In today’s world it seems that all the luster, glitter and gleam is somehow gone. There are fewer celebrations with the whole family: as I get older. I guess because we are all having our own grandchildren now, we lose touch with the old clan.
Years ago when I was growing up, we as a family invited all the relatives to celebrate an occasion, either a wedding or religious event. These celebrations were centralized because it was the only place to go, my grandmothers rather extra large kitchen in Brooklyn.
As I mentioned yesterday, they came from far and wide, and we did enjoy seeing each other. We dressed for the occasion and ate well.
It seems that Grandma Frances took on all the cooking herself, and her daughters and daughter-in-laws all were expected to chip into the preparation of the food, with Grandma’s direction.
If you made your first communion, after the ceremony, it was off to Grandma’s house for the celebration, where a BIG fuss was made over you. You couldn’t take off the fancy togs and you stayed dress and stiff as a board with the admonishment: “Don’t get dirty!” People like aunts and uncles and grandparents would slip you a buck or two, raise their index finger to their lips and you slipped it into your pocket. That is except my older sister (much older) Tess. She would put on a monumental epic struggle to resist such gifts, about a half a second worth and then take the cash.
 |
| Tessie is about to present me flowers for being her brother! |
Since money was no object to me (I never had any), this was a great thing! The trick was to keep it, not spend it in front of anyone and keep it quiet that I had any. We were not allowed to accept money like that because… well because… I’ll get back to you on that.
You usually got your name scribed on a cake that said: “Congratulations Joseph”, providing your name WAS Joseph or they would use your actual name.
Now that I think about it, I had cheap relatives, giving me a buck and not buying me a present.
That’s what happens when you get nostalgic!
1 comment:
I love this blog - very familiar. My Mother did not drive, so she and I would walk about 12 blocks to pick up a cake at Rosato's (family-run)Bakery and then carefully walk home. It is a wonderful memory. with all the family showing up to celebrate the occasion, you felt like royalty for that afternoon!
SS-I-L
Post a Comment