Jumping the Fence

The fence consisted of a cement wall and a wooden fence. It was like a barrier to keep all the elementary kids in. For us, it was a barrier to break. We often played kickball, and the goal was to kick the ball over the fence so they had to let us out to retrieve the ball. It was a growing wall since we were on the many hillsides of San Francisco. It was at its highest point where we played kickball. I took many trips up the hill to retrieve the ball. What a strange obsession emphasized with great pride, not unlike the homerun hitters of the MLB trotting the bases around the park.

One day, after the yard had closed one cement park hooligans had dared me to jump the cement fence onto the cement ground of the schoolyard. Although I was somewhat hesitant, I was not known to turn down a dare. We found a loose board in the fence and stood on top of the cement wall, with the empty yard below us. Mind you, I wore flip flop, hence not a lot of stability. I stood there and wondered what the heck I was doing. But dare was a dare. I don't remember who the other person was, but he jumped and was still alive. The pressure was even greater on me. It seemed I was jumping into an abyss and I could never survive. The distance down seemed insurmountable, but I had to approve that I was not a chicken. I knew it was going to hurt, but I had to.

Slowly I got up the courage to take what seemed the giant leap at all cost. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. I did it, and I was still alive. My ankle was soar, but no one could take away from me the chutzpah it took to challenge that wall and my leap of faith.

The t finish our deed, we had to climb the rod iron fence so we could go home.

Softball Team

Joe recognized all our talents in the schoolyard and quickly formed a softball team. He took his little black Volvo and poured in as many as he could to take us around town. We had to play on Saturdays, and Joe was always there for us. Rivalry with Kathy was none-stop. She was a year older than I, but I wanted to pitch. Joe being the Solomon of the schoolyard, worked it out that both of us could pitch. I remember Lenny, who was fast as lightning. Nor can I forget Mary Castro. She was much bigger than us, but what a fielder she was. Nothing got by her.

Well, if you haven't guessed it, our rag-tag team became San Francisco champions. It definitely was a highlight of my young life. We got medals to validate our victory that hung promptly and with great pride with all my other certificates I had earned. Amazingly, some of them were even academic.

Why did I say that. I was just as competitive academically like any other sport.

Once a week there was a writing contest. The winner could lead the Pledge of Allegiance each morning in the schoolyard for a week. I was determined that I was going to do that. So I copied my story from the Encyclopedias my parents bought me every week at Safeway. It was on sea Anemones and was shocked that I won. I did have a sense of guilt that it was not my words. Certainly teachers knew as well. Why did they give it to me? Somehow the victory was not as rewarding. It was too easy.

Life Alone

The playground in the summer was my life. All my friends were there in one confined area. I had a wonderful time and could not wait for Joe to show up and start us out with activities; playing Monopoly, learning to braid with plastic, playing softball, kickball, two/foursquare.You name it, we did it. We never went home for lunch. For me there was nothing there. My other worked too clean houses and my father has his job which he had hoped to shed when he was in Holland.

I remember my shoes consisted of flip flops. After all, the were only 49¢. I love them. I played so hard that I often didn't realize the sunburn on my feet. They would blister, since they were never exposed to continuous sun. I was having so much fun that I did not feel the blisters until the end of the day. At night I would pop them and my mother would treat them with some kind of salve. The next day I would put them back on, since wearing shoes would be too painful. Often we would play long after Joe had left. I remember climbing the 6 foot rod iron fence to get out. No big deal. I always made sure I was home before my father got off the bus.

Other times I would beat my mother home from work, dangling my legs out of the second story apartment, looking for her.

I had so much freedom, and it was the fear of my father that kept me line from getting into trouble. Essentially, those years; 3-5 grade, I raised myself. I'm sure it was not my mother's choice. It was just a reality that I had accepted or was oblivious of it since we lived in the Netherlands when my mom had to work in the theater to raise enough money for our first

TV and funds to come to America.

Awards and more awards

The group I hung around with was quite competitive. Joe arranged for us to have numerous competitions. We played four square, two square, and roller skating from one end of the playground to the other.
Kathy was perhaps the most athletic of us all, but I was determined to beat her at whatever she did. First was the softball throw, and boy could I throw. Then it was the competition for four-squre and two-square. More aggressive I could not be.
My last competition was of great concern. I naturally was not known to be fleet of foot. Kathy was, and that presented a threat. We had a race on roller skates and I could not let her get ahead of me. My legs never moved faster to keep up with my challenge. She stumbled and I took advantage of that. In the end I miraculously won.
I now was the proud owner of the playground competition of Columbus School. Incredibly, I still have all those certificates.
Good memories of the schoolyard.

The playground

My second home in San Francisco was the playground. Joe was in charge and we all showed our reverence to him. We had opportunities to learn arts and crafts, play Monopoly and scrabble like there was no tomorrow.
My mom would give me a quarter every day while she went to work. I often had to manage my money so I could either get my sandwich, cola, or snowballs. We all went to the small grocery store down from the playground. Mike would slice the bologna, smear our rolls with mayonaise, in a most methodical way. We were proud and felt adult like that we could buy our own lunch on our own. Mike was our friend and he anticipated our arrival on a daily basis. He sharpened his knife to extract that special cut of meat from a huge roll of bologna. He was delighted in our appearance and gave us the respect of any adult customer.

