Category Archives: My Memoirs

These Things I Know To Be True

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Words Matter

When I consider the things that have most shaped my personality, my self-esteem and my self-identity it was another person’s words that built me up or knocked me down. Words have power. The power to hurt or heal. 

When I was very young, before I attended school my parents and my siblings’ words defined me. They created my reality. Gave me a sense of who I was in the narrow world I occupied, my home, my neighborhood.

I didn’t comprehend that some of these words were said in anger or perhaps annoyance. I was a very sensitive and thoughtful child. My feelings were easily hurt.  Harsh words often felt like a physical blow to me. Apologies are not often made to children. It is impossible to take words back once they are uttered. It’s possible for words thoughtlessly said to a child to permanently affect their perception about themselves and who they will ultimately become.

The words that I recall my parents saying to me as a young child that stayed with me throughout my life are these: Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. Get that look off your face, I don’t know what your problem is. Are stupid or just lazy? You can’t say boo to Susan, she will start crying. You’re crying, what now? I’ll give you something to cry about.

These words seem to dictate to me at the time that my feelings were invalid. That I wasn’t  Words have power. The power to hurt or heal.  supposed to cry or at least let people see me cry. That I was stupid. As a result, I learned to hide my feelings, keep things to myself. Hide who I was from the people who were supposed to care for me the most. My family often remarked how quiet I was, how I kept my feelings to myself. When they were the ones who taught me to do this to protect myself.

My parents and siblings were not terrible people. They weren’t abusive. They were just overworked, tired people who lived in close quarters and struggled everyday to get by with less than they needed. It was often difficult to make ends meet. The same problems people now have. Overworked, underpaid, too much month left when the money is used up.

As I matured, I made an effort to be more aware of the words I used when I spoke to other people. I tried to keep in mind that hurtful words did indeed hurt people. I certainly was not and am not perfect. I lose my temper and say things out of anger to people that I love and care about. When I calm down, I apologize for what I said and tell them I didn’t mean it. I strive to be a better, more considerate person. I am not always successful. I remember each day, is a new beginning.

In addition, when I see someone is doing the right thing, putting great effort to do their best, I tell them what a great job they are doing. And how proud I am of them. When a friend or an acquaintance looks nice. I complement them. How much effort does it take to say, “Hey, you look fantastic today?

Words truly have power to lift someone up or do put them down and crush their spirit. If you consider the last time someone told you how great you were doing. Didn’t this positive reinforcement spur you on to do more and better in whatever you were working on?

If a friend or loved one comes to you and confides in you about some personal struggle, are you open to listening, really listening to them? Do you offer them support and a caring heart without judgement? Or do you blow them off because you’re too busy? Put yourself in their place, wouldn’t you want this same friend or love one to care about you, to support you when your life is a struggle at times?

How great would our world be? If you, me and everyone we know arose from our beds everyday with the idea that we’re capable of making the world a better place just by being in it. And treating the people we meet and see during our day with a kind word, a supporting word? How difficult is it to say, “Hello, have a great day?” To the people we meet along the way.

You are doing a great job. I can see how much work and effort you are putting into everything you do. I see how hard you are doing, I’m proud of you. I have faith that you can succeed at whatever goal you set for yourself. You are a decent and kind person. I feel lucky to have you in my life. You make the world a better place, by you being a part of it. I love you. I care for you. I am here for you. I consider you my dear friend.

Words are that powerful, they create our reality. Use words with great care my friends. How great would our world be? You tell me.

To Forgive And Forget That Is The Question

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These Things I know To Be True

Forgiveness is man’s deepest need and his highest achievement (Horace Bushnell)

Having said that I believe you have a choice to forgive the person that has harmed you and yet decide not continue that relationship. Or you can forgive this person who has harmed you and to ask for fairness or justice. As it isn’t possible for you and this person to step back in time and undo the harm it has done to you or the relationship.

I have been struggling to forgive my older sister for over four years. I along with my sister and my niece and a friend of hers were invited to have lunch at my oldest sister’s house. While we were having lunch, my oldest sister started saying very hurtful and inappropriate remarks about my marriage. I was stunned and kept saying,” who are you talking about?” Over and over again. Everyone was laughing at my reaction to what my sister was saying. 

I was so devastated by this experience that I just got up and left without saying anything. A week later I called her and try to explain to her how much she had hurt me. She had the opportunity to say she was sorry in that moment but she didn’t take it. She became extremely angry at me and told me I had no right to criticize her. She repeated the hateful things she had said to me at her house. And then she hung up on me. I was so shocked that I thought somehow the call had been disconnected. I called her back. The phone machine picked up and I just kept repeating her name. She never called me back.

The negative feelings that I harbored toward her were nearly as painful to me as the harsh and harmful words she said to me. If she wasn’t a person that I loved and felt connected to at a deep level, I would not have felt so betrayed.

I spoke to my other two sisters and explained how upset I was by this event. The sister who was present during the incident said, “Oh, we weren’t laughing at you. We were laughing at how she said it.” My other sister, said, “Forget it. As she is under a lot of pressure. This dismissive attitude toward my feelings deepened the injury my older sister caused.

Over the next months I became depressed and angry. I stayed angry for the next several years. I stopped painting and writing. It is only in the last year that I started writing again.

My husband and I prepared to retire and made the decision to move to another state that was more affordable. And also, to remove me from a place that constantly reminded me of my sister and what had happened between us. During the next two years after we moved away both my older brother and his wife passed away. I didn’t return for the funerals. I couldn’t bare the thought of seeing my oldest sister.

Last Spring, my sister wrote me a note. It said.

I’m so sorry for all the things I did that hurt you. I never intended to hurt you. If you can forgive me. I will always be grateful. You were always kind to me and my husband. I will always remember those times. Your sister. E.

