies, and gets straight A’s. We are in the same classroom and have been since first grade. She pretends that she doesn’t know me. Since, for some reason, she thinks I am weird.

Anyway, getting back to Robin Schultz, he takes every opportunity to get me in trouble or make fun of me when there are a lot of other kids around. Do you think he would have some empathy for me since we are the shortest kids in the class?

Maybe you know what that’s like? When they take the class picture, I always have to stand in the front. People think I’m younger than I am and talk to me like I am a baby. Even my mother does that sometimes. One day I ask her if I can walk to the Cherry Hill Mall with my best friend, Joanie.

She said, “No, you aren’t old enough.” But she lets my sister Karen go there all the time. The last time I said,” Why can Karen walk there, but I can’t?” Well, Susie, Karen is older.” But she’s my twin. And Karen is only seven minutes older for crying out loud. It’s ridiculous!

Anyway,  Robin Schultz is the bane of my existence. Just yesterday, I was called up to the front of the class to do a math problem on the blackboard. We’re studying adding, subtracting, and dividing fractions. I can never remember the common denominator.

I’m terrified of having to stand in front of the other kids in class. I’m afraid everyone will laugh at me, or I won’t know the answer. And then my whole class will think I’m stupid, just like Sister Joseph Catherine is always telling me. Whenever we are doing math problems on the board, I keep my head down behind my book, hoping that I won’t get called on. But I always do. 

So, anyway yesterday, Sister calls on me, and as I’m walking up to the board, Robin Schulz sticks his foot out. And then I trip and almost fall on top of Thomas Beck, who I have a secret crush on. Everybody starts laughing, and my face gets all red, and that makes them all laugh even harder. Even my friend Irene is laughing.

Sister screeches at the class,” That’s enough. Quiet down. Susan, get busy doing that problem!”

At that moment, I made a vow to myself that I would seek vengeance on Robin Schultz. He has had his last laugh at my expense. That night I can hardly sleep because I decide that tomorrow, I am going to get him and get him good.

The next day, right before the lunch bell rings, I raise my hand and ask, “Sister, can I go to the ladies’ room?”

She says,” Well, Miss Carberry, can’t you wait until you get home?”

“No sister, it’s an emergency, I can’t wait.”

She took this statement seriously because the last time I told her the same thing, she had said, “Well, you are just going to have to wait until you get home, missy!” But I couldn’t wait, and I wet my pants while I was in line waiting to go home for lunch.

After my sister excused me, I ran out of the classroom, and instead of going to the bathroom, I ran out the emergency door and took the shortcut home through Lombardi’s backyard.

Before I had left for school that morning, I tied a jump rope to a stake in Lombardi’s front yard next to their sidewalk across from the big Maple tree. I hid behind the tree with the rope clasped tightly in my hands. Robin lives on my street, about a block and a half away from my house. I know he’ll be passing by soon.

And just at that moment, I see him walking quickly in my direction, then he starts running. I quickly pull the rope as hard as I can. Down he goes, and he hits hard, a big whoosh of air came out of him when he hits the ground. I see tears erupt from his eyes, and his face becomes as red as a beet.

At that moment, I feel a mixture of joy and pity for him. I run over to him, and say,” Well Robin, how does it feel to be on the receiving end of a mean prank, not so funny is it?”

He probably would have gotten up at that moment and punched me if it wasn’t for the fact that the wind was knocked out of him. He slowly and deliberately says, “I’m going to annihilate you.”

“No, no, you’re not Robin, not today, and not ever again. Because if you do, I’m going to tell everybody in the whole class, maybe everybody in the whole school, how you cried like a baby. And the only person you can ever beat in a fight is the smallest girl in class!” And that is how I used my intelligence to beat Robin Schultz—the bully who terrorized and made me feel miserable for five years of school.

I know now that bullies are cowards since the only people they pick on are younger or smaller or afraid to stick up for themselves. If I ever see anyone bully, I tell them to stop. If that doesn’t work, I’ll tell a teacher or my Mom what is happening. No one has the right to bully or make fun of another person for any reason. Everyone has the right to be treated with respect and dignity.

For The Love Of All Things Feathered and Furred

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One of the enduring facts of my lifetime has been that I have loved animals. And my life has been enriched by their presence and their companionship, their unquestioning love, and acceptance.

As a young child, I made it my business to get to know all the cats and dogs in my neighborhood. I knew their names and would visit them whenever possible. My favorite cat was a stray I called Strottles, he was a large orange and white cat who came when I called. He seemed to sense that I needed him and would stay by my side for as long as I needed him too.

My father loved dogs. In particular, he liked Cocker Spaniels. And we owned several during the years that I was growing up. The first dog I recall name was Nomie. My father believed that a dog should be free to roam wherever he or she wanted to go. I loved Nomie very much and spent a great deal of time petting her and playing outside with her. I was never alone while Nomie was in my presence.