The bus

I found, but did not realize that I had an extreme amount of liberties. One of those was my bus pass. For 10¢ I could travel anywhere in San Francisco, and I used it freely. I went to see the sisters across the park. I was an independent cuss and found it difficult to sit idle.
One of these days I received a coupon to see the Ringling Brothers circus in the civic auditorium in downtown San Francisco. I asked my mom for the 50¢ entry fee and she gladly complied. Off I was with the masses. No fear ever crossed my mind. Because of my independence I had experiences no child could ever have. My parents counted on me to be responsible.
I don't know if it was my confidence or my unassuming attitude, but I never felt threatened. I had a wonderful day watching the magnificent circus, even if it was in the nosebleed section.
The circus was over when most of the people were leaving their jobs for another day. The mass of humanity was certainly not a threat to this nine-year-old. After having my own children, it is difficult to fathom the unusual trust they had in me.

The Nazi's are coming

I never knnew a lot about my father's experiences in concentration camp. I did know it wasn't good. We were sponsored by a Jewish soccer team and my father got some minimal support. For me. living in that new apartment meant many a sleepless night.
My father came home from work on the bus everyday. It stopped kitty corner from where we lived. With the rolling hills, many people had basement apartments. Windows were literally on the ground level. So what was my nightmare repeatedly? I would dream that my father was coming home. I would always watch for the bus to arrive (which I did in reality). But looking out I would see Nazi's hanging out in those windows with rifles, and obviously looking for Jews.
I would see the bus and scream for my father not to get out because THEY were waiting for him. It always stopped when my dad got off and the Nazi's appeared, but it never went beyond that.
Night after night I would have this recurring dream, ending the same way. I do not know where I got those thoughts. They must have whispered something, or I had picked something up.
I never told my parents.

De Arcy

We had new neighbors and they had a lot of kids. They were fro the Phillipines. I had never heard of such a destination, but I soon learned they were Catholic. They were nice enough, but something kept me from entering their premises. Our new landlord had informed us that there were rats in their backyard, and that was enough for me not to venture out any further. I played frequently with the boy that was my age. We lived out the lives of the San Francisco Giants and the LA Dodgers. We didn't have much to play with, but ZI soon learned that if I took a tennis ball and hit the side of the curb it would just fly. This is how the neighborhood kids played baseball. It brought us together in the afternoon. the neighbors across the street also had a large family. They would join us for the all-league play-offs that went on for hours. The goal was to make the ball travel as far as we could. I was the only girl playing, being fascinated with the action and the fellowship.
TV was of little significance, although not much was on anyway. We played and played until our parents called us for dinner. It would serve as our seven inning stretch.
And I, well, quite often I would wait for my mother to come home. I would sit on the window sill, two stories up with my skinny legs dangling down. I had come a long way from looking out that bay window in my bedroom on Arguello Blvd.

The move.

As I became thoroughly entrenched in my new school, I was quickly uprooted to a brand new school. I thought about asking my dad why we moved there, but I have no idea. Our new home was on the other side of the Golden Gate Park. I can only assume that it was a better neighborhood. It also meant I would be making new friends. For me, life started over once more. My father had his soccer team, which didn't matter where we lived. My mom had no friends so the move would n ot affect her. But I, I had established myself with a wide range of people and mostly, the Rijbelchenko sisters.
Our new home was on the hills of San Francisco. We lived on Lawton Street between 10th and 11th Ave. It meant we had to walk up and down to get to the grocery store. In fact, we no longer had the luxury of going to Safeway. We did our minimal shopping down the hill in a local grocery store. It was a short walk, but a bit more arduous as you had to climb back home.
One thing I remember most was that my mother would send me to the store to get cigarettes for her. No age limit then. The trips were rather frequent, and I did not mind since she would also give me an extra nickel or dime for this chore. We still did not have a car. Public transportation was ideal for someone without an vehicle.

Haloween

wow, I had never been introduced to the idea that people would give away free food if you knocked on their door. The Rijbelchenko sisters told me about this event, although I didn't quite understand. They made it clear I had to dress up. I explained it to my mom and she made it happen with the things that were readily available. She gave me a pillow case to keep my new found treasures.
Oddly enough, my parents let me go out at night after dark in San Francisco. I was only in the third and well assured since I would be accompanied by the sisters.
So what do we do? We knocked on doors, not knowing who any of these people were. It was no t without curiosity as each adult place their goods in my pillowcase. It was growing, and growing beyond believe. What was this custom? Why had I never heard about it? I liked it a lot, wishing this could be a weekly event.
After our great haul, I had to share my loot with my mom. Neither of us actually knew what some of the tinks were. My mom had to explain that someone had made popcorn balls. How did she know? Well, she worked in the movie theaters in Holland, where Americans relentlessly asked for popcorn. None was to be had.
I got a candied apple, and candy I had never seen before. I tested each carefully since I had a rather discriminating taste bud. But bottom line, it was an incredible night that ventured me further into the new culture.

