HAPPINESS

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Have you ever contemplated the things in life that bring you happiness? Some people think they would be happy if they had unlimited money and could buy anything they wanted.

Well, I have never been rich, nor do I believe that I will suddenly be endowed with a tremendous amount of money at any time in the future. And to tell the truth, from my own experience, things do not bring you happiness for long. I have lived a long time, and for the most part, I found happiness is not a result of an expensive car, a trip around the world, or unlimited funds.

What brought me happiness in my life was setting goals for myself and then achieving those goals through my own hard work and efforts. What were my goals over my lifetime, you may ask? The first goal I set for myself was to get married, have children, and own our own house. When I was thirty-four, my husband and I purchased a small home in Pennsauken, NJ. After years of trying to have children at thirty years of age, I was able to conceive my first child, after many years of trying. Three years later, I gave birth to my second and last child.

So, now that I have a family and a home, I still desire to achieve more on a personal level. And at the age of thirty-six, I made the decision to go to college and get a degree. I have always been a creative and artistic person. And so I decided to go to art school. I applied to three art schools in the Philadelphia area: Temple University, Hussian School of Art, and Moore College of Art. I had to prepare a portfolio of my best work. I was interviewed at each school, and they examined my portfolio. After several weeks, I received notice that I had been accepted to all three schools. However, Temple University offered me a grant for my first semester and financial aid. And that is why I attended Temple University for four years.

The Tyler School of Art

It turned out that I was the only adult student in the freshman class. And the only married Freshman student who was married and had children. The other students were of the traditional age of seventeen or eighteen, so I attended Temple University for the next four years. It was difficult because I had to travel to Philadelphia from NJ. Which was an added expense, not only did I have to pay tuition, but I had the added expense of driving back and forth but I had to pay bridge tolls to get from NJ to Philadelphia. And then there was the cost of all the art supplies I needed.

As far as child care, I had friends who lived several blocks from my house. They agreed to watch my two children after school and during the school year. I also took care of their daughter during holidays and throughout the summer.

And if you think going to work and having children at home is difficult, then let me tell you, going to college with two children was a lot harder. I waited until my kids went to bed, and then I worked many hours doing the schoolwork required in my classes the next day.

However, the fact is that although I stood out like a sore thumb from my freshman year through my senior year, I was one of the most popular students in that class. I befriended every person I met in all my classes, including some teachers. I’m not sure how the instructors felt at first glance. They realized that I was older than all the other freshmen. And although I looked younger than my thirty-six years, I certainly didn’t look seventeen or eighteen as all the other Freshman students were.

I believe the teachers liked having me in their classes since most of them called on me to answer questions and give my opinion when none of the other students responded. They often hadn’t done the required work, but I always did. Mainly, I was mature and not afraid to speak in front of the class. And I had committed to myself to excel in every class, even if I never got any sleep.

I could not say I was the most talented student in class because I wasn’t. But, I was the most motivated student. I wanted to succeed and excel, and I always did my best. I had never had any art classes in school during elementary school or high school since I had attended Catholic School, and they did not teach the arts at all. However, I was always a creative child and adolescent. I was always drawing, or writing, or making crafts. I learned to sew when I was quite young and knew how to make clothes, costumes, and everything related to crafts. In addition, I love to read. I applied for one when I was old enough to get a library card. I went to the library every week to get new books. I grew up in the small town of Maple Shade, NJ. And although it was not a big library, it was only two rooms. The librarians were always helpful, and they would put aside books for me to read.

It was a bit of a surprise to my extended family that I was attending college at this late stage. No one tried to discourage me, nor did they show any interest in what I was doing. I have to admit that going to school full-time and still coming home to cook, clean the house, do the wash, and take care of my two young children was a big undertaking.

But since I had committed to doing the best I could and succeeded, I did just that. I graduated at the top of my class with a 4.0 average with two degrees, including an art teaching certificate. Unfortunately, after graduating, all the other students who graduated from my class and I found out that there were very few openings for art teachers in public schools since art had been removed from the public school curriculum. I can not imagine what was the thinking behind that decision. But, nonetheless, it happened.

After realizing there wouldn’t be any teaching position for me. I decided that I would start my own art program. Because of that decision, we had to sell our house in Pennsauken and move to another town, where we purchased a large, old house that had been unoccupied for eight years or more. It needed an immediate roof replacement. We had paired off our house in Pennsauken and used that income to put a down payment on the house in Pitman and the roof repair. The house in Pitman had been empty for eight years and needed a lot of work. It was a doctor’s home and office, and there were three rooms that I could use for my art classes.

Our house is in Pitman, NJ, where I have taught art for years.

And that is exactly what I did. As a result, I opened my own small art school for children in the afternoon and adults in the evening. I had this school for many years until my own children were out of elementary school and going to college. We then decided it was time to sell our home of twenty-four years and retire. And that is what we did, and then we retired and moved to North Carolina. And we have been living here for almost nine years. We will always miss our Pitman house, but there was no way we could continue to live in New Jersey because of the increase in real estate taxes.

And so, here I sit retired and living in North Carolina, I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary for eight years. I started a blog and have written short stories and memoirs for the last eight years. I keep my mind and body busy and active as much as possible. I don’t know what might change in my remaining years or what I might decide to do, but I promise you this: whatever I do, I will put everything I have into it. And it will be interesting. I guess you will just have to wait and find out what it may be, and so will I.

THE MOST DIFFICULT TIME OF MY LIFE

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My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

If someone asked me what the most difficult time of my life was, I would have to say that it would be a difficult question to answer. Why? Honestly, I have had many difficult experiences over the course of my lifetime. I am seventy-three years old, and most of my life is spent behind me rather than in front of me. Like everyone else who has lived as long as I have, my life has had many ups and downs.

I believe the most difficult years I experienced in my life were 1986 and 1987. This is how it began. In 1986, my husband and I moved back to New Jersey. He had just graduated from Brooks Institute, a photography school in Montecito, California. We stayed with my parents for a short time. I then purchased a small house in Pennsauken, about fifteen minutes from my parent’s house. Bob had served in the military to secure a home mortgage without a down payment. By that time, he had found and been hired for a full-time position in the Philadelphia area.

I had long anticipated a time when we would be able to start a family. We were married for seven years before I had any children. In 1981, I tested positive on a pregnancy test, and nine months later, I gave birth to my first child, whom we named Jeanette after my eldest sister, who had passed away from emphysema. My mother and father were happy for us. Three years later, I had my second child. Our family was complete.

