I wrote this piece for my memoir class last week. I don't think I've ever written about this subject before - so I thought I'd share it here. Bottom line: I feel very lucky I was able to quit smoking when I did and be able to live and write about it. *** In the mid 1950s fifties when I was in high school, the thing to do was smoke. No one thought anything was wrong with it. Even our major movie and radio stars smoked and looked so beautiful or handsome in their cigarette ads. And doctors endorsed certain cigarette brands. I hung with a smallish group of girls and boys. We didn’t go on many real dates, but we knew how to party. Most Saturday nights my best friend Sylvia would have us over and we’d gather in her dark basement to dance, eat, smoke, and make out. Either her parents were not home or didn’t pay attention to us if they were. We also went to one of the boys’ houses after school. It was there that I first heard Elvis Presley sing Blue Suede Shoes. Every time we were there … [Read more...]
About my brother, Kenny
I always called my older brother the guy I grew up with. We were two years and nine months apart and as a little girl I worshipped him. When we were young the feeling wasn’t mutual. He hated having to drag me along with his friends to the Saturday afternoon movies or to walk me to school. He made me walk on the other side of the street. But later on we became real buddies. He took me to the Cubs games during the afternoons he ditched Hebrew School. He brought me books from the library when I was sick in bed. And when we both didn’t like the same foods, we’d sit at the table together, however long our mother made us sit trying to make us eat. We went to the same high school but only had one year together – he a senior and I a freshman. Since he was a checker in the cafeteria, he always let me take a cut while checking out. I loved the way he looked – white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, holding his pack of cigarettes, Levies, and his white buck shoes. The cigarettes are the key … [Read more...]
What I Miss
Paul loved playing the piano What I Miss Twelve years didn't erase him. He is still with me everyday. The memories haven't dimmed. I clearly see his face, his clear blue eyes, his buzzed hair in my mind. I miss hearing him play his music as his bent fingers lightly trickled up and down the keyboard. I miss hearing his footsteps on the stairs and hardwood floors as he prowled around the house at night. I miss hearing his deep voice as he said, hello when he came home from work I also miss his expertise. He solved our computer problems at night leaving carefully written instructions in his childish printing for us to find the next morning. I don't miss his smoking, I don't miss his bad moods during his last few years, I don't miss that his sickness sometimes made him angry and me angry at him. No, I don't miss those things. But, I don't think about them. I just think about the things about him that I miss. 2008, 2011 … [Read more...]