The birthday party

Nina Rijbelchenko was having a birthday. The elderly neighbor downstairs was going to hold a party which consisted of the two other sisters and me. It was my first party and I was excited. We were all poor, including the neighbor, but the idea of celebrating a birthday was a novelty on its own.
I was rather oblivious of the surrounding, but the neighbor's face is profoundly memorable in my mind. Tall, standing quite erect, with her knowing glasses, soft gray hair put up in a neat bun, she was clearly in charge. She introduced us to new games we had never played before. We were all immigrants.
All the games ran a tally for the available prices, which were neatly wrapped with a bow. I did not contemplate if it was old or used. I had never seen the beauty of a gift before, which almost superseded the content pf the packages. However, winning entitled you to pick first from the batch. Being naturally competitive, it was my goal to be first...and I was.
At that age the value of a package was often by the size of the package. Hence, I chose the largest gift of them all. The sisters had much smaller gifts. Innately, I was proud of myself.
The sisters were instructed to open first. They got a candy bar, perfume, and a cupid doll. All seemed to be great. Certainly, my would be the best of all. I could hardly wait to open it. I shredded the once beautiful gift to a pulp to reveal my surprise.
A surprise it was. I was the winner of a Kleenex box. It would be the first time someone would say that the best gifts did not always come in the larges package. I was clearly disappointed, eying those gifts of what could have been. I learned a big lesson that day. What a memory

Lunchtime

We had to sit on the benches in the schoolyard. Each class had its own bench. We could not get up. My lunch was often more unusual than other students. Quite often I would trade with other students to expose myself to American delectables, like snowballs. I loved Hostess Snowballs despite the fact that I was not a fan of coconut. They, in return, loved the cheese that was an essential of my daily diet. It was adventure for my classmates and certainly for me.

I didn't eat much, except junk. I was skinny as a rail, as they would say. Consequently, lunch on the bench would last too long for me. I would daydream and wonder. I was so fascinated with the clouds rolling by above. I never realized that they moved so fast and soared above me. Obviously, I was not a scholar of astronomy. I would look and look, hoping time would pass so I could get off the bench and get to the serious business of playing.

Aftermath of injured foot

Well, I couldn't be kept out of school. I loved learning and socializing so much. So I hobbled on one foot to school' twoo blocks over and seven blocks down. The pain never seemed to overwhelm the notion of going to school. Mind you, when I got there, I would have to climb two stories.
Right before lunch I got a message that I was not to go out to the yard to have lunch. I was to report to the principal's office. Now what did I do? Well, actually , nothing. She pointed out how lucky I was to have lunch with her on a daily basis, because doctor's orders were for me not to play outside. She was more than friendly by now, not surprisingly. she was probably mortified that if she handled the situation incorrectly. I soon lost my appetite. The dreaded thought of eating on a daily basis with the person who I so infuriated me was a natural diuretic. One day in the office, and charming as she could ever be. Sweet, and fakely warm. I was antsy to see my friends, even if it meant sitting on a bench. Of course, I wouldn't be doing that, but it sounded good.
I came home and told Mom of my disastrous day in the office and was I going to be punished forever? As you can imagine, my lunch with the witch was quickly suspended.

Kaaiser hospital

Although I drove to my doctor in style, my mind was soon changed when I was scheduled for an xRay. I had no idea what that was. I was terribly frightened of the unknown and my dad did little to ease my mind. I saw these huge machines. I screamed and cried and forced all the strength out of my dad. He finally told me how that was how they took pictures of my bone. It didn't hurt. I eased my mind and subjected myself to the terrifying machine. Of course, there was no pain.
We had to wait for the results. The doctor told my dad that I did not have a broken foot, but a severely bruised bone. I would not be able to participate in any PE activities for a month, nor could I go to recess, or any other physical activity. Well, why else would I need to go to school? I was devastated. My dad, counting mentally the $$$$$$ he had lost to feed his family. That seemed to be undermined, however, by driving slowly down Geary Blvd. in that convertible with our hair catching the breeze of the San Francisco air.

Neglecting the blog

Getting disheartened at the lack of followers. I have such a great sob story and I am buying into it. It was a challenging time in my life that seems to be affecting me more now than ever. I guess I am feeling the isolation from family. I wonder if others experience that. Maybe I think am missing something that everyone else experiences.
Never had grandparents, aunts, cousins on my father's side. The only family I had was on my mother's side when we left them when I was 8. I don't regret much from my childhood because I knew no better.but would my life have been different if all those variables had not been excluded from my life. Would I still live in Holland? Would I be a teacher? Would I have had cancer? Would I have had Lichen Planus? My guess is not.
One time a fellow teacher had been watching a show and she sharply told me the next day that I was never Jewish, My mom would have to be a Jew. Hmmmmm, religiously she was right. But I was raised among Holocaust survivors. Ultimately, why did she have to bring that up? Perhaps I should have told her she was really not Armenian since she was born in the States, I don't have that in me.