I visited my parents often since I only lived a short distance from Maple Shade, where my parents lived and where I grew up. One day, I drove with my children to my parent’s house to visit them. As I was sitting at the kitchen table, my father, who was retired by this time, called out to me. He was in the hallway outside of the bathroom. When I got to the hallway, my father indicated wanting me to look in the toilet. I looked at it was filled with blood. My father had a stroke several years before this, and he was aphasic, and it was difficult for him to speak and make himself understood. 

I contacted my siblings and informed them about my father’s health issue. I was the only one who was not working at the time since I had two young children at home, and all my other siblings were working at that time. I made an appointment with his primary physician for my father, who then referred him to a specialist. After the specialist examined my father and had xrays taken, he determined that my father had lung cancer and it was advanced. And there wasn’t any treatment available for him.

The next several months were difficult. My father’s cancer advanced and worsened over the next several months. It became clear that he wasn’t going to survive much longer. My father had been smoking two packs of cigarettes a week for many years.

My mother would then be alone. My father had given me power of attorney, so I was responsible for my parents paying the rent and all expenses. I spoke to my siblings and asked if they would all be able to take turns coming to my parent’s house at night during my father’s illness. And they agreed to do so.

I won’t lie, this time of my father’s illness was one of if not the worst experiences of my life up to that point. And it was clear that my mother was broken-hearted as well. She had been married to my father since she was nineteen years old. They did not have a perfect marriage. But they certainly loved one another and had a strong bond. And they had six children together. I can only imagine how frightened my mother was at that time. My mother had glaucoma, limited vision, and heart failure.

It wasn’t long after that my father started to refuse to eat or take all his medication. He coughed and coughed all night. And my dear mother was unable to sleep. She said the rosary all night, hoping that my father would be delivered from his pain. I made every attempt to hire a night nurse to help take off my father since it was getting more and more difficult to take care of him. He was refusing food and his medication, and he kept falling out of his bed. Eventually, I ordered a bed with sidebars to keep him from falling out. And it was difficult to get him up when he fell. He was a big man. Finally, I secured a night nurse to assist with my father’s care. My siblings and I began to take turns staying overnight at my parent’s house. So, my mother would not be alone with my father if sometihing unttoward happened at night. It was difficult for all of us since we were all married and had young children at home.

We began keeping track of the liquids and solids my father took in because of his diabetes. My sister Karen gave my father his insulin shots. In general, nights were the most difficult since neither of my parents could sleep during the night. My father began having a difficult time breathing at night and had to be checked often during the night.

The following day, my dear father passed away. It was a big loss for us all, but my father had suffered long enough. My dear mother was heartbroken, to say the least. I can not express the depth of my sense of loss when my father passed away. Not just myself but all my siblings and, of course, my dear mother, who had been married to my father since she was nineteen.

My mother could not live alone, and I felt she would feel most at ease in her own house since she was blind. I decided the best resolution was to hire someone to come and stay with her during the week. And she could cook and clean the house and keep my dear mother safe. I advertised and received several responses, and after interviewing several people, I hired a middle-aged woman named Doris Cook. She was a kind and caring person, and my mother felt comfortable and safe with her. She stayed at my mother’s house during the week. And then went home for the weekend. My siblings and I took turns having our mother stay at their houses on weekends.

My mother was depressed by the loss of her husband but managed to maintain her equilibrium for the most part. My mother suffered a heart attack and complete respiritory arrest about ten months after my father passed. It was a very difficult time for myself and the entire family. I can not express the loss I felt after losing both of my parents. My father passed in Oct. of 1986, and my dear mother passed in August of 1987. I still miss them to this day. The loss of one’s parents is a big loss and difficult to move forward from. My children never had the opportunity to get to know them since they were so young when my parents passed.

Life is so difficult at times, and you may believe you will never get over the losses you suffer. But somehow, you do. There are no other alternatives. I had to keep moving forward because I had two young children to care for, and I knew my mother and father would not want me to do otherwise. There are many challenges in life, and you have no alternatives but to overcome them.

 

 

 

The Days Of My Working Life In The 1970’s- Ancora Mental Hospital

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In the early 1970s, I made the decision to change my occupation. I had been working for several years as a dental assistant. I had a desire to help people, especially children. I decided to apply for a job at Ancora Mental Hospital in New Jersey. My brother was a psychologist, and he had done an internship at Ancora while he was earning his PhD. And he told me to contact one, Mrs. Coffee, who worked at Ancora. I had never driven to that part of NJ before, and my sense of direction was not helpful since I had no sense of direction. But, somehow, after studying a road map, I made my way there. It is located in Hammonton, NJ, which was about a thirty-minute to one-hour drive, depending on the time of the day and the traffic. 

I had an appointment with Mrs. Coffee. I spoke to her on the phone and sent her my resume, brief as it was. I requested to be placed in the children’s ward after my training. I was notified that I was accepted and told when and where to arrive for my Psychiatric Aide training, which would require several weeks of classes and then passing a test. If I pass, then I will be placed in my permanent position. Which I believed would be with children. One of my classmates excelled in the class and was told soon after the final exam where we would be working. I hope that my fellow classmates will be placed in the same ward as me. Her name was Joan Hall. Unfortunately, that is not how it played out.

I was assigned to the Active Psyche Ward. Joan was placed elsewhere, and we were given different shifts. I would be working the late shift; she would be working during the day. So, there was little chance we would see each other soon. I started working the following week. And honestly, it‘s hard to describe what the active psyche ward was like in the early 1970s. My first day I was told that I was in charge of supervising the woman’s shower.

I was informed where to go and who my supervisor would be. I found my way to the showers, and to say I was shocked is the understatement of all times. I had never been in a woman’s shower before. And I had never seen other naked women before, even when I was attending an all-girl high school I managed to avoid having to shower in the girls shower after gym. The noise level and the out-of-control behavior with grown adults were shocking, to say the least. Some of the patients were severely mentally ill, and they were medicated to the point of acting like zombies.

At one point during the first week, I started working with the patients, I happened to pass by a treatment room. There was a middle-aged woman strapped to the table. She was getting electric shock treatment. There were several “doctors” in the room. They made jokes about how she looked and reacted to the electric shock treatment. I was totally appalled by their lack of humanity and harsh treatment of her. I complained to the doctor in charge. He just stared at me, telling me to return to my work.