I made the decision to forgive her. I hope this act will have the effect of healing my heart and release the pain I have felt for the past four years. I will make every effort to let go of this painful experience and move forward in my life with a lighter spirit and love in my heart to replace all the pain that was living there.

My enduring hope is that having forgiven my sister for this transgression that I’m able to feel that I have a family again.

The Apron

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I run up the front steps and throw back the storm door and pull open our red, front door. It’s 3:08 pm. My personal best time for getting out of the third-grade classroom and into our kitchen. I open the cubbyhole next to the front door, toss in my schoolbag with one hand, pull off my galoshes, and threw them in with my other hand.

My mother is standing slightly hunched over the ironing board. There’s a basket of clean clothes waiting to be ironed on the kitchen table. The front of her dark hair is still set in bobby pins. She’s wearing her everyday apron over her favorite blue housedress. Hanging down her apron is a line of safety pins that are attached to one another. They sway back and forth every time she leans over to pick up the next pair of my fathers’ pants or shirt. Anything that doesn’t get ironed today, she‘ll roll up and store in the refrigerator until tomorrow.
“Hi, Mom!”

“Susie, don’t forget to hang up your coat in the closet. How was your day, did you learn anything new today?”

“Well, I learn how to spell Mississippi and Arithmetic.”

“Would you like to have a snack?”

“Yeah, I’m starving, what are we having for dinner? I smell something good.”

“I made stew, your favorite, and I’m making the crust for the top.”

My mother walks across the room and takes out a glass and fills it with milk from the fridge. We have a milkman. His name is Ralph. He delivers milk and sometimes eggs to our side door early every morning. He takes away the empty bottles. He has bushy red hair and a mustache. There is always a big, stinky cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth that bobs up and down when he speaks.

My mother takes two homemade peanut butter cookies out of our Happy Face cookie jar. She puts them on the table near the front window and hands me the glass of cold milk. I dunk the cookies into the milk.

“Where’s Karen, Susie, how come she didn’t come home with you?”

“Oh, I forgot. She asked me to tell you that she was going to play over at Anne Marie’s house until dinnertime.”

“Well, she knows she’s supposed to come home first. Susie, when you finish your snack, will you pick up the newspapers off the floor, and throw them away.”

When my mother washes the linoleum floor, she always covers it with newspapers until it dries. So, if we walk on the floor when it’s wet, we won’t leave dirty footprints.

After my snack, I throw away the newspapers and run up the stairs to my room to change out of my school uniform. I cross the room and hang my uniform on a hanger in my closet. Well, it isn’t a closet. My room is on the second floor., It used to be the attic, and the “closet” is the eve of our house, which was never finished.

In the winter, it’s really cold in there, and in the summer it’s a furnace. So, either way, it isn’t a place you would want to spend a lot of time in. My older sisters’ have some of their old prom gowns stored in the closet, and sometimes I go through the boxes and try them on.

One day I decide that one of the dresses would make a beautiful dress for my doll, so I cut a big hole in the skirt which was made out of shiny blue satin with a crinoline on top. The next time my sister Jeanie visited us from New York, she noticed my dolls’ new dress and recognized the fabric. She was furious.

I decide to watch TV until dinnertime. I flop down on the floor about ten inches from the TV and put on my favorite show, Sally Starr and Chief Halftown. I love Popeye cartoons, especially when Popeye burst opens the spinach can, and gulps it down in one swallow, and his muscles immediately swell on his scrawny arms. But I still refuse to eat any vegetables except corn.

After the show, I turn off the TV. I overheard my father talking to my mother. He just woke up. He works for the bus company in Philadelphia from eleven PM at night until seven AM in the morning. So, he sleeps during the hours that I’m in school. He’s always a grouch when he wakes up, so I try to stay out of his way.

I want to hear what my Mom and Dad are talking about. So, I tiptoe over to the steps, which are next to the kitchen, and listen to what they were saying. I hear my father say,” Marie, did you look everywhere for them?”

“Yes, Harry, I did. The last time I saw them was when I put them in my apron pocket.”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to have new ones made, Marie. I don’t know where we will get the money!”

I don’t know what they were talking about, but my Dad sure sounds mad at my mother. I decided it would be better if I stay out of his way for a while.

Just then, Karen comes in the door and sees me crouched on the steps, and says, “What are you doing, snooping again?”

She walks into the kitchen and starts talking to my mother. I hope she isn’t telling them I was listening on the steps. If she does, I tell them that she always listens to them talking in the kitchen through the heating vent in her bedroom.

I decide to go outside, just in case. So, I put my boots on over my sneakers and my favorite coat. It‘s too small for me, but I love it. It’s fake white fur with big blue snowflakes on it. The hood is trimmed with fur. This is the first coat that was really mine and didn’t belong to one of my older sisters first. 

As I jumped down the front steps, I almost fall because there was a thin layer of ice. I decided to make snow angels in the back yard. I jump down the steps two at a time to the backyard. I notice the snow is beginning to melt.

I was hoping it will snow again soon, really deep so I can have some snow days off. I’ll build a snow fort. And have snowball fights with all the kids in the neighborhood.

I flop on my back and move my arms up and down. I’m disappointed because there isn’t enough snow for the angel’s wings to show up good. Maybe it will snow tonight. I decide to add that to my prayers tonight. Please God, please let it snow- two, no, three feet!

Then I hear my mother calling from the side door, “Susie, come in and get ready for dinner.” As I was going to the side step, I saw something on the ground. I walk over to it and push it with my foot. I realize it’s false teeth. What in the world are teeth doing out here?

And then it almost feels like a bell goes off in my head when I realize it’s my mother’s teeth. My mother and father wear false teeth. That’s what my parents were talking about in the kitchen. I stuff them in my pocket and run into the house. My sisters and parents are all sitting around the table. “Mom and Daddy guess what, guess what?”