The Corvette

I did forget to tell you that the second phone call prompted my return to my original classroom. Nothing much was said but as you know actions often speak louder than words.
So. lo and behold, I have an injured foot. Seriously! And where do I find myself? In the principals office. Some one much later was to tell me that my principal was not my pal. This would be true of this situation as well.
Immediately there was a sense of alarm in her face as I hobbled into her office. Oblivious of the situation, a phone call was quickly made to my house. My mother answered, who did not speak a word of English. I took the phone and explained to her that they wanted me to come home.
My mother walked the distance to come and get me. She bore my weight, although not much, on her arm. What to do, what to do?
She finally managed to call my dad at work. I don't remember the conversation, but we had to wait for him to come home via public transportation. We did not own a vehicle. Of course, my dad lost his wages for that afternoon.
When he came home, he realized I need to go to the hospital. He asked our neighbor if she could possible borrow her car. Her name was Phyllis and she came right out of the Hollywood gossip columns. She owned a new convertible Vet.

Hoppping to school

My mother did not know what to do, but I did. I had made a phone call to meet my friends, and I would be there on that corner, no matter what. I told my mom not to worry. Although she was hesitant to let me go, she knew of no alternative. She did not understand the idea that I could stay home, or what step to take next. She didn't know where to take me to a doctor or whether we had insurance. She only knew that doctors were very expensive, an expense our family could not bare.
So... I hopscotched my way to school. I hobbled on one foot all the way to school. I had no alternative, but found it an interesting curiosity and a great attention getter. Under no circumstance could I put my foot down. Despite the fact the pain was excruciating, I was determined to suck it up.
All this had happened immediately after I had been released from the dungeon, and returned to my third story third grade class. Yes, I had to climb the stairs, but fortunately there was the rail to support my body to make it upstairs.
It didn't take long for my teacher to realize that something was amiss. And off I was to that wonderful principal.

Broken foot?

I was a highly spirited child. I was the Teflon kid. I loved school and nothing was going to change that.
I had one pair of shoes to go to school I had no problem with that. I had a pair of white buck shoes, which my mother polished religiously to give the appearance of cleanliness. They were like brand new every day.
After putting on my shoes each morning I would call my newly found friends, Ribolchenko sisters; Vera, Nina and Irene. We would walk to school when we met on the corner. This morning would be different. I had a grand idea. Our phone was placed on a high ledge. I had a brilliant idea. I would get the stool of my toy piano and stand on it to reach the phone with ease. As I stepped on the stool, it broke. As I flew backwards, so did the heavy phone and landed on my bare foot. The phones were so heavy then. They were like dumbbells. I was in shock at first until reality set in. I screamed and my mother came to see what all the noise was all about. I could not walk. My mother shouldered the weight and sat me down. The pain!

Sweet Home SF

Needless to say, my experience in the basement was horrific. I was only wondering about the sentence my peers would live in this dungeon to nowhere. I was oblivious of the teacher. I can't even pretend to remember what she looks like. So unusual other than I was totally fixated on my new predicament. I questioned what I had done to receive this sentence. I was told by our principal that it would be better for me. She smiled so friendly, cynical in nature. All she had to do was sneer.
I brought the stories home, but with little protest. i was just wondering. We all did not know better. At least, my father who was the pillar of knowledge never let on that there was something wrong.
Fortunately, my father had tucked away the home number of Ms. Vogelsang. He relayed my predicament and wanted clarification as to how to deal with the situation. He had told about my experiences and observations. Remember, I was only 8 and perhaps the merit of those events weighed heavily on that age. She assured my father that she would call her friend, the superintendent of SF, once more on our behalf and explain the mitigating circumstances and the punitive actions taken by our principal

Incredible SF

As you can imagine, I was in total shock. I use to love going to school. If this was my future, I wanted no part of it.
I came home and told my story. My parents didn't know what to think or do. They were totally confused about the response and in essence, felt their hands were tied.
The next day I came to school and was summoned once more. Not that I remember what was said to me, I was extricated from my comfort zone, my class of friends, and was told that I would be going to a new class. Being respectful to authority, I marched with the principal without resistance. She did have a curious smile on her face, but my young naive mind never imagined the worse.
The class was literally in the basement of the school. Windows were at ground level. The teacher seemed nice enough, but the students looked strange to me. I had never seen them before and there was something different about them. I could not put my finger on it.
I was taking this all in, finding the classwork overly simplified. Recess was when no one else had the time on the playground. I felt alone.