After showers, I supervised the patients in the dining area, where they ate all their meals. The noise in the dining room would be difficult to describe. Some patients would quietly eat, while others were screaming and yelling about I don’t know what. I would go from one table to another and tell the patients to quietly go to get their meals and then return to their seats to eat. The quiet part never happened. There was always some kind of out-of-control behavior going on. Or, some of the patients were sedated so heavily that they were like zombies. And rarely showed any emotion.

On some evenings, I was assigned to supervise the patients while they were in the community room. It was such a strange environment, the people who were patients, the doctors, the caretakers. It was not a pleasant place to be. The patients had no say in what they could do. For the most part, they were powerless.

Ultimately, I realized I would never have the opportunity to work with the children who were patients at Ancora, so I gave my notice. I do believe that if I had been given an opportunity to work with the children, I would have been able to make some difference in their lives, be it big or small. But I never had that chance.

I didn’t know that in my not-too-distant future, I would move to another state far from New Jersey and become a counselor working with mildly handicapped children I would love and with whom I could make a big difference in their lives. You never know what barriers you will face in life or what challenges. But, I have learned that you shouldn’t give up and that you have to keep striving to do your best in life, no matter what it is you are doing. Always do your best. You do not know what may or may not happen in your life. But never give up on yourself.

As for myself, I faced many challenges after working at Ancora. I did not allow this one negative experience to stop me from moving forward and upward. I never stopped believing in myself or what I was capable of doing. I didn’t allow anyone’s criticle words affect my self-confidence I knew that I could do anything I set my mind to.

I also realized that every life experience I had taught me a lesson, and it would help me at some point in my future experiences. I never allowed anyone I interacted with to undermine my self-confidence in what I was capable of doing and achieving. As a result, I have led a full and rich life. Because of my choices, I met and interacted with many types of people, some rich, some poor, the highly educated, and those who barely got through elementary school.

I have learned from every experience and everyone I met along the way. Life is a journey, and you never know where and when your journey will take you. I have no regrets about my choices along the way. Keep an open mind, do not be judgmental, be kind, and be generous. Do good in life, and do not judge people that you meet along the way. You do not know what barriers and obstacles they have faced and overcome.

But fear not, I made my opportunities, over the course of my working life I worked with children in California at St. Vincent’s School in Santa Barbara. And I believe this was the opportunity I was looking for all along. The children there were intellectually handicapped to a degree. I was the assistant counselor and worked the three to twelve shift. They were girls between the ages of twelve and seventeen. And I came to love and care for those girls as if they were my own. The years I spent there were a blessing to me. It taught me patience, understanding, and acceptance for all the people I have met along my life’s highway. I certainly benefited from the time I worked with these girls. It was hard to leave them when the time came. My husband was attending Brooks Institute for Photography, and when he graduated, we left so that he would have an opportunity to find a job in photography. But that is a story for another day that would have to be told by my husband, Bob.

TIME FLIES BY IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE

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Today, I was looking at a post on Facebook called 1970’s Memories. I enjoy looking at this page because I was young in the 1970s and have many good memories from that time. The page is geared towards Baby Boomers, of whom I am one. Baby boomers were born between 1946 and 1964. we had several character traits that define our overall character. People in our generation often were known for their workplace visibility and prided themselves in their work ethic and their competitive natures in the workplace. Now, I can not prove this is true for every boomer, but I’m sure I was a person who, once I graduated from high school, found a job immediately with the help of the high school I attended, St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It was a Catholic all-girls school.

     Once I started working, I found that I enjoyed it. I was hired as a dental assistant for Dr. E.G. Wozniak in Oaklyn, NJ. Dr. Wozniak trained me, and I worked there for almost five years. During those early work years, I purchased my first car, a 1970 Yellow Volkswagon Bug. I loved that car like it was my first child.

high school graduation picture

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

The only problem was I had to work several night shifts in addition to working during the day. And I had to work on Saturdays. This limited my free time to go out and have fun with my friends. At the time, we used to go to nightclubs with bands and go dancing. During the Summer, my friends and I used to all rent a hotel room together in Wildwood, NJ (a beach town) and spend Friday night at the nightclubs and Saturday and Sunday on the beach and the boardwalk.

     I decided that I wanted to change jobs to have more time to have fun, less work on Saturdays, and several late nights each week. I decided to find a new job that would allow me that flexibility. At that time, I was twenty-one years old and lived in a small apartment in Haddonfield, NJ. My parents were unhappy with me moving out but did not try to stop me. My father came to the apartment I was going to rent before I signed the lease. And I guess he decided it was in a safe enough area, down the street from Haddon Avenue, which was the main street in Haddonfield, which is an affluent area in NJ. Still, it was clear both of my parents missed me living at home as I was the last of their children who lived at home. All my older siblings were married, and most had started their families years before as my two eldest siblings were twenty years older than I was, and the two other sisters were seven or eight years older and married with children.

     After giving my notice to Dr. Wozniak, who was not happy with me leaving but nonetheless gave me a positive resume and reference after I found a job in Collingswood, NJ, located at Ellis Insurance Company, which sold high-risk auto insurance, I worked in the office with two other girls my age. I enjoyed not being the only employee. Harry and Evie Ellis were from a wealthy family and lacked strong work ethics. They would take me and my two co-workers to breakfast almost every morning. Overall, it was a fun place to work, and I continued to work there for a couple of years.

     That is until I was fixed up for a date with my best friend, Joan’s boy cousin, who just got out of the Navy. He had visited his cousins in NJ before returning to Florida, where his parents and younger siblings lived. And that, my friend, was the beginning of a whole new chapter of my life. After “Bob” returned to Florida, he and I began writing letters to each other. One thing led to another, and I decided to move to Florida, so I gave my notice at work, made arrangements to take the auto train to Florida, and, of course, told my parents what I was up to. As you can imagine, they were not too thrilled. But nonetheless, they did not try to stop me. Although, it was clear that they were not happy with their youngest child moving over a thousand miles away from them. They didn’t try to talk me out of it. The day I left, both of my parents stood outside and watched me while I drove away. They were crying.