“Susie take off your boots before you make the floor all dirty again!”
”But Mom I have a surprise.”

“Boots first, surprise later, Susie.”

I run into the hall and throw my wet coat on the floor, kick my boots onto the closet floor, and run back to the kitchen.

“Now, can I tell you?”

“OK Susie, what is the big surprise, maybe then we can eat in peace?”

I open my hand like I have a precious gem in my hand.

My father says, “Look, Marie, It’s your teeth!”

My mother comes over and gives me a big hug, and says, “but where did you find them, Susie; I looked everywhere?”

“I found them on the ground next to the garbage cans. Mom, they must have fallen out of your apron pocket when you leaned over to put the garbage in the can. I guess today is your lucky day.”

These Things I Know To Be True

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The words I love you cannot be heard or said too often.

I believe in these words with all my heart. However, having said that I would like to add that I have always had difficulty saying these words. My difficulty in expressing these words stems from growing up in a family where my parents never said “I love you.” My mother and father did not hug us. They didn’t show affection toward each other in front of us.

Still, in my heart I knew my mother and father did loved me. I knew it because they worked tirelessly everyday of their lives to keep a roof over our heads, feed us and put clothes on our backs. There were six children in my family.

My mother was the youngest in a very large Irish Catholic family. Her parents emigrated to America at the turn of the century to find a better life. Her mother was bedridden for most of my mother’s childhood. She had ALS, Lew Gehrig’s Disease. My mother had to take care of her own mother and father and her brothers and two aunts because she was the sole daughter. Her family spent all their energy just trying to survive.

She married my father when she was nineteen years old.

My paternal grandparents immigrated from Ireland from County Down Patrick. My Dad’s father died from uremic poisoning when he was five. His mother had to support them by herself, she was a seamstress. She made the decision to place my father at Gerard College in Philadelphia. It was a residential military school in Philadelphia for boys. Who only had one living parent. He lived there from the time he was seven until he was seventeen. He saw his mother once or twice a year. As you can imagine he didn’t receive many hugs during those years.

When I was a little girl about nine or ten years old, I told my mother that I wish she was more like my best friend Joanie’s mother. My mother said, “What do you mean, Susie?” I answered, “Joanie’s Mom is always kissing her, and telling her how much she loves her.”

When my mother was at the end of her life, she said these words to me.” Susie, the most hurtful words ever said to me were when you told me that you wished I was more like Joanie’s mother.”

I was about thirty-four years old at that time. I thought about the words I had said to my mother and I was sorry that I hurt her. But still, how painful for a child such as myself to go throughout her entire childhood without ever having been told, “I love you,” from either of her parents. How sad I felt for my younger self and yet how brave I was to ask for those words and not receive them. I cried that day for my mother and for myself.

When I was twenty-one years old, I fell in love with my best friend Joanie’s cousin Bob. He had just gotten out of the Navy after serving during the war in Viet Nam. He stopped in NJ to visit my friend Joan on his way home to Florida. Joan asked if I would be interested in going out with him while he was visiting. And since I always had a crush on him. I said yes. And he was the first boy that kissed me when we were playing hid and seek. After he went back home to Florida, we corresponded by phone and mail. And I visited him in Florida. After I returned home, we continued to keep in contact and eventually I decided to move there. We were married the following year. I had just turned twenty-three. This was in 1974.

In 1999 Bob and I celebrated our 25th Anniversary. By then we had two children. Who were eighteen and fifteen. I would like to share a letter that I wrote to Bob on that anniversary.

Dear Bob,

This year marks the 25th year that we spent together as a married couple. It’s a long time. And in that time, there has always been one sustaining fact. And that fact is that I love you deeply. We have passed some very difficult times together.          Times when we didn’t have a pot to piss in, to use an old Irish expression. When we were younger, we didn’t have a great many things or money. It didn’t seem that important then. We always got through somehow. Because we had each other.

As time passed somehow “things” became more important. Certainly, we have accumulated a great many things in the past twenty-five years. But, if there was ever a choice put to me, Susan, you have to give up the things, the big house or Bob. I would say without hesitation, I want Bob. You are the most important person in my life. You are my best and most loyal friend. My life without you in it would be no life at all.

After our children grow up and move out. There will still be me and you and that will be enough. I know I don’t tell you often enough how much I love you. But I do very much. More than I could ever express in words. I love your intelligence, your integrity. I admire your dedication to your work. The kindness, and respect you show toward the people in your life. 

We may not be a perfect match, but it is a love match. I feel blessed to have you in my life. I look forward to the many years of life we have to spend together yet.

And now this week on July 13th   2019 Bob and I will be celebrating our 45th Wedding Anniversary. We are retired now and live in North Carolina. We spend our days together doing the things that we love. He with his photography and me writing and painting and gardening.

And so, this last bit of advice, make every effort to tell the people in your lives how much you love them and how much they mean to you. Because life passes quickly. It seems like a blink of an eye.

These things I know to be True

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Do not let your age define or limit you

Aging happens, there is no stopping it. You can’t avoid it. Accept it as a normal part of life and keep moving forward. But what is more important is what you do with that time.

When I graduated from high school in 1969, I was hired for my first real job working as a dental assistant. I discovered things about myself I was unaware of until then. I was intelligent, had an amazing memory, wasn’t as shy as I thought I was. I just lacked confidence.

The longer I worked, the more confidence I gained. I came to realize that I was a capable, motivated, organized person. It didn’t happen overnight, it happened over time. I learned who I was, and what I was capable of accomplishing.

When I was twenty -one I was hired at Ancora State Mental Hospital as a psychiatric aide in the active psyche ward. I worked there for one year. I came away from that experience with a deeper understanding of how life can damage people. I became aware that I could help people heal themselves through kindness, understanding, by listening without judgment.