Unfortunately, because of my father’s belief that dogs should be able to run free and not be fixed. As a result, Nomie became pregnant. After her puppies were born, she became ill. My father took her to the vet, and he said she had developed “milk fever.” I don’t know if she had died, or she had to be put down. I was devastated when she died. And then my father found a home for the puppies she had birthed. I had become attached to them. But of course, even if Nomie had survived, we would not have kept the puppies. But, no one had told me that. So, when Nomie died, the puppies were given away, and I felt a loss.

We didn’t get another dog until I was about ten or eleven years old. His name was Andy he was a mutt with some Cocker Spaniel in him. But it was clear from day one that he was my father’s dog. Andy’s day didn’t begin until my father was in sight. He followed him around the house and mourned his loss if my father went out for any length of time. My father was the head dispatcher for what was then called PTC, the Pennsylvania Transportation Company in Philadelphia for forty years until he retired. He worked the third shift and slept most of the day. On my father’s day off, Andy sat next to my father’s chair. And my father would scratch his head the whole time he sat in the chair.

Andy was allowed to roam all over the small town of Maple Shade where we lived. And it was not unknown for people to report seeing in Lenola which was another nearby town.  And his look-alike progeny. Since once again, my father refused to have Andy fixed.

My father spoiled Andy in every way possible. He asked my mother to cook him corn on the cob and chicken liver and hearts as a treat. You can imagine the result of a dog eating corn on the cob every day of the week. One of our neighbor’s houses was a location that Andy liked to visit. He would often leave a token of his visit and his last meal in her backyard. Our neighbor, Mrs. Gioiella, would come down to our house every time this happened to complain about Andy’s deposit in her grass. This didn’t change my father’s behavior. He continued letting Andy out to roam where he wished. One day a neighbor set a trap for Andy to stop him from doing his business in their yard.

One day Andy returned home with a trap on his foot, my father went through the roof. He interrogated every neighbor to find out who had done it. No one fessed up. Andy had to go to the vet to have his injured foot treated. My father was angry about it for a long time, yet he didn’t keep Andy in our yard. My father was a stubborn man and somewhat inflexible.

In the Summer, my father would go down to the Ice Cream store on the corner and buy Andy an ice cream cone. My sister and I would look on with envy as Andy would eat the ice cream on a hot summer night.

Andy was an intelligent dog, and he knew how to get his feelings noticed. When my parents and my sister and I went out, which didn’t happen that often Andy would get revenge. This was back in the day when people didn’t lock their doors. Andy would go into the house and bring out the bathroom towels and all the pillows and throw them all over the front yard. His feelings would not be trifled with for any reason.

Andy lived to be an old dog. He lived until my father was retired.  Andy quietly passed away while my father was in the hospital being treated for an illness. My father was broken-hearted when he heard the bad news. It was a sad day for us all. Andy was part of our daily lives for many years. He was an integral part of our family life.

During my childhood, I had many small pets, hamsters and parakeets and finches and a chicken. I loved every kind of animal, both feathered and furred. I can not picture my life without animals.

After I grew up and married my husband Bob and I had two dogs Ulysses, a terrier and Bogie a cockapoo. They traveled with us from Florida to California and New Jersey. They were my children before I had children. Two Cockatiels Peppy and Soda Pop owned a part of my heart for many years. They were entertaining and sweet-natured.

And then there was the enduring love I had since my early childhood for cats.  Over the years, we owned eight cats. One cat remains, Sloopy, who is twenty-five years old. And our tuxedo cat, Evie who just passed away a week ago, who lived to be nineteen years old. 

Also, I took care of a feral cat colony for years. I captured the female cats and had them fixed. I would get up and feed them every morning at five AM.

Our newest pets are Douglas, a long-haired Dachshund who has stolen our hearts. And we have two parrot’s BB and Travis that I adopted from the animal sanctuary where I volunteer three days a week. I care for over twenty Parrots and two Macaws. Not to mention the two hundred animals that reside there that I consider friends. 

I have no doubt that my life would have been narrower and missing an element without the love and companionship of all these wondrous animals. And if that is not reason enough to have pets as part of your life, here are a few more. Pet owners know how much furry friends improves quality of life. They benefit us on an emotional level. Owning pets decrease depression, stress, and anxiety. Health-wise they can lower your blood pressure, improve your immunity, and even decrease your health risk, including heart attack and stroke.

So, my final word is that pets have had a tremendously positive effect on the quality of my life. My life would seem so much smaller without them in it.

Courage Isn’t The Absence Of Fear. It’s The Ability to Act Despite Fear

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Life is challenging. Every day we face problems that must be solved, questions that must be answered, tasks that must be completed. If you think about it, these are the same problems we had to face since our childhood. It’s only the complexity of problems that have changed as we grow up and grew older.

As a young child before I started school. I was quiet, shy, reticent about straying too far from the familiar. Reluctant to be separated from my mother for any length of time. But still I was filled with curiosity about the world. The world outside my house, outside my yard, outside my neighborhood. I had a fraternal twin sister. It is hard to imagine anyone being more different from me than my twin sister.

We didn’t look alike. I had blond hair, she had dark hair. She was friendly and outgoing and talkative. I was shy and quiet. I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. I avoided calling attention to myself. I like the familiar, she was more mature and tried different things. 