     A close friend told me about an auto train I could take. I had to drive from Lorton, Virginia, to Sanford, Florida. Then, my car would be loaded onto the train, and I would be seated in the passenger section. I had never driven this far from home but was somehow I managed to figure out the best route to take to the auto train and get there without any problem. I did manage to arrive several hours early, and I had to wait in my car until the auto-train arrived. It was extremely hot that day. Luckily, there was a toll phone in the parking lot, so I could call my parents and let them know I arrived safely in Lorton, Virginia. This was long before cell phones. So, I sat and waited for the train to arrive. It was a long, hot wait all alone. My parents were relieved that I arrived safely. And asked me to please call when I arrived in Florida and met up with Bob.

     It turned out that it was a seventeen-hour ride from Lorton, Virginia, to Sandford, Florida. It was a long ride; I didn’t have the opportunity to be bored because a mother and her two small toddlers were sitting next to me. So, between crying, never sitting still, and trying to climb over me, it was a long, long seventeen hours. I had many years of experience babysitting my nieces and nephews when they were little. But, I never had to sit for seventeen hours with two little kids crawling all over me and alternately crying, screaming, and having their stinky diapers changed right next to me.

At some point, out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep for several hours. When I woke up my stomach was empty and my bladder was full, I got up and looked for the laboratory, and found there was a long, long line to wait. But, what could I do, I waited. And the bathroom was “not large, to say the least. And the smell was overpowering, but luckily, I had a poor sense of smell, so I survived it.

     When I got back to my seat, the mother of the two kids had laid the older of the two toddlers to sleep in my seat. I stood there and stared at her because there was no place for me to sit. There were no empty seats. So, I finally said, “ Please move one of your babies. I have to sit down. I can’t stand in the aisle all day. She gave me a sour look and then growled and moved the smaller of the two toddlers. Who immediately started screaming. All I can say is it was a long, long, long ride.

     When we finally arrived at Sanford, Florida, we had to wait to get off the train, and there was a long, long wait for my car to get out. Because I was the first person to arrive, and my car would be the last one to be unloaded. It took what seemed like a lifetime because of the ungodly heat. But I survived, and then I saw my yellow Volkswagon coming down the ramp. I mistakenly believed that Bob would arrive shortly, but he didn’t since he had worked the night shift at Pratt and Whitney and had to drive to Sanford, which took several hours. I had no way of contacting him, so I just had to wait until he arrived. And he did, and I was never so happy to see someone. He looked tired but also happy.

     That, my friends, was the beginning of my new life. We began with a long drive to my new home, a one-bedroom apartment in a small complex called Nighh Haven Apartments. The apartment was owned by a middle-aged couple that seemed old to me at the time since I was twenty-two. But they were probably in their early fifties and had many years ahead of them. They were nice people.

The next step in my new life was getting a job. Bob had a cousin who recommended that I apply at an insurance company where she worked when she was living in Florida, and that is exactly what I did. And I was hired to sell high-risk auto and homeowners insurance. I worked there for several months. And then Bob and I got married, and when I returned to work, I was called into the main office and was notified that their company was having difficulties and that they were laying off all the older employees and all the new ones. And just like that, I was unemployed and had a limited amount of money.

     I looked for a new job for weeks, only to find that the economy in Florida at that time was not good. And companies were laying off employees right and left. And they weren’t hiring new employees from out of state at all. After months of looking for a job, I attended a hairdressing school. West Palm Beach Beauty Academy. I enjoyed the experience, and it turned out I was pretty good at cutting hair, perming hair, and styling, especially among the older ladies. I made a lot of friends in the hair-dressing school. Some of whom I kept in contact with for many years after we left Florida and moved to California. And that, my friends, is another story.

 

TIME GOES BY BEFORE YOU KNOW IT

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I grew up in the early 1950’s. Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re going to say. I must be as old as the hills. Well, I’m not that old, but I have lived a long time. And I have some stories to tell. So, let me begin with well, the beginning. My parents were married a long, long time ago, in 1929. Just in time for the crash of the economy, The Great Depression. Oh, you never heard about that before? Really, I’ll catch you up. The Great Depression occurred in 1929 when, in a period of ten weeks, stocks on the New York Stock Exchange lost 50 percent of their value. As stocks continued to fall during the early 1930s, businesses failed, and unemployment rose dramatically.

Girard College Philadelphia

I can’t say how the Great Depression affected my parents in great detail because my parents did not talk about it in detail. Other than my mother telling me at some point when I was a young child that they were married in 1929. The beginning of the Depression. My mother and father proceeded to create a family that included my brother, Hugh, my oldest sister, Jeanette, my sister’s Eileen and sister, Liz, and my fraternal twin, Karen and myself of course, Karen was born seven minutes before me.. My mother gave birth to twin boys, who were named Charles and Girard. They only lived a few weeks since they were premature at birth. And came only a year after my twin and I were born.

My father worked for PTC (The Philadelphia Transportation Company), the bus and trolley company in Philadelphia. Later, in the early 1960s, it was renamed SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Company). My father was a bus driver and apparently loved his job. But his mother, who was a widow, had other plans for him. She thought he would have more prestige if he worked in an office. She put a great deal of pressure on him, and he eventually complied with her decision.

For the next five decades of his life, my father worked in the office, eventually becoming the head dispatcher at PTC. He developed the system that still regulates the scheduling of the drivers’ buses and trolleys to this day. My father was a highly intelligent man. He was not a perfect man or father. He had faults and shortcomings. He liked to gamble, he played cards for money, he placed bets on horse races. In fact, he was a regular at the Garden State Race Track in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. He made many great friends through his “hobbies.” In fact, my father had a whole different life outside of his family life and outside of his employment as head dispatcher at SEPTA. His nickname was Smiley, which I always had a hard time understanding since he always seemed to be in a bad mood when he was home.

Maple Shade, NJ in the 1960’s

My life growing up in the small town of Maple Shade, New Jersey, was a childhood that any child would be lucky to experience. The baby boomer generation was born between 1946 and 1964. I was born on May 24th of 1951. I can speak to this from my personal experience. Aside from my experience of attending twelve years in Catholic School (which is a different experience altogether compared to public school), My generation had almost total freedom. My mother never asked me what I had been up to all day. If I came home relatively in one piece, no questions were asked. This was especially true during the Summer months. When we were out of school, we were allowed to stay out every night until dark, and then our parents would call for us to come in about the time that the mosquitoes were eating us alive.