The Saga of SF schools

The incident mentioned was only the beginning. Much of the exact details are somewhat fuzzy, the essence of the story remains fresh in my mind.
Going shopping at the grocery store on Saturdays at Safeway was like a field trip. With our shopping cart in tow, the three of us traveled the 7 streets to get to our destination.
I touched, I smelled all the aromas that were new to me. I shared my excitement with my parents in our native tongue. Lo and behold, a lady stopped us. She asked if we were from Holland. Like anyone would love to hear a friendly voice. My parents struck up a conversation with her. Their concern had been the handling of the situation with my principal. They were not familiar with the protocol and the in and outs of my new school. My parents told her at length about what I had experienced and were totally baffled how this could happen. This new found friend was just the person to speak to. Her close friend was the superintendent of school in SF. My parents were relieved to find an ally with my predicament.
The next Monday, oblivious of what I possibly would be confronted with, I found myself called to the office.
My principal confronted me with a rather stern face, and ordered me down the hallway to a door, which was nothing more than a janitors closet.
The principal pulled the switch to turn on the bulb. She called me a liar, wanted to know what kind of troublemaker I was. She lifted her hand, which was meant for my face. Being agile, I ducked. She missed, which only angered her more.

More school in SF

Prejudges did not just include color. Immigrants apparently were targets, too. Worse, yet, they were often pitted against one another.
On rainy days in SF we had lunch in the classroom and in the end would be walked to the basement to go to the bathroom, whether we needed to or not. I never needed to. I had an aversion to using public bathrooms. My mom was a major influence on that issue, and little did she know. I would have to be an adult before I got over that.
Anyway, we were on the second floor and would have to walk down the stairway, one-by-one. It was a relieve to get out of the classroom. there was 't much to do except play heads-up seven-up. For a bundle of energy, it was hell.
The next day I am commandeered to the office of the principal, who clearly was not my pal. One of my classmates was awaiting me. She was African American, not that it mattered to me. I did not recognize the difference since I had always been sheltered from other races in my native country. We were all cauccasian.
The principal urged the young girl to tell the story. Supposedly I had continuously jabbed her in the stomach while taking our trip downstairs. She was next in line behind me. I was astonished and did not know what to say. Actually, although my English has vastly improved over the summer, no words could explain how I felt. My head was spinning and in total disbelieve. I was left alone to defend myself.

Family birthdays

I guess the one thing I miss is family. Although from what I understand what I thought was family, may not be anymore. But. i do remember my mom's last birthday in the Netherlands. It was too amazing for me not to forget.
My mom had a large family. Yes, all have died, but my favorite aunt. But on this occasion many came to celebrate her birthday on a cold wintery night. It was December 23rd. There always was a lot of glee, music, and joy on those events. I looked forward to them like any child going on a field trip. One of my parents had purchased a copious amount of assorted tortes. who knew who would come. No one had a telephone at that time. That was half of the excitement, to see who would come. i don't remember if my cousins came, which always made it better, but I remember the church bells toll across the street as it was 12:00 AM. This was a rarity for me. I was never allowed to stay up past 8, but I always did since no one was there to deter me.
I had never experienced the resounding bells tolling for all Catholics to come to mass. I took a peek, wondering who would be crazy enough to come out at that hour. To my surprise, it was snowing, to make for a perfect holiday. It truly was a winter wonderland. Sorry for the cliché!

Saving for TB association

There was a little container that was on the mantle of our living room. A an would come monthly and collect whatever was deposited. I never knew what TB was, but I did know I was often home alone and was in need of money for candy, or the crumbs of cookies from the bakery, and the occasional trip from the Coca Cola man. Since I was rather limited to my resources I had no alternative to fill my "needs". The temptation was too great, and how would my parents know?
As the man came by monthly, there would be less and less in the container. I was sweating bullets at times. I don't really remember when he stopped coming around, but my parents never said anything about it. That is a mystery to me today. My father was a tough parent, of sorts (when he chose to be a parent.) . Maybe he felt guilty about leaving me alone so much. I don't know if my mother knew that I was left alone at nights. My father always came home before my mother.

My last day in school in Holland

I was excited and apprehensive. My last day in school. My mom had brushed and curled my long hair in the most gorgeous ponytail with a huge ribbon. She made a huge basket for me adorned with the most incredible ribbons. In all her quietness, she always made me look good.
The students in my class all stood up and sang songs of praise to me. It was a proud moment for me. Many students had brought small gifts that would all be included in our "treasure chest" that was to be shipped off to the States. The most impressive gift that will always stand out in my mind was a crayon drawing I received. It had been drawn by one of the parents. It was cover in black and then etched. I thought it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. For one, we did not have crayons available to us. But, how he had done the art work was just incredible, at least to this 8 year-old.
I then went from room to room accompanied by another student. I guess, she was to carry anything that might overload my basket.
All the teachers were very tolerant in a very strict environment. Looking back, I realized they all knew I was off to another land. I got notebooks, pencils, erasers. I was so delighted with my gifts, enough to take them with me.

Exhausted

Hmmmmmmmm, the relevance. None, I guess. Thinking back on our few and limited vacations- my father never had patience for such trivial stuff, my parents rode their bikes to Beekbergen where we were going to camp. I was in the front of my mothers bike. I was only four. I loved the feeling of the freeness and the wind blowing in your face. My mom always put my hair in a beautiful ponytail with a wonderful bow to accent it.
It was the perfect day for bike riding. Actually, at that time it was always the perfect day for bike riding since it was the only means of personal transportation.
Not too far from our destination, my parents crossed some railroad tracks. And suddenly I found myself spiraling into nowhere land. It hurt, and the blood seemed to make the incident worse. My mom's front wheel was trapped into the tracks. I was catapult forward from my front row seat. Honestly, I don't remember much about the actual incident, but the memory will always be ingrained in my face. Thus a lasting scar in my eyebrow to bring back those warm cozy days. I need to look in the mirror more often.