When I was twenty-two, I fell in love and moved to Florida and married Bob. We will be celebrating our forty-fifth anniversary on July 13th, in two weeks. After living in Florida for several years Bob decided he wanted to go to school to study photography in Santa Barbara. I became more independent and self-reliant in California because Bob was going to school and working a full-time job and we didn’t get to spend much time together. I found a job I loved, working with children and made new friends.

When Bob graduated from school, we decided to move back to New Jersey to live near my family. I wanted to have children. I had difficulty getting pregnant. The doctors told me I was too old. I was too old to have children at twenty-nine.

I learned to have patience and not to give up hope. Eventually, I had my daughter Jeanette and then three years later my daughter Bridget.

When I was thirty-six, I decided I wanted to go back to school and get a degree. I was accepted at four different Universities in Philadelphia. I chose Temple, Tyler School of Art. For the next four years, I studied, I learned and worked as hard as any person could. I only got three hours of sleep a night. I didn’t want my children to feel that their mom wasn’t there for them. So, I did all my homework, and painting, drawing and studying after they went to bed.

I learned to set goals and to achieve them. It took hard work and perseverance. My kids learned that a woman can be a mother and an individual. Both of my daughters grew up to be artists. I was forty when I graduated from school with two degrees, Summa Cum Laude.

Fast forward to 2019. I am sixty-eight years old. I retired three years ago from working but I’m still an artist. I’m writing, I started this blog and I’m publishing my memoirs and short stories. I have written a book. I volunteer three mornings a week at an animal Sanctuary taking care of Exotic birds. I was a citizen volunteer for the Guardian ad litem for the family court in NC.

Am I a young woman anymore? No. But I ‘m still living my life to the fullest living in a new place, having new experiences and learning new things every day. I keep moving forward. I don’t let my age or other people define who I am. And neither should you.

Maverick, Long May He Ride

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The view outside my bedroom window is shocking. It’s snowing, snowing, on Easter! It’s only flurries, but still! Spring is supposed to be sunny, but cool days with plenty of daffodils and tulips.

I love Easter, just like I love Halloween, because it means candy. I crave candy. I dreamed about it when I sleep! I had laid out my Easter clothes last night. A beautiful white dress with lilacs sprinkled across the top, and pale purple sash that tied in the back.

My mom  bought me a straw hat with a wide brim that she decorated with flowers and a white, satin band. Unbelievably, I got new patent leather shoes, and new socks with a little bow that shows when you fold the socks down.

The final touch was white gloves that come to my wrists. Well, snow or no snow I am wearing my new outfit. I can’t stop thinking of all that yummy candy that I am going to get, as I hopped down the stairs to the kitchen.

I make my grand entrance into the kitchen, I peek at the kitchen table fully expecting to see two baskets, one for me and one for my twin sister, Karen. What I see is not two baskets, but a cardboard box, and my mom and dad sitting on the same side of the table with a weird look on their faces.

“Happy Easter Susie, don’t you look pretty in your new dress.”

“Susabelle, you are a thing of beauty and a joy forever. “My dad adds.

“Hi Mom, and Daddy, Happy Easter, what’s in the box?”

“Well, why don’t you wait until your sister comes down and then you can both see at the same time?”

“You two will have to wait until after Mass, it’s getting late, Susie call your sister.” My mom says to me.

As I called my sister, I couldn’t help but wonder where the Easter baskets are, and what is in the box? Karen comes down the steps and is wearing a similar outfit as me, except her dress is blue and white, and has daisies.

My mother feels that twins should dress alike even though Karen and I do not look alike at all.  In fact, we don’t even look related. I have blond hair, and Karen has chestnut brown hair, and freckles all over her face.  As Karen walks into the kitchen, and I can tell by the look on her face that she is disappointed by the lack of Easter baskets. She loves candy almost as much as I do.

“Oh Karen, you look beautiful, my Mom and Dad say together.”

My father says,” before you leave for church, I want to take a picture of the two of you on the front steps. He whips out a camera from under the table. And off we go. If there is anything that I hate almost as much as I love candy is getting my picture taken.

My father is a real camera buff, always torturing me by wanting to take my picture, He has a little photo studio set up in the basement, and a darkroom where he develops and prints his own pictures. Five minutes later I hear the church bells ringing and Karen and I are off to the 9:00 Mass.

“Susie, what was that box on the table, did Mom and Dad hide the candy somewhere?” Karen ask.

“I don’t know Karen. You know as much as I do. There better be candy somewhere.”

Because it’s Easter, there is a high mass, one and half hours of torture. All the kids spend the whole time checking out each other’s Easter clothes. Waiting impatiently to leave so they can get back home to their candy booty.

Karen and I are not the only ones to have that particular monkey on our backs. Sugar, how we loved it, how we craved it, in every form it came in, candy, cake, ice cream, pies. You name it. We love it! I like to roll peeled apples in cinnamon and sugar.

Karen and I practically fly home. We can smell bacon and eggs as we walk through the door. My stomach is growling, sounds like there is a bulldog in there. The box is gone, but still no baskets. Well, we have waited this long, so I guess we can wait a little longer. I don’t think I have ever swallowed toast, eggs, and bacon so fast in my life. I don’t think I even tasted it.

My mother clears the table, and brings the mysterious box back and puts it on the table. I hear a weird scratching noise from inside the box. Karen and I look at each other, and I can tell that we are both thinking the same thing. This doesn’t look like candy. Even though we are not identical twins, sometimes we have the same thoughts, at the same time. “Well, girls open the box, Happy Easter.”

Karen opens the box, and we both lean forward to see what it contains. What we see is two little chicks, which are peeping away and trying to escape the box without any success.

Any thoughts of candy fly out of my head. I’m in love. I pick up my chick. He is yellow and has a brown spot on the top of his head. “Oh, isn’t he the most adorable thing in the world, I love him.” I immediately start making plans, where he’ll live in my room, how I can’t wait to show my best friend, Joanie.