I was never given any chores to do. My mother used to sit with me every evening during the school year after dinner and help me with my homework. She never complained. She was the most loving and caring person I knew in my life.

My father was not an affectionate person. He wasn’t one to give hugs and kisses, even when I was quite young. My father grew up in a place called Girard College. It was a school for fatherless boys. Funded by a wealthy American man whose name was Stephen Girard. My father’s father passed away when my father was about five years old. When my father came of age, his mother was able to get my father accepted at Girard College, which was a type of boarding school for boys who didn’t have fathers. My father’s father had passed away, and my father lived and was educated at Girard College until he was almost seventeen years old. He only saw his mother once a year on Christmas until he graduated from Girard College, where he was ultimately hired to work for PTC. He spent his entire working life there until he retired when he was sixty- two years old.

My father was not a perfect man. He rarely expressed affection or love toward any of us. But I believed deep down that my father loved each and every one of us in his own way. He just never learned the tools of expressing his love and affection for us because he grew up without a father and a mother that he rarely saw and didn’t grow up with since he lived at Girard College until he was an adolescent.

Still, my father had a great influence and impact on the development of my personality. He often said hurtful things if any of us were not being cooperative with whatever his agenda was at that time. I was always something of an argumentative kid, and if I didn’t agree with what someone was saying to me or telling me to do something, I didn’t want to do it. Well, I would argue and refuse to do what I was told. My father was always telling my mother,” That kid would argue with the pope.’ And I suppose as I look back at my childhood and adolescence, he was probably right. I would argue with the Pope. Or anyone else that tried to tell me what to do. And I didn’t want to do it.

In addition, I just was not your regular run-of-the-mill kid. I had strong opinions about what was right and wrong. I was not afraid to stick up for myself at home or at school. My personality didn’t quite mesh with the behaviors that were expected from the students in a Catholic Elementary School or an All Girls School that I attended, which was located in Haddonfield, NJ. Which was an upper-class neighborhood, to say the least. St. Mary of the Angels Academy. I continued to be the same sarcastic, argumentative, stubborn girl I was in elementary school.

My parents had to work all through my elementary and high school years because the tuition was high, especially at St. Mary’s, where most of the other students came from upper-class neighborhoods and upper-class families. My mother worked at Wanamaker’s employee kitchen, cooking meals for the Wanamaker employees, and my father, well, continued to work for SEPTA as the head dispatcher until he retired at sixty-two.

Looking back on those days, I realize that my parents had to sacrifice a lot to send all their daughters to Catholic School. And I never heard a word of complaint from either one of them, especially my mother, who not only worked at Wanamaker’s kitchen but also ironed other families’ clothes and cleaned houses on the side. There was never a moment when my mother wasn’t working hard every single day.

The only time I saw her rest was late in the afternoon when she would sit in her room, quietly say the rosary and read her prayer books. She also went to Mass every morning and said the rosary with the Altar Rosary Society.

Some people grow up in dysfunctional families, where they never feel loved or accepted. And I won’t lie here; sometimes, I don’t feel completely accepted. Why, you may ask? Well, the fact is I was not just your ordinary kik. Yes, I had a lot of friends in my small-town neighborhood. But somehow, I was different in some subtle way from the other kids in the neighborhood, even my best girlfriend.

OLPH Church, Maple Shade, NJ

I always had my own point of view about things. I wanted to do things my way. I wasn’t big on compromise. And then there was the fact that I was an exceptionally creative kid who liked to draw, make things, and tell stories. Sometimes, my siblings or even my parents didn’t know when to believe me because of what my mother called my wild imagination. They weren’t always certain if I was telling the truth or making it up. Or what my father always said, “ Marie, she’s putting the Irish on.” And I guess, at some level, I was.

Probably, because I just didn’t see things in black and white. I saw them in every color in a rainbow. I told stories that my parents could never completely believe. But, somehow, I did. But, still, they continued to listen and, at some level, enjoyed the most far-fetched story I told them.

So, here I am some sixty years later. I’m still telling far-fetched stories. And maybe I’m full of malarkey. But, all the same, I would change things about my past or present life. You know what Popeye used to say, “ I am what I am.” Well, people, I am who I am. Sometimes I will tell a long tale or sometimes I just might paint a beautiful surreal painting. But, it will be all me from top to bottom and from beginning to end. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.

YOU HAVE TO DREAM, TO HAVE YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE

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I just stepped out of the shower when I heard my front doorbell ring. I grabbed a towel and quickly dried myself off. And then, just as quickly, I pulled my robe off the door hook and put it on. I couldn’t help but think, who the hell is ringing my doorbell at seven o’clock in the morning? Have they lost their minds?

I rushed to the living room and peeked out the front window. I couldn’t see anyone standing there. I opened the front door a crack, and I saw…. No one. But on the top step, I saw a package about the size of a six-pack of beer. I quickly put my hand out and brought the package to my living room. I opened the package, and the only contents were a large envelope with an engraved invitation in it. Apparently, I’ve been invited to a secret underground event. And the invitation was titled “You Only Live Once.”

I stared at the invitation for at least five minutes. And all I could think was, “This must be some mistake. Or one of my crazy friends’ ideas of a joke. Plus, there wasn’t any name on the invitation. The address was one I wasn’t familiar with at all. And in parenthesis were the words “dress formal.”  

I wasn’t familiar with the area, but I thought, well, isn’t that why I have a GPS and a cell phone? They sure didn’t give me much of a heads-up. The party was tonight. I considered the options: I could tear up the invitation and forget it. Or, I could look through my closet and see if there was anything in there that all my friends hadn’t seen before. My first impulse was to tear up the invitation and forget about it.

And then I thought, well, why shouldn’t I go? It might be fun, and I might meet “someone.” And I hadn’t really gone out in a long, long time. Well, since the break-up with Michael. It was possible I could finally meet “The One.” The one guy who would love me despite my flaws and who would see that I was a “hidden gem.” And so, I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and looked through my clothes closet to see if I had something special. Then I remembered the Dior designer dress I had never worn before, which was hiding in a plastic bag at the back of my closet.

I riffled through my clothes, and low and behold, I found it. It looked pristine. I thought this was the one that would finally help me find my Prince Charming. No one would be able to resist me in this dream of a dress. And I had my aunt Jennifer’s pearls that would be the perfect final touch. The next thing I had to do was get an appointment with my hairdresser and get a new hairstyle.