These differences became more obvious when we entered school. My sister made friends more readily. I made friends slowly and with more care. I did every thing I could to avoid calling attention to myself in the classroom. If I could have become invisible, I would have disappeared. I always tried to sit in the back of the classroom. If I was a turtle, I would have pulled my head inside my shell.

Because of my personality and my shyness, I often woke up on schooldays with a stomach ache. I would have trouble sleeping, afraid of failing in school, afraid I wasn’t smart enough. My concern about my intellectual ability was exacerbated by my father. When I was reluctant to go out with my parents to visit friends or relatives or I wouldn’t speak up when he asked me a question, he would say, “I don’t know what your problem is, are you stupid, or lazy?”

I sought comfort in my imagination, in making up stories. And by making friends with all the animals in my neighborhood, the cats, the dogs. I would imagine I was a bird and could fly.

But still I had this inner strength that kept telling me you can do it. And when I was afraid to answer that question in class, I decided I would just stand up and answer even if it made me feel uncomfortable, even if I was wrong. If I had difficulty one day, I would try harder the next. I became stubborn. If someone told me I was wrong, I would be even more determined to prove I was right. My father started saying, “Susan would argue with the Pope.”

If another classmate was being picked on by someone, I would stick up for them. I became braver to help them. Because I knew what it felt like to be picked on. I remembered those butterflies in my stomach when I was afraid. Even if I was shaking in my boots speaking up for myself or a classmate, I did it. I cared about other people and their feelings. I knew what if felt like to be afraid. Their fear, their pain became mine. And I wanted to help them, I wanted to help myself.

These changes did not happen overnight. They happened over years. Years when I learn to accept who I was, and what I was capable of doing. And when I learned to listen to my inner voice and not to the people who told me I was stupid, or lazy. I realized that I knew myself better than anyone else possible could. And so, I did not allow myself to be limited by their definition of who I was and what I could or could not do.

When I was old enough, I asked my father to teach me to drive although I knew he didn’t believe women should drive. He didn’t allow my mother to learn how to drive. I was afraid of driving. But I was more fearful of how my life would be limited by not knowing how to drive.

 

I started working part-time in my senior year of high school  as an dental assistant when I was seventeen. The only other job I had was baby-sitting for my nieces and nephews.

I wanted to go to college, but my father said, “girls don’t need to go to college they’re just going to get married and have children.” So, I didn’t go to college at eighteen even though I attended an all-girl college Prep High School, called St. Mary of The Angel’s Academy in Haddonfield, NJ.

I eventually attended college at the age of thirty-six at Temple University in Philadelphia, Pa. at The Tyler School of Art. I had been married for fourteen years and had two children who were six and three years old in my freshman year. I graduated Summa Cum Laud at the age of forty with two degrees. It was a dream I always had, and I made it happen. It wasn’t easy. I was the only adult student in the Freshman class in 1987. I enjoyed every moment of it.

The day I walked onto that campus as a first day freshman was the opportunity of a lifetime for me. But I have never been as frightened or nervous as I was that day. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. All the way up to the day I graduated at the top ten percent of Temple University. I was proud of myself, proud that I accomplished a very difficult goal, proud that I didn’t give up every time I was tired, overworked with school, taking care of my two children, taking care of our home, shopping, cooking and cleaning and staying up half the night or all night studying and doing homework.

Many years have passed since I was a little girl going to my first day of grade school. I have lived a long time. I have moved to another state when I was twenty-two by myself. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California and now have retired to North Carolina with my husband of forty-five years.

I have worked as a dental assistant, sold high risk auto insurance, went to hairdressing school in the mid-seventies, sold hats and wigs, worked as a houseparent at St. Vincent’s School in Santa Barbara, gotten married and had two children, went to college as an adult, taught art in my own art studios, had an online business selling one-of-a kind jewelry with my daughter. Worked in Social Services for a decade in Camden and Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ helping at-risk inner-city kids.

So yes, I’m not that shy little girl who was afraid of speaking up and out. I have challenged myself hundreds of times. I have known people who from all of the world and from around the block. I’ve met and gotten to know millionaires and homeless people. And they are all just people struggling in their own way as am I. We all come into this world innocent and none of us gets out of this world alive.

Try and meet all the challenges that life brings to you and always do your best. Life is short and passes by so quickly, do good along the way. Fear may often be your companion but you don’t have to let it lead your way. You are the navigator of your life and don’t let anyone or anything keep you from living the life you want to lead.

And one final thought in case you think I spend everyday typing out stories and sharing my life in this blog. No, I’m still living my life as fully as possible. I work as a volunteer at an exotic animal rescue three days a week. I take care of endangered Parrots and Macaws. And some of my best friends now are lemurs, and a Coatimundi called Neffin,  a monkey called Teddy, a lemur named, Monroe, and a rabbit called Marilyn, eight dogs and too many cats to mention. Foxes as sweet and gentle as any dog. And a host of other animals too long a list to mention. 

It’s your life, lead it, my friends. It’s normal to be afraid at times, but don’t let fear especially fear of failure stop you in your tracks.