Another Birthday

Well, I am two days past my 57th birthday and even as I write that it doesn't seem possible. It is weird to feel like you are in your 30's but have three children who are that age. When did they catch up with me? I have never had a birthday that bothered me, 40 didn't depress me and neither did 50 but I have to admit that 60 sounds ominous. I don't think I am going to like that one! It sounds like a grandma age--oh yeah I am one already!

The earliest memory I have is of being carried down the steps from the upstairs attic where I probably slept in the same room with my parents. I must have been really little and I remember the unpleasant feeling in my stomach as my mother walked quickly down the steps. I remember sleeping in a crib but then I was in one until I was about six years old, sleeping in it with the side down so that I could climb in and out. I remember one night I was in bed and my mother was in the same room (actually the attic in our Cape Cod on Emerald Road) in their double bed. I told her, "Don't tell Daddy I am awake. I am going to pretend I'm asleep." I guess she promised but then when my dad came up and got in bed she quietly told him, "Denise is pretending to be asleep. She told me not to tell you." Now that I am a parent I understand why she did that, she thought I was being cute. But at the time I felt betrayed and sad. I also remember bouncing a ball in my sister, Janet's bedroom, where I guess she was trying to do her homework (or maybe writing a note to her boyfriend--with a pen and paper, this was before IM). She got annoyed with me and fussed at me to get out of her room. The only other memory I have of my sisters living at home was a time my sister, Peggy stayed with me while my parents went on a trip to NYC. That is vague and mixed up with the time I got measles. I don't know if they happened at the same time but I remember thinking for the longest time that I got the measles from grease spattering on me from a hot skillet. I think that probably was because when I first started breaking out they thought that is what had happened, or maybe how they described what it looked like to someone. Funny the memories you keep in your brain. I am sure more important things happened that I don't remember at all.

School memories: My first teacher was my sister, Peggy, who taught kindergarten at Open Bible. At that time it was full day and we were considered very progressive as the public schools didn't offer kindergarten. Peggy was also a very progressive teacher, actually teaching us our letters and numbers and colors! I can still remember her holding up pieces of construction paper for us to give the correct color. I also remember that we had rest time in the afternoon on little blue cots. One day, Peggy had to leave the room for a few minutes while we were resting. I stood lookout while the rest of the kids got up and started bouncing on their cots. When I saw her coming back I hissed to everyone, "She's coming!" and we all lay back down like little angels! After that I went to Villa Cresta Elementary through 6th grade. In 3rd grade I had a little accident in my seat and the teacher publicly rebuked me and sent me to sit in the boiler room to dry. I was so bewildered, wandering around the hallway wondering where the boiler room was. The vice principal found me and asked what was wrong. I told her and she called my mom who brought me dry clothes. That vice principal was the sweetest lady. She knew every student by name and even years later, after I was married, I returned to the school with Carl to their annual Fiesta and when she saw me she knew me and greeted me by name! That day she made me feel so comforted and loved. I have a feeling that 3rd grade teacher heard from the vice principal. What a horrible thing to do to an 8 year old! I loved the 6th grade because they were trying something new. We changed classes instead of having the same teacher all day. My reading teacher was a man, I can't remember his name but at the end of the year he resigned to become a priest! I loved that class because we could go at our own pace, working through booklets and testing and then moving on to the next book. I loved that because I loved reading. Arithmetic was another story. I didn't do so well and again I had a teacher who was not understanding. At one point she made me stand up as she announced to the rest of the class the failing grade I had made. I think she thought she was encouraging me to do better by shaming me but it didn't work! I didn't like math until I got to Algebra. I loved it because it was like figuring out a puzzle. I always said it was numbers that confused me, letters I could understand!

One last funny story from grade school. Apparently, a boy in my class learned that my parents were older than most of the other classmates and that my sisters were teenagers when I was born. He teased me that I was a mistake and I went home crying, "Mommy, was I a mistake?" I remember her smiling and saying, "Oh no, honey you weren't a mistake. A surprise--but not a mistake." Then I was happy because after all surprises are good things, aren't they?