SuperBowl

The great game makes me reflect on my childhood. When my mother was working so we could come to the United States my dad took me to his soccer games every Sunday. I would be there nearly all day. the blessing of this was that I had an open account at the snackbar. On cold days I would sip the soup. And then there was sodas, candy, and more junk. All this on my own. I was totally oblivious that I was by myself. I felt like the queen of the soccer field. I didn't know any difference. Snow, rain, cold, and sometimes sunny, off I was to the soccer game.
Perhaps one of my more memorable day was when we were riding home on my dad's bike. I sat on the handle bar. The streets were icy. My dad took a turn and there we slid to the street. We were both a bit shocked, but like anything else we rebounded.

Begining of prejudice.

One day walking home with my new "friend", Barbara, I was jumped. I was so surprised and my first instinct to fight back was overpowered by the unknown. My "friend" was laughing, while I was pounded on my back relentlessly. I managed to escape the grasp of this young man and ran home non-stop.
Breathlessly, I tried to explain what had just happened. Totally unprovoked, blindsided, I was hit continuously,never knowing why. My mom was so frightened for me.
After discussing this with my dad, it was his decision for her to go to school with me the next day. Afterall, he was the bread winner and could not afford to take off. On the other hand, my mom spoke no English.
Smartly dressed she accompanied me to school to see the principal. The principal came out of her office and asked who the perpetrator was. I didn't know his name, but he was in the classroom to my left. I pointed to the class, only to my surprise, she grabbed my face and said, "Don't yu ever turn your face while you are talking to me." I was in shock. My mother was in shock and could not say anything. Some of her reaction stemmed from the fact that she had no experience with the system. She was numb and just stood there. After the principal left, she asked me what was said.
Nothing really got resolved. No consequences for anyone but us. Humiliation.

San Francisco

I talked to Dad about the lady who lived below us who had lung cancer. When my dad said that she had died because the coughing stooped, he related that I said, " I hope she was good through her life or else she will go to hell." Strange comment coming from me since I did not have any real religious upbringing...and certainly a Jew would never have said something like that. Must have been in a movie.
Arguello BLVD. I always asked why it was called that. All the subsequent streets were 2nd Aenue, 3rd, etc.
We had wooden floors for the first time and I loved the noise it made under my feet. I'm sure the neighbors didn't. I would bounce balls and be rather rambunctious. My bedroom without significant furniture, in other words, it had a bed, had a huge baylike window. When I would look out I would get on my knees since it frightened me so. I would look/stare out and never understood why the back was nothing more than a huge sand

My First xmas and then some.

Because we did not have a car, we frequently took the streetcar and go downtown San Francisco. Downtown San Francisco was quite different. everyone wore their best as they went window shopping. Women wore their white gloves and hats. It was rather formal.
Downtown stores were decorated with animated animals and people. It was like a field trip for me. It seemed that one store would try to outdo the next. It was quite a show and it was not missed by me. I stared and ogled, but not once really made demands that my parents could not afford.
My parents entered a huge Woolworth and I got to pick one gift. Although I had a toy piano in Amsterdam, everything seemed to be bigger and better in the US.
There it was. What appeared to me a huge toy piano, and....it had a little bench I could sit on so I could pay it. My parents easily recognizing my excitement, purchased it, hence, my first Xmas gift. It wasn't wrapped and didn't have to wait to be used. It was all mine. I loved making music. Our family loved music. The house was full of it, which always seem to minimalize what we did not have. We could not afford a Christmas tree, but that thought never occurred to me.
I remembered the songs I had learned in class in Holland and played them with great enthusiasm. I also tried to reproduce the songs I had heard on the radio in the States. Johnny Horton's song. The Battle of New Orleans", was the first song that I will always remember. I liked the beat. I tried to imitate the words, although I had no clue what I was saying.
I played endlessly. My mom was totally delighted. It was the best Christmas gift ever.

HI! I'm not an American

I had to walk seven long blocks to get school. It was a typical San Francisco school-tall, enclosed, brick, and rather stoic. I was now in the third grade, escaping being held back at my old school. My English was rather proficient, thus communicating was no problem.
I liked climbing the tiled stairs and the echo it made.
I don't remember my teacher's name but I can still visualize her. Overall, it seemed to be a great experience. I was placed in the top reading group, since I already was a great decoder. Math, was a laugh, and something I had encountered what seemed long ago. Perhaps the most enjoyable part of math (which I so loved) were timed tests of basics. No one could beat me. After all, all those trips I wold mentally practice my multiplications to myself. What we were doing was what I had seen in the first weeks of first grade. God, Americans were slow.
One of my classmates was Vera Rybelchencko. She had two sisters, Nina and Irene. We soon became friends and walking partners to school. I would call them in the morning and we would all meet at the end of the block. They lived on Second Ave.
I owned one pair of shoes., white buck shoes. Mom would polish them everyday so they would look like new. It wouldn't last for long because they were the perfect shoe for kickball. The ball seemed to fly higher and further than I could ever imagine. I was certain it was the shoe and its bionic powers. We were a pair that could challenge anyone.