“Oh, says Karen, he’s cute.” But she is still looking around for her basket.

My Dad says, “I thought you and Karen would like these better than candy, my friend Johnny Marrow has a chicken coop, and these chicks were just hatched a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, I do, can he live in my room Mom?”

“No, Daddy has built a little house for them on the back porch.”

“He did, oh let’s go see it Karen!”

We decide to go down through the cellar and up through the bilko doors to the back porch. Which is really just a cement slab with walls that my father built out of found supplies like, old windows and an old screen door that bangs open and closed, every time you use it. He bought corrugated metal from the junkyard, and made it into a roof, which is great except when it rains and then it sounds like the roof is being hit by heavy artillery gunfire.

My father follows us down to the porch and shows us the new cage. He’s carrying the box with the chicks in it.

He likes to build things and almost always uses recycled materials. It looks like he has made the chick’s new house out of packing crates and window screen. He has a water bottle attached to the side and a little red bowl sitting in the back corner with some kind of, I guess- chicken food in it.

I tenderly lift my chick out of the box and put him into the cage, Karen looks at her chick and hesitates for a moment before picking him up and putting him in the cage. Meanwhile I am squatting down and buck, bucking at my baby chick.

“I’m calling my chick Maverick. Because Maverick is my favorite cowboy on TV.”

“How about you Karen, what are you calling your chick?”

“I don’t know yet, I will have to think about it for awhile, Daddy.”

After a couple of months, I notice that Maverick is growing a lot faster than Karen’s chick. In fact he is growing at an enormous rate and he’s growing a wattle and a red comb in the top of his head. His feathers are glossy black and brown. Karen doesn’t like cleaning out the cage so I clean it every day after school.  

One day I decide that Maverick must be bored inside the cage all the time. I decide that I will take him for a walk down my street, which is called Fellowship Road. At first, I walk with him cradled in my arms, but he keeps struggling to get up, so I decide to let him sit on my head.

I walk slowly down the street to show him off. He seems to really like it up there. I guess he can see everything really good from this perspective. All the sudden he starts making a weird noise like cartoon crows do on TV. Cock a doodle do, over and over again, and it’s pretty loud.

I can’t believe how great he is. So, I keep strutting up and down my street with Maverick on my head. Some of the neighbors come outside to see what all the noise is about. Mrs. Rice our next-door neighbor comes out and stands on her front step with her hands on her hips. She’s slowly shaking her head back and forth, and wagging her finger at me. Her son, Jackie comes running over to me, and says” hi, what’s his name, where did you get that rooster?”

“Oh, Karen and I got chicks for Easter, isn’t he neat? His name is Maverick.”

“Wow, he is really cool. I wish I could get one. but my Mom won’t let me have pets!”

After that I take a walk with Maverick every day after school, after I clean the cage. My sister, Karen’s chick got something wrong with it. And one day when I came home from school, he wasn’t in the cage anymore. I run upstairs and ask,”

“Mom where is Karen’s chicken?”

“Oh, Susie, Karen’s chicken got sick, and she died, I sorry.”

I started bawling my eyes. “Oh no, oh Karen is going to be so sad.”

“Well, I already told Karen and she was upset, but she will be alright, don’t worry.”

I decide I better go out and check on Maverick, and take him for a walk. In case he feels bad because his friend died. When he sees me, he starts crowing and pushing at the door to his cage. He seems really happy when I take him out for his walk.

The next morning is Sunday and after Mass, we have our usual big breakfast of scrambled eggs, and bacon and toast.

“Susie, Daddy and I want to talk to you about Maverick. You know how he likes to crow early in the morning and sometimes on and off all day, well Mrs. Rice and some of the neighbors have been complaining about all the noise.”

I look from my Mom to my Dad and see they both have a serious look on their face. “Susie, we have to give Maverick away, because he’s waking the neighbors up early in the morning, and making a racket all day.”

“What, no you can’t give Maverick away, I love him. He’ll miss me too much.”

“I’m sorry Susie we have to. Daddy is going to take him up to Johnny Marrows house, where we got him. So, he can live in the big chicken coop with all of the other chickens. And he won’t be lonely anymore. And you can go up and see him everyday after school.”

I was so upset all night, I couldn’t sleep, early in the morning I went down to Maverick’s cage and took him out and petted him until I had to get ready for school.

My Mom told me that my father was going to take him up to Johnny’s house that morning before he went to work. All day long I worried about him. I decided that as soon as school let out from school I would go over and see him and make sure he was doing OK in his new house with the other chickens.

As soon as the bell rang, I got in line to go home, but at the corner, I ran across the street, and down Main Street to Johnny Marrow’s house. He has an auto parts store downstairs, and he and his family lived upstairs in an apartment.

My father worked for him part time, delivering car parts to people and sometimes waiting on customers in the store. When I got there, I ran in the door and the bell that was attached at the top rang. My father was standing there talking to Mr. Marrow.

I ran up to my Dad and said, “Hi, Daddy, where is Maverick? Can I go see him now?”

“I’m really sorry Susie, but after I brought Maverick over here this morning, and put him in the cage, the other Rooster decided he didn’t like your rooster being in there, and they got into a fight. The other Rooster killed Maverick. I’m really sorry.”

I looked at my dad, and then Mr. Marrow and I cried, and said, “I hate you both, you killed Maverick, you killed him.”

“Oh, look Susie you need to calm down, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t know the other rooster would attack him, and don’t cry anymore.”

But I did cry. I cried all night until I fell asleep, and my eyes were all swollen when I got up in the morning and then I cried some more. My mother tried to calm me down, but couldn’t because I was mad at her too.”

It was a long, long time before I stopped being mad at everybody. And I never did forget how much I loved Maverick, and how I like strutting down the street with him on the top of my head.

Every time I saw Mrs. Rice, I stuck my tongue out at her, and would throw trash in her yard when she wasn’t looking. She told my Mom and Dad I was a brat. But I didn’t care what she said, because I thought she was a witch.

You got it made in the Shade

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Hello, Write On Followers, I thought you might enjoy reading a short essay on the town that I grew up in Maple Shade, NJ. I would love to get feedback and comments. Or tell me about the places that you all grew up in the comments section of my blog.    SUSAN

Although Maple Shade wasn’t exactly Mayberry, and I wasn’t exactly Opie, I did have an idealized childhood, if slightly more tarnished version of it. I was born in 1951, and lived in Maple Shade, NJ until I was twenty. When I spread my wings and moved to a small one-bedroom apartment on Haddon Avenue in Haddonfield, that was over a yarn shop.

I grew up two houses away from the Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church on Fellowship Road. I attended OLPH elementary school through the eighth grade. I attended highschool at St. Mary Of The Angels Academy in Haddonfield. It was an all- girl school.

The kids in my neighborhood were mostly of Irish or Italian descent. We were Catholics but not everyone went to the Catholic school, some of my best friends were publics. That’s what we called anyone who didn’t attend OLPH.

The families were generally large. It wasn’t uncommon to have six or more kids in the family. Which is hard to believe because most of us lived in three-bedroom homes, with one bathroom. We didn’t have a lot of money but, we never went hungry, our parents loved us each in their own way.

There were always plenty of kids in the neighborhood to play with. Kids from school were only a bike ride away. We were safe; we didn’t have a lock on our front door, until the late 1970’s. Divorce was unheard of, and all the neighbors watched out for each other’s kids. And told them if they were up to no good.

The summers are what I remember most, the absolute freedom we were granted, as long as we showed up for lunch and dinner, on time. We did pretty much what we wanted. Going down the Pike (Main Street) to visit the .5 & .10 Department Store, and peruse the aisles, for inexpensive new treasures. There was the Rexall Drug Store, where you could get a roll of film developed, or buy your first tube of lipstick.

The Maple Shade Bakery, made the best donuts and bread anywhere available for miles. But perhaps my favorite haunt was Shucks. It was everything a kid could want rolled into one, a penny candy store, a soda fountain, and subshop, and for the older set a separate space for dancing, and listening to records on the Jukebox.

And, oh the malted milk shakes were out of this world, not to mention the root beer floats. I spent almost every Saturday afternoon seeing a movie at the Roxy Theater, where you could see a western, or the latest sci-fi for twenty-five cents. It was a three-block walk from my house. We used to smuggle in a Lebanon bologna sandwich and eat for free.

The Maple Shade public library was my second favorite place to visit. I read every book in the children’s section by the time I was eleven, those books took me all around the world and back. The library was part of same building as the police station. It was my second home.

We used to catch a bus one Saturday a month out front of the police station and go roller-skating in Riverside Roller Rink for fifty cents. My family didn’t have TV until I was about nine or ten, although some of our neighbors had one, sometimes I would go over and watch TV in the window of the TV repair shop on Main Street. Not Mayberry, but close enough!

THESE THINGS I KNOW TO BE TRUE

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The more love you feel and give to others, the more you receive in return

It was 1976. Bob and I had been residing in California for one year. When we first arrived, I found a job as a chairside assistant at an oral surgeon’s office in Santa Barbara. We were living in Lompoc. Which is about a half hour drive to Santa Barbara.  Doctor Snyder, the oral surgeon I was working for had a habit of calling me at home at the last minute to tell me the patient for the morning had cancelled. Sometimes I would arrive at his office and he would tell me to go home. Gas was $.59 a gallon in 1976 and I was making minimum wage which was $2.30 an hour. Which wouldn’t have been that bad except sometimes I only worked ten hours a week. I lasted six months at this job.

My next position was at Robinson’s Department Store in Santa Barbara. I worked in sales, selling hats and wigs. If there is a more boring job in the world, I hate to think what that might be. I had to stand at the counter and look busy. Doing what I have no clue.  On a good day I had one maybe two customers per day. I started looking for another job after the first month. A fellow employee at Robinsons told me about St. Vincent’s School on Calle Real Drive in Santa Barbara. It was a residential school for mentally disabled children.

I found my way to the school, and filled out an application. Did I mention that I have absolutely no sense of direction?

No one contacted me. I began a campaign to get hired there. I called St. Vincent’s two, three times a week. I sent letters. After a month and a half, they called me in for an interview. They called me back within the week and hired me.

St. Vincent’s School was run by The Daughters of Charity Catholic nuns. I was hired as a houseparent in the Laboures Group to take care of and assist sixteen girls ages twelve to seventeen.

My kids participating in Special Olympics

My kids participating in Special Olympics

I was assigned a split shift. I arrived at the school before the girls were awake about seven in the morning. I woke them up and supervised them until it was time for school to begin. I walked them to school which was on the same grounds as the residence. I came back when they were dismissed at three pm.

The children that resided at St. Vincent’s had a multitude of disabilities, Down’s Syndrome, Autism, Prader Willie Syndrome and mental retardation. But to me, they just became my kids. I don’t think I could have loved these kids anymore if they were my own. I didn’t look at them as disable kids. I looked at them as children who needed an adult’s love, care, guidance and acceptance.

I taught them self-care, table manners, how to make their beds and personal hygiene. I helped them with their homework. I taught them how to make their beds. I ate all my meals with them.

At night I watched TV or played games with them, helped them write letters to their families. I took them on outings for picnics, shopping for new clothes, the movies. I enjoyed every minute of the time I spent with them.

On Saturdays, which was my day off my husband Bob and I would take one of them out for the day to the mountains, or swimming at our apartment pool or into town. The same kind of activities that you would enjoy with your own children. A few girls wanted to learn how to sew so when it was there turn to spend a day with me, I taught them the basics of sewing.

