THAT SPECIAL DAY

Growing up in Brooklyn was not an easy task. First there was my Mom, Lena as they called her, Olympia was her real name. She made sure I toed the line, behaved and paid dearly for all my sins. Our shoes were polished; shirt was clean and starched, and blue tie in place as I was merrily sent off to Our Lady of Lourdes School on Aberdeen Street. Her only admonishment was: “If the teacher disciplines you, when you get home, you will get the rest!” Sobering words that I still live by, somehow.

Pop on the other hand, although short tempered at times, never got too deep into my personal life, handing out dimes on his way to the little store he ran in the front of my Grandmother’s house on Fulton Street, after I would ask him. His family, the Dodgers and the New York Laboratory and Supply Company were his life, along with Olympia’s Gift Shop. He sold house wares, lamps, vases and candy and Italian ices, among other things.

In the summer, to get us out of the city, and since we were so poor we couldn’t afford a vacation, Dad and Mom sent us to visit relatives in Patchogue. The admonishment then changed to: “Behave, or else!” Mom had a way with words, which got the point across.

My sister Tessie would go to My Dad’s sister, Aunt Angie’s house, and I was always sent to my Uncle Joe’s house, who I didn’t particularly like. Uncle Joe was my Dad’s brother, who married my Mom’s sister Aunt Tessie.

Uncle Joe, although he did do a lot to entertain me, circus, airport, and crabbing, along with visits to his job, the Long Island Railroad was always on a short fuse.

Tessie got the good vacation, because she was my parent’s favorite. Tessie went to Aunt Angie, a great cook, and a generous heart. She would see me, and buy me ice cream or give me candy and say: “Don’t tell your uncle.” She was neat!

Once a year there was some occasion where the whole family went to Patchogue. We would climb into Dad’s car and off we went after Sunday Mass. It seemed the Mass would go on forever! Then they made us go to our classroom to report that we went to Mass and received Holy Communion. When you are dying to get out of the city, see your cousins, and visit the country, it was a real pain in the butt! I swore they were being spiteful.

Once we were on our way, I looked for the signs we were getting near. A sign for the town of West Islip on the Southern State Parkway, the old lace mill in Patchogue, and finally the lumber yard of Main Street, before we finally turned and saw the old shack on the corner of Norton Street, where my cousin’s lived.

It is sad how those days are no longer present. How a childish memory of good times seems to be like a new coin, losing its luster and detail with age. I guess we do too. Our luster and detail seems to diminish, as we get older.

Whenever I see a sister of mine, or one of my children, I always seem to recall some incident in their childhood, and I relish those moments.

Thanks to Jim Pantaleno at spaldeendreams.blogspot.com for the photo of Our Lady of Lourdes in Brooklyn, where I was taught to write legibly.

Please remember to say a little prayer, even a one word two words one for those you care about, like I do. Joan and DD.