For the next three days, I prepared to unveil the new me. I couldn’t eat, and I couldn’t sleep. I thought the day would never come, but then it did. I spent the morning at the salon getting my hair and nails done, and then I put on “The Dress.” When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself. I looked like a new me, a new and improved version.

I decided to call a limo service to drive me to the gala. I sure didn’t want to arrive in a 1974 Volkswagon Bug, one that I had been around since dinosaurs roamed the planet. Well, maybe not that far back, but it was ancient, that’s for sure.

My limo arrived at eight on the dot. I believed that this opportunity would only happen once. And this was a big chance for me to start anew and find my one and only true love. The limo driver was friendly after I told him I was going to a big celebration, a gala. He said, “Well, I’m sure you will be the bell of the ball. You look beautiful.

I said, “Thank you.’ But I was sure he just complimented me to get a big tip. We arrived at the gala, and I have to admit it was a toss-up between excitement and terror. I had never been to such a big event before. The limo driver said, “What time would you like to be picked up?” Picked up?” I stared at him and said, “I completely forgot about being picked up. All I’ve been thinking about was the gala and meeting Prince Charming. The driver said, “Any Prince Charming would fall in love with you at first glance. But here is my business card with my phone number on it. Just in case you need a ride home. By the way, my name is Charles Prince. If you need a ride home, or if you ever need a driver in the future. Be careful, I hope you have a wonderful evening.” I was about to get out of the limo, when suddenly the driver of the limo was at my door and he said, “allow me to help you out of the car, and walk you up to the entrance of the Ball. I felt my face blush from head to toe. But, I took his hand, and he gallantly led me to the entrance of the Gala. And then he released my hand and bowed deeply from his waist. When he looked at me, I blushed so deeply it must have looked like I had a fever. He said, “if not tonight, I know we will meet again, ” and bowed again. And I walked toward the Gala’s entrance and turned momentarily to look back, but he was gone, and so was the pristine limo.

I walked up to the double doors and pulled open the door in front of me. I could hear music and laughter. I was feeling a mixture of fear and excitement. I was sure this would be the best night of my life. I knew this would be the night I would meet the man of my dreams, my prince charming. I had no doubt.

As I walked into the ballroom, the flashing lights and loud music startled me at first. But after a few minutes, I grew accustomed to the sounds and sights around me. It wasn’t easy to find any of my friends. So many people were milling around the hall, and it was dark, and the flashing lights made it difficult to get my bearings.

A couple of minutes later, I saw my best friends, Christina and Helen. I’ve known them since elementary school. They looked amazing. “Alicia, you finally arrived. We were afraid you chickened out.”

“Chickened out, no, why would I do that? I have been looking forward to attending this event since I was in high school. Not to mention, I spent all my babysitting money on this dress and shoes.” Christina and Helen laughed. I said, “What are you two laughing about?”

“Because we just said the same thing right before you got here.”

“Oh, I thought it was just me.”

“No, everyone here feels the same way.”

And we all started laughing, and then Helen said, “Hey, I’m starved. Let’s go see what the eats are, shall we?”

“ Yeah, let’s say I’m starved. I have been starving myself for two weeks, so I would fit into this dress.”

They looked at each other and started laughing again. “Now, what’s funny?”

“We have to. I’m going to eat until I explode,” Christina said. And off we went to the dining tables. We each grabbed a plate and tried to fit a little bit of everything on our plates. Then we found a table where some of our friends were sitting, stuffing their faces and laughing. I said, “ I guess all of you have been starving yourselves too?”

They all looked at us, and we looked back at them. And we all laughed. I finally took a break from eating and said, “I’m stuffed. If I eat one more thing, I’ll throw up. Then, everyone moaned. And said, “Me, too.” We just sat there quietly for about fifteen minutes and began gossiping about the popular girls and their boyfriends. And we sighed, “ I don’t see any guys who are not dancing with someone. We must be the only ones without dates. Then, a quiet girl in our group said, “So, who says we can’t get up and dance with each other? That’s better than sitting here and stuffing our faces until we get sick.”

And that is exactly what we did. Christina went up to the band and asked them to play our favorite songs, and then we all made our way onto the dance floor. We spent the next several hours dancing, singing, and having a great time, boys or not.

About two hours into the gala I saw the doors swing open and I saw a tall, familiar young man waving in my direction. I wasn’t sure who it was. But he was the first guy ever to look my way. I waved at him, and he came towards me. And that is when realized who Prince Charming was, he was my limo driver. And if he didn’t look like Prince Charming, I don’t know who would. My girlfriends were all whispering, “Oh my god, who is that gorgeous guy? Who is he looking for?”

I said,’ That is my prince charming, well, not my prince charming, but my limo driver. I guess he got tired of waiting for me outside. And then, in the blink of an eye. Prince Charming said as he walked up to me.’Pardon me for interrupting your gala. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t take this opportunity to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” I looked at him, and I could feel my face flush. I couldn’t manage to get a word out, but I took his hand, and he led me out to the dance floor after requesting a song. It was “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.” He said, “This is one of my favorite songs’ Elvis Presley originally sang it.”

We danced together until the band began playing their final song. “Last Dance.” by Donna Summer. I felt like I was floating on the dance floor. I had never experienced such a night. And I never thought that my first Prince Charming would be the limo driver that drove me to the event of a lifetime. Who knew that falling in love for the first time would feel this wonderful?

A BEST FRIEND WHO LIVES FAR AWAY, MY PEN PAL

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Remember when you were a young child, and your mother used to tell you stories to help you fall asleep at night? I have a story to tell, but it doesn’t have a good ending. So, here goes. It all began when I was a young child. I absolutely loved going to the Ben Franklin Store in my hometown, where I grew up. It was actually called the Ben Franklin 5 & 10 Cent Store. Because many of the items in the store could be purchased for five or ten cents, I would spend hours walking up and down the aisles at all the treasures that were for sale. And all I needed to have was a dime, a quarter, or a pocket full of pennies, and I could get one of the treasures for a mere penny, nickel, or dime.