I have had many jobs since those days, but I can tell you in all honesty that working at St. Vincent’s with those awesome kids was the best position I ever had. I experienced all the good things with them, love, acceptance and being needed, respect. I was making a positive impact on their lives. Whatever I gave to them they returned to me tenfold.

When my husband completed his education at Brooks Institute. I gave my notice. It had been seven years since I had lived in my home state of NJ. And my parents were getting older and I wanted to spend time with them. I wanted my future children to know their grandparents. I have never had a day I felt so sad, as the day I said good-bye to those wonderful girls, and the staff of young women and men that worked at St. Vincent’s School. I wrote the kids for many years until they left St. Vincent’s.

Picture of me and one of my co-workers Stacy Smitter

I look back on those days in California with gratitude and happy memories. Bob and I had the opportunity to be young and free. Live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. And get to know those children. It was a blessing. I often wonder what became of them. But I can only hope that they went on be happy in their lives. And were on the receiving end of all the good things in life, which they so richly deserved.

I KNOW THESE THINGS TO BE TRUE

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Things I Know To Be True

The smallest act of kindness can have a tremendous positive impact on other people and on your own happiness.

Bob and I were married in 1974. We were living in Jupiter, Florida. Bob’s lifelong dream was to become a professional photographer. He had recently been discharged from the Navy. He served during the Viet Nam War. As a vet he knew he would be able to get Veterans Benefits to help pay for his education to attend school.

He applied to and was accepted into Brooks Institute, a photography school in Santa Barbara, Ca. We had only been married a couple of years. We were poor. We had to wait two years for an opening at the school. During those two years I saved every penny we earned except for living expenses.

I was working at a The Collandes Hotel on Singer Island in the Spa giving facials to wealthy people. The Colonnades was owned by Douglas MacArthur the second richest man in America. When I knew him, he was in his late seventies. Bob was working third shift as an electronic technician.

We needed money for the traveling expenses to travel from Jupiter, Florida to California. And to rent an apartment. Brooks Institute required students to own a View Camera, and a tripod as part of his curriculum too. It cost almost $600.00. Which was a fortune to us.

We owned so little in fact, that all of our world belongings fit into Bob’s van and my 1970 yellow VW. We had brought our two dogs Bogie and Ulysses with us. We drove the van and towed my Volkswagen. It took us ten days to travel from Florida to Santa Barbara. It was an amazing trip. In the 1970’s much of our country was still undeveloped and there were hundreds of miles of unspoiled land. I had never fully realized how enormous our country is, until then.

We were unaware that most apartment owners in the Santa Barbara area did not allow pets, especially dogs in their rentals. In addition, we decided that we wouldn’t bring all our savings with us. Since, I was concerned that it would be stolen or lost. And so, when we started looking for apartments. We didn’t have enough cash to pay for first, last months rent and a security deposit. Apartment rents in the Santa Barbara area were much more expensive than Florida.

We began looking outside of the Santa Barbara area. And ended up looking in Lompoc, Ca. Which was about an hour’s drive from Santa Barbara. It’s is located near Vandenburg Air Force Base. The rent was more affordable. Unfortunately, we still didn’t have enough money to put a deposit down.

We approached a local bank in Lompoc. The people at this bank never saw or spoke to us before. They took my husband and I under their wing. We explained that we had more money in our Florida savings account. But it would have to be sent to us in order to rent an apartment.

Temporarily, we had been living with our two dogs Bogie and Ulysses in a run-down hotel room in a somewhat scary neighborhood. The bank manager loaned us the money to rent an apartment. They didn’t charge us any interest, or ask anything in return. We were complete strangers to them. In addition, they put us in touch with people in the area who owned apartments. We were able to rent one of the apartments and move in with our dogs.

I never forgot this experience, or the generosity of the manager of the bank. I promised myself that if I was ever in a position to help someone else out, I would. And I have tried to do just that whenever an opportunity presented itself to me. I consider it a gift to be able help a person in need. This experience really changed my view of the world. I realized that there was kindness and generosity in the world. And that as a fellow human being I had the obligation and the opportunity to make the world a better place. And I was blessed by this opportunity and have grown as a human being because of it.

Strawbridge Lake

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Today is one of those muggy August mornings when your upper lip starts sweating the moment you step out the back door. You know what they say about NJ, it’s not the heat it’s the humidity. Well, let me tell you something, it’s the heat too. But that has never stopped me. I grab my bike that’s lying on the ground next to the back step. And hang my lunch off the handlebars.

I ride as fast as I can down to my best friend Joanie’s house. I jump off and hit the kickstand. It’s precisely eight AM sharp when I bang on the door. Mr. Gioiella doesn’t look like he’s happy to see me when he jerks his front door open. 

“What the hell are you knocking at the door for this early in the morning? Don’t you have a home of your own?”

“Hi, Mr. Gioiella, Joanie, and I are taking a bike ride down to Strawbridge Lake this morning. We’re going to bring our lunches and look at the sunfish and… Before I can finish my sentence, which I uttered in one long breath, Mr. Gioiella slams the door closed. I don’t let his gruff manner deter me. He’s kind of a grouch, but then so is my father, so I’m used to it.

I hear him yelling at the top of his voice, “Joanie get your butt down here. Susie is at the door waiting for you.” I had to wait for her for fifteen minutes. But I don’t let that bother me either. Joanie is kind of slow in the morning. She has trouble waking up. And she always takes a long time to get ready. Joanie finds me looking around her yard when she finally comes out.

“What are you doing?”

“Hi Joanie, I was looking at your mother’s flowers. I love the yellow and purple ones they look like butterflies. What kind of flowers are they?”

“I don’t know. They’re my mother’s flowers. I don’t pay any attention to them. You’re really weird sometimes Susie always looking at flowers and petting Mrs. Collin’s cats. “Come on. I put my lunch on the back porch and my bike is back there. Let’s go before my mother changes her mind.”

Joanie drags her bike out from under her porch. It’s covered in cobwebs. She starts screaming at the top of her lungs. She detests mosquitos. But she’s absolutely terrified of spiders. I start laughing and knock off all the spider webs. I love her screened-in back porch so much. We play out there a lot. Sometimes we write letters to the movie stars. Other times we play games like checkers, or dominoes or, Submarine.

My Mom knows if she can’t find me that I’m probably on Joanie’s back porch. She doesn’t come over to get me, she just yells at the top of her lungs. “Susie, time for dinner, time for dinner.” We only live two houses away so, she stands out in our back yard and yells until I come home.

I come home right away; otherwise, my father will come and get me and nobody wants to see that happen. Like I said, my father’s kind of a grouch. He works at night and doesn’t like being awakened during the day until it’s time for him to get up and go to work.

My father is the head dispatcher for the Philadelphia Transportation Company. It’s the bus company. Everybody he works with calls him Smiley. I know I told you he’s a grouch. They call him Smiley as a joke because he never smiles. His nickname in our family is “The Old Bear.”

Joanie grabs her lunch off the back step and shoves it in her basket. And then we’re off. We cross her front yard and cut across Mrs. McFarland’s yard and pass Dougherty’s house. We all but fly up to the corner across from Schuck’s. Schuck’s is my favorite place in the world. It’s a store that sells Penny candy and ice cream and hoagies. I live to eat candy. Oh, and drink root beer floats. And it has another room with a jukebox and booths. And teenagers dance in there.

As we speed by Shuck’s, I see Harry Fuelle. He owns the store next to Schuck’s. He lives in the rooms above his store with his wife and three children. It’s a food store. But mostly they sell lunchmeat. He’s walking slowly around his backyard in his pajamas. He is staring at his Dahlias. I think he loves them more than his own children.

We turn right on Main Street like we were told to. We keep on the right side of the street. The police came to our school and taught all the students bike safety. It’s about a twenty-five-minute ride to Moorestown. It is the town right next door to Maple Shade where we live. And get this, there’s a McDonald’s on the corner. It’s the first one in this part of New Jersey. I can’t tell you how much I love French Fries. I would kill for them, well almost.

Joanie and I turn right onto Lenola Road and ride about a mile or so and make a left. And there’s Strawbridge Lake. By the time we arrive at Strawbridge Lake we are so hot and sweaty, our clothes are sticking to us. I can taste the salty perspiration as it drips down my forehead and across my lips.

I yell over to Joanie, “Let’s leave our bikes here and walk down to the waterfall.”

When we arrive at the waterfall, Joan and I take off our sneaks and socks and wade into the deliciously ice-cold water. It’s so clear you can see the sunfish swimming over the waterfall.

“Come on, let’s try to catch one,” I scream, so I can be heard over the rushing water.

We look down at our bare feet and squish the mud up between our toes. Joan lets out a squeal, and so do I. “I have an idea. Let’s try and walk across the waterfall past all the fishermen to the other side.”

“Oh, I don’t know.’ Joanie says.

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a chicken, Joanie.”

Joanie isn’t really a chicken. She just needs encouragement to do fun stuff. Once she starts walking across, she forgets how afraid she was and practically hops and skips across. We stop in the middle and stare down over the waterfall. It looks like a long way down. I have an urge to jump and lean forward a bit. But Joanie grabs my arm. “What are you doing? You don’t even know how to swim?”

I smile at her and shrug my shoulders. “Come on, let’s go back to the stream near the Honeysuckle Bush and try to catch some sunfish.”

As we get closer to the stream, I start running at my top speed, and Joanie chases me. By the time we get there, we are both out of breath and soaked to the skin from sweating. We take a good look at one another and start laughing our heads off. You know the laugh that ends up snorting and hiccuping. Which makes us laugh that much more.

We step down into the stream and watch the golden fish swim across our feet. It tickles, and that makes us start laughing again and the fish disappear. As I stand in the ice-cold stream, I see young couples walking hand in hand. And mothers with their young children sitting on blankets.

Suddenly, I hear honking and, a huge goose comes rushing at us. Joanie and I are momentarily frozen. Then we realize that there are little goslings swimming right next to us. “Hey Joanie, we better get out of here. Remember the last time that goose bit you right on the butt.”

Joanie’s eyes get as big as saucers.  I grab her arm and pull her out of the stream. And we run until we are out of breath. Joan’s face is red as a beet. She looks at me and says,” your face is red as a beet.”

” My face, you should see your face.” This brings on the laughing again. We fall to the ground. We are laughing so hard. People are staring at us, but we don’t care. We can still hear the goose honking.

After I catch my breath, I say,” Hey, let’s go get our lunches, I’m starved.”

“Yeah, me too.” Joanie gasp.

We take our time getting back to our bikes. “Jeez, I think it is even hotter out. Is that even possible? I’m dying of thirst.”

“Me, too. But guess what my mom put a thermos in my lunch.” Joanie smiles.

I shrug my shoulders. I detest guessing games with Joanie. They can go on forever.

“Oh, you’re no fun, it’s cherry Kool-aide.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

“You’re kidding, that’s my favorite.”

“I know Susie, that’s why I brought it.” We ran the last few feet to our bikes laughing, all the way. And then we flop on the ground. Joanie pulls out her lunch. “What do you have?”

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

I open mine. “Me too. It’s my favorite. Well, that and Lebanon Bologna.”

“Mine too.” She says as she shoves the last morsel in her mouth.

I hand her the lid of the thermos with ice-cold Kool-Aide in it. “Oh, wow, this taste so good.”

I smile and think this is going to be the best summer of my life.