I wonder if Julie felt that way when she started her blog

One comment. Ouch. But it is soothing my soul.
One of the coolest things my mom and I did was climb the fire stairs that took us to the roof of the apartment. We even took pictures of each other. We were free. She was free. And for ever and ever the movie theater sign flashed the playing of Ben Hur. We figured it must be pretty good.
We were on top of the world.
And then inside presents were sent. Dutch books for me. I would read the latest big hit from Holland to my mother. No matter what I did, my mother loved it. Besides the yellow canary, who sang to its heart delight, all my mother had was me. I understand now how significant I was to her. No wonder she was always full of cheer when I came home from school. The praise was endless.
On Wednesday nights Gillette had its weekly boxing matches. It was even at a weird hour, I think, 7:45. My dad was addicted. We wanted no part of it. We had to be silent so my dad would not miss the blistering sound of a punch, I guess.
So among the usual verbal attacks my dad would frighten her. I would make a comment at 8 ," Oh, it is the fight of the week." , referring to the weekly fights on TV.
One day my dad walked out. My mother and I were mortified. Not because he left, but what would we do. My mom crying copiously, I left the apartment and went running down Arguello Blvd looking for my father. I didn't and went home to console my mom, promising her that he would come back. He did, three hours later. The chill in the apartment could not be warmed be the heater.

All in a day.

Spending extraordinaire time in the emergency it gave me great pause to reflect on my past as I looked into its mirror. I asked him several questions, but I must say his memory is hazy.
When I was in first grade, my mother worked at night to add funds to our trip abroad. I thought about how I got any food and couldn't remember. Sometimes my mother would take me to the deli to get some krokets and fries. That was quite a treat. I would walk home after a lift on my mother's bike. I would be so content.
So where was my father? Well, he changed his clothes and went to the same friends house everyday. I was responsible for getting myself in bed. I use to wet the wash cloth and toothbrush to prove I did it. Even left some toothpaste on for good measure. It was the neighbor's upstairs who would occasionally check on me to see that I was fast asleep.
I actually never was. I would run to bed in a hurry when I heard the footsteps. In the meantime, I had the luxury of watching TV at night. It came on at 8 and Perry Como and I became good friends.

Yet, another move!

Despite the long summer in Antioch, my dad sensed something was up with his job at Fiberboard. he talked to his sponsors from the soccer club, Hakoah, asking if there was possibly a job there in the textile business. Most of the board of the team were German Jews who had connections with Levi and Boxer.
Although one of the reasons my dad fleed from his country was because he felt doomed. He saw no future in the textile business, and getting more schooling was not an option. He heard about that "Golden opportunity", and all the greatness sent from Hollywood. It was like chasing a rainbow with eternal hope.
Lo and behold, it was the textile business that served as his savior as a took on a job not unlike the one he left at home. He took the job, and hesitantly said yes, only to find out that day that he had been laid off by Fiberboard.
My mom was rather confused and dizzied by all the moves in such a short time. My dad convinced her that she would feel more at home. The temperatures were more like Amsterdam, and it had all the lures of a large city. The cosmopolitan flair certainly wasn't a deterrent.
I don't remember how we got there. We still had no car.
There wasn't much to pack up, so off we went to San Francisco.
Arguello Street, Porky and Bess, listening to a neighbor dying from lung cancer. Golden Gate Park.

The Longest Summer

Let's see. I talked my mom into milk delivery. She got two potholders for doing so. I thought it was amazing. Ordered myself chocolate milk as part of the delivery. Actually I was doing all the ordering.
And then the newspaper came... Wanted to take our little family picture and write an article about my dad. I had no idea what about. Friends of the family brought copies of the newspaper. We couldn't afford to buy one ourselves. Front page news of the local newspaper.
I really didn't understand the magnitude or interest that could find my dad's story so compelling. I just figured that happened to everybody. It was for the first time I had heard mention of the holocaust. I really didn't know what that meant. Everyone whispered when it was the topic. I was able to decipher some of the story, but still did not realize what it all meant. I just shrugged it off. I wish I could do so today.

Back to Antioch

After working several weeks at the chicken restaurant, washing dishes with his bare hands in highly chlorinated heated water, we moved on. I was actually relieved since the powers of being would not be able to hold me back to repeat second grade. Tht was their solution for teaching a language.
Off we were back to Antioch. My dad was able to obtain a job with Fiberboard, through his connections. It was different this time. We moved in to an empty apartment. Our friends helped us move in. Of course, furniture was a first. We had a bookshelf made of 2 X 4 's and some bricks. No books, yet. Two chairs made of rattan in the living room. Mattresses on the floor. And....most importantly to my dad, a television. He felt it was the best way for us to learn the language, and help my mother ease the pain of leaving the rest of her family behind.
I quickly built my routine of shows. Learned all the channels and showtimes. It was a little easier in those days.
I also had the good fortune of making new friends. They were perhaps my best lesson in English.
We played on the railroad behind our apartment buildings, daring each other to stay on the rails as long as possible.
It was hot in Antioch in the summer. We had no way to cool ourselves. It was the first lesson of modesty I learned. I told my mom the heat was unbearable. Not coming from a puritanical background and only being 8 my mother told me to just unbutton my blouse. that lasted but a few minutes as kids immediately made remarks about my exposure. Interesting how we learn about new cultures.
I learned more about being American that summer in what no classroom could have taught me.