I would walk around town, up and down Main Street, with my head down, looking for a penny, a dime, or a nickel. And on a lucky day, a quarter. I could buy a whole lot at the 5&10 for a quarter. For me, it was like a treasure hunt. Just looking for the loose change lying on the sidewalk was exciting. It was exciting to go to the 5&10 and buy something with its aisles and aisles of cool stuff. The ladies that worked in the store were always so cheerful and welcoming. They never lost patience with me or any of the other children that used to go there. They would often make suggestions on what to buy.

One day, I was walking around in the back of the store, and I happened to find an envelope filled with canceled stamps from all over the world. Next to it was an album for sale for a dollar where you could store all your stamps. The lady who worked in that part of the store came over to me and explained that all the stamps had been canceled. Meaning they had been used by someone in another country and mailed to another part of the world. The lady who worked in the store told me that for a dollar, I could buy an empty album and fill it with canceled stamps worldwide. She also suggested that I try contacting some kids my age from other parts of the world and write back and forth to them. She said they were called Pen Pals.

I talked to my fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Mc Elliot, who told me about a Pen Pal Program I could join that the school I attended promoted. Several weeks went by, and I didn’t hear anything more about my pen pal. Then about five weeks after that I received a letter with a weird looking stamp on it. And it said Ireland. I had no idea where Ireland was located. So, I showed my father, and he said, “You don’t know where Ireland is?” And I said, “no.” So, he said, “Why don’t we take a walk downtown to our library and look at the globe.” I was so surprised that he said he would walk with me that I started jumping up and down. My father rarely went anywhere with me alone. Since we had a big family. But, sure enough, he said, “Let’s go.” Off we went down to Main Street and to the library, which was located right next to the town police department.

As we entered the library, my father said, “Do you have a library card?” And I said no. What’s a library card?”

“It’s an official card that says you can borrow library books. You have to take good care of them and return them on the due date. Otherwise, you get charged for being late.”

I started jumping up and down and saying, “Yes, yes, yes, I want a library card. I love to read.” The next thing I knew, we were in the library. It wasn’t really big, but it was packed with books from the floor to the ceiling.

Then, my father said, “come on I’l show you where Ireland is on the globe. So, he took me to the middle of the room, where a round globe was sitting on a table. “ Here it is, here is where we live, and here is where Ireland is located. He pointed to it, “See where I have my finger? That is where my mother and father were born, in County Down Patrick in Ireland. My mother came to America in 1904 from Ireland. And I was born in 1910 here in the United States. I looked at my dad and said, “Wow, you are really old.” Then he said, now you know that your family came from Ireland to America. And they came to have a better life and more opportunity than Ireland since it was such a small country.

Then, my father went up to the librarian lady and asked if I could apply for a library card. Believe it or not, she said, “But of course, she can.” My father spelled out my name and address and showed her his driver’s license. The next thing I knew, I had my very own library card.

Now that you know that your family came from another part of the world, you can find a pen pal from Ireland if you want to start writing them. Or you can write to anyone in the rest of the world who speaks and writes English towrite to you.

So, that very same week, my teacher gave me the name of a student about my age who lived in Ireland. And I started writing them. It turned out to be a girl about my age, and she even sent me a picture of herself. And she looked to be about my age. I didn’t understand the words she used in her letters, but I kept writing back, and she wrote me. She told me in her last letter that someday she would like to come and visit me in America. I couldn’t sleep for a week after that. I thought she was going to come any time now. But, she meant someday in the future, she would come.

Anyway, her name was Coleen O’Cabri, which my father said was a big coincidence because that was his father’s last name. However, when he moved to America, he changed his name to Carberry. O’Cabri meant driver of the chariots, which my father said was also a strange coincidence since he started out his working career driving trolleys and buses in Philadelphia.

Unfortunately, my father’s mother had other ideas for him. His mother believed working in the office and Philadelphia Transportation Company, or PTC, was more prestigious, as my father called it. And so, he worked for the rest of his working life, scheduling the buses, trolleys, and drivers. It was a good job, but he had to work nights. And he used to sleep during the day. I rarely saw my father since he often slept during the day, and I was supposed to keep quiet so I wouldn’t wake him up. And he went to work at night.

Anyway, as I was saying, I decided to keep writing my pen pal Coleen O’Cabri, and I told her that O’Cabri was my dead grandmother’s name. When she wrote back, she told me that O’Cabri was a fairly common name in that part of Ireland. I told her that we had people from all over the world living there in America. And that my best friend was a mixture of Irish and Italian. She thought that was really weird. I explained to her that people from all over the world came to live here in America. I asked if she would like to come and visit me someday. And she said she would like that. Maybe when she grew up and had some money saved.

Coleen said there were some things different in Ireland. She said Ireland’s nickname is the Emerald Isle. Believe it or not, there are something like 30,000 castles in Ireland, and one of the oldest lighthouses is in Wexford, Ireland. Contrary to popular belief, the shamrock is not a national symbol of Ireland. Some people in Ireland spoke Gaelic, but most people since the eighteenth century spoke English in Ireland. Which I thought was weird. But then I realized that she had been writing me in English since we started being pen pals, and I didn’t even think about that at the time.

Another thing she told me that I didn’t know was that six million Irish people moved to America. At that time, it has been estimated that nearly two million people—about a quarter of the population—emigrated to the United States in a ten-year period.

That is how my family came to live in America: my father’s mother emigrated to the United States at the turn of the century. My father was born in 1911, and I was born in 1951. My mother’s family was also from Ireland. My mother’s last name was Brown. Marie Gertrude Brown until she married my father in 1929 and became Marie Carberry.

The Irish have contributed to America in many ways. They and their descendants made incalculable contributions to politics, industry, organized labor, religion, literature, music, health care, and art.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that people from Ireland or any other country that came to the United States were not that different from us. Some of their customs might be slightly different, or their food might not be the same as ours. But we are all people trying to make our way through life. Sometimes, having to struggle from one day to the next. But people are all the same. I kept writing to Coleen for a long time. Believe it or not, we became good friends by writing letters to one another. And I hope that one day she will come to visit me. And that I can go visit her. Do you remember what Forrest Gump said? He said, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get.”

But I know my friend Colleen and I will eventually get together. I don’t know if she will come here, or I will go to Ireland. But, one day, we will meet. And it will be my dream come true.

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THE JOY OF SPRING AND THEN SUMMER, WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE

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As far back as I can remember, I loved flowers. I suppose this was a strange attachment for a young girl to have. Nonetheless, it is true. It all began when I was old enough to go outside my neighborhood alone. One day, I was sitting on our front step and noticed the arbor extending over our front door. I suppose it had been there for a long time, but I didn’t notice it until that moment. I looked at the arbor, and I saw that it was adorned with beautiful and fragrant red roses. My father had trained them to grow on the arbor. And every spring, the roses would begin to grow, and by mid-summer, they would cover the entire arbor. The fragrant smell of the roses would greet me as I left my house and returned.  Last Day of School before Spring Break

It was so comforting that I could look forward to seeing and smelling their elegant perfume every year. And their wondrous beauty never let me down. They were a comforting presence and made me feel safe and loved somehow. As I stepped down the front stairs, I walked by my mother’s Lilac Bush. My father had planted it long ago. He told me it was older than I was. It was also one of my mother’s favorite flowers, and I found it comforting that my father would plant and care for these beautiful blooms because of the love he had in his heart for my mother. Who was the kindest and most thoughtful person I knew? I always believed that she deserved all the roses and the stars that lit the sky at night. I could not imagine having a mother who loved me or took care of me more than she did every day of my life.

Occasionally, when I was over at my best friend’s house down the street, I would look at all the flowers that they had growing in their yard and wonder where their roses were. One day, I asked my best friend, Joanie, where all their roses were. And she said, my mother doesn’t like roses. She likes hydrangeas. And she pointed to these crowded bushes with large blue flowers that almost resembled bouquets. They were so big. I said, Joan, can I bring one of those flowers to my mom? She said, well, I don’t know, I might get in trouble. I’ll have to ask my mom. And she did just that. She ran in through the front door, and a couple of minutes later, her mom came out with some scissors.

Joan’s mom was pretty; she had bright red hair. And she was always laughing. I loved visiting Joan’s house because her mother made delicious cookies. And she always told me to sit down at the kitchen table, and she would hand me a tall, cold glass of milk with two cookies. That she said were Italian Cookies. I didn’t know what Italian Cookies were, except they were delicious. Then, she said, “After you two are finished with your cookies and milk, I’ll cut a hydrangea for your mom. She looked over at me and said the same thing she always said, “You better be good to your Mom. You know she is an absolute saint.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I think she greatly liked my mom. I said,” Thank you for the flower. My mother will love it. And I was so excited about the flower that I grabbed it and ran home. We lived three houses away, so it took only a few minutes to get home. I burst into our kitchen through the side door. My mother was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes. Whenever I came into the house from outside, she did the dishes. Sometimes, she washed the floor on her hands and knees. And she would say,” Don’t walk on the wet floor. So, then I would run outside again to our backyard and go into the house through the cellar door. And then I would run up the steps to the hallway which was right next to the kitchen and I yelled, “Mom, look I have a beautiful flower for you. She would look up at me and said, “thank you, I love it. Can you wait a few minutes until the floor dries? Then I’ll put the flower in my vase.”

I waited patiently for my mom to bring the vase, and finally, she did. She put the hydrangea in her favorite crystal vase and put water in the vase. She placed the vase carefully in the center of the kitchen table so everyone could see it. “Please tell Marion I said thank you, she is such a kind woman.” I said, “OK, Mommy, I will.” 

I ran out the front door and up the street, three houses down, and burst in their front door. And I yelled, “My mom said,’ Thank you. You are such a kind woman.’” Joan’s mom said once again,” Your mother is a saint. Why don’t you two go out and play? It’s a beautiful summer day.”

It was springtime, and I loved that the sun was shining most of the time and getting warmer outside. Easter was just around the corner, and I couldn’t wait. First, there was a big Easter Egg Hunt. And then, on Easter Sunday, I couldn’t wait for Easter morning when I finally got my Easter Basket. I loved, loved, loved candy. Especially Easter candy. My mother would dye hard-boiled eggs, and I just loved looking for them in our big backyard. On Easter Sunday, we would all dress up in our best Sunday clothes and go to Easter Mass. All the kids from my school sat together. And the adults would sit behind us. It was a long, long mass. I couldn’t stop thinking about all that Easter candy waiting for me at home.

After Mass, my mother made a big Easter Breakfast for us, and my older brother and sister would come to visit my parents after Easter Mass. It was a fun day. Later in the afternoon, I would change into my play clothes, and all my neighborhood friends would come out and play. Even though most of us felt a little sick from all the candy we were eating, It was a great day, and at dinner time, my mother would have made a big dinner for my whole family to attend.

Easter Egg Hunt

Although Easter was the beginning of Spring, it wasn’t the end. We spent most of the time outside until dark after our homework was done. And we started planning what we would do this summer vacation. It was in the middle of June, which seemed a long, long time away. But it wasn’t only about six weeks. I couldn’t wait. Summer vacation was when all the kids looked forward to no homework and no going to school from first thing in the morning until three o’clock. We absolutely counted the days down until the last day of school. After final exams, we didn’t do much work. Sometimes, we had to help clean up the classroom to prepare it for next September. But that always seemed like a lifetime away.

And there was nothing in the world that I loved more than Summer. There was no school, no teachers, no nuns, just a day after day of freedom, visiting all my friends and riding our bikes all over the place. My parents never asked me where I was going; they just warned me to be home on time for lunch and dinner. I didn’t have any chores or homework. It was a dream come true.

Summer finally arrived, and the fun began, with endless days of riding our bikes all over town. I could visit all my school friends whenever I wanted as long as I came home on time for lunch and dinner. My parents never really questioned where we were or what we were up to. And at night, we would be allowed to stay out until dark. The only thing we had to fear was the mosquitoes would eat us alive. Then, the mosquito truck used to go up and down the streets, killing the mosquitoes, and we rode behind it. I’ll never understand why not one of our parents told us that it was toxic. Maybe they didn’t know or think about it at the time. I must admit the mosquitoes were a nightmare all summer; there were too many to count and too many to kill. They were horrible. But we all got used to it. And tried to ignore them. After all, they were just another part of Summer, the bad part.

As I look back over that time, it seems like a lifetime, but it was only about eight years ago when I attended grammar school. It remains one of my happiest memories. And one I wouldn’t exchange for anything in the world, not even if it meant the mosquitoes were still a nightmare to this day. Life is short; the innocence of childhood passes too quickly. I only hope the children nowadays have the same wonderful Summer experiences that I had. Enjoy the Spring and the Summer. It passes too quickly, doesn’t it?

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