First TV

We always played outside all day. All the kids in the neighborhood would gather. I was the runt of the group, but they always included me. I could play as spek (bacon) which essentially meant whatever I did would not count, but I could play along.
Well, I finally got my power. My house was the proud owner of a brand new television. No one else had such a luxury. And on Saturday afternoon at 4:30 there was a children's program featuring a hamster. it was on for 45 minutes (no commercials). It was the only TV there was until night. The government owned the only TV channels then. Programming was rather limited. But on Saturday afternoon I was no longer spek, since I invited my friends to watch the show. Forty-five minutes of fame and I had to give up m mother for that.

Random thoughts

While driving in the car yesterday many thoughts came to my head. My father pressured my mom to get a job. Of course, that was highly unusual for the time , being it was the '50s. Two goals were intended. First, we would be the first to have a TV in the neighborhood, and secondly, so money could be saved for our trip to the USA.
Perhaps the most vivid memory of mine was when Mom had worked all day, made dinner and Dad came home a little late. We sat around our tiny table to have dinner. My mom had made cooked fresh spinach and the Dutch staple of potatoes. Meat was a rarity. The first thing I knew was that my dad started yelling at my mom because he hated spinach and the potatoes were cold. He took his plate and slammed it against the wall of our kitchen. I was in total shock. Even I understood at age six that Mom had worked all day, and yet provided a meal for us all. I felt the pain for my mother. I said nothing. I was stunned and wished I could have hugged my mom so that she would know someone was on her side.

Some more pain

Ok, I am talking out of turn or logic, or whatever you want to call it. I am in horrible pain. Maybe that is how a junkie feels after coming down from a drug. Massager here. Hot compress there. My tongue is so sore. Writing helps the pain. But, we did get to the bottom of the pain. I wrote on the boards all day yesterday. Not unlike the person who loses their limbs and experience phantom pains, I, too, forget, that many a muscle is missing to allow me lift my arm for extended time. Maybe if I lost weight my arm would not weigh as much? Now there is the ultimate reason for losing weight.
I will go to bed now with my hot compress, being reprieved or have my mind altered as I watch the tragedy of Haiti.
Which brings me to my one holocaust statement. Or maybe I already said that. My dad said he would give nothing to the Red Cross. Although they visited many of the camps, nothing was given to the prisoners. Nor was their any help when prisoners were repatriated to their home countries. Alone, and nowhere to go. Truly the wandering Jew.

What is going on?

On my first day I was seated in the back. The teacher mumbled something and everyone bowed their heads. The teacher was kind enough to show me how to fold my hands? All I could think was, "Where am I? This is so weird?" The teacher then strutted to a huge piano a started banging on the keys and students started singing songs, all having the word America in it. I just watched and was amazed with the zealous behavior of the class. I just shrugged and could only assume that it was the way it was. Every day. In and out.
Otherwise, I don't remember much about the Upper Happy Valley School other than it was high on a hill and I was not very happy.
Right before the last day of school I found out I was moving. I tried to tell my teacher. And I must say it was a rather gallant effort. I told her, "I go away." and she said something about moving. I said "No, no, no, go away." and was sincerely frustrated at the miscommunication and finally shrugged my shoulders and walked off.
Although I built no real permanent relatioships at the school, since I was only there for a few weeks, I was invited to an end of the year party.
I don't remember how I got there. We had no vehicle. But I do remember the massive swimming pool. I could not swim, hence the steps were my boundary. I don't remember where the swimsuit came from since I had never been in a pool before, but I did pick up on something that brought great concern to me.
All the students were discussing what classroom they would be in next year. They all said 9. I looked rather inquisitive, because I was informed that I would be going to room 8. I was furious.
I was only 8 but I knew what had happened. The brilliant student of Amsterdam, with incredible math skills, and honestly not too bad English reading skills, was about to be flunked. I couldn't get out of the water fast enough and tell my mother. Oh, yeah, about the reading...I was a great decoder. Didn't understand a thing I read, but was proficient enough to put up a good challenge.
Did they really think I was stupid? Could they not read my mind? Weren't they going to give me time to learn the language. I was already bored with the curriculum. Come on now. See Dick run. Run,run, run. Large letters, mostly pictures, and math, well that was another thing. Boring. And they decided that the answer to my language skills was to keep me back a year? I had all summer to learn the language.

Whole New World

In a relatively short time I left my school in Amsterdam and my first school in the USA. My parents were like little birds first coming out of the nest and testing their wings.
We moved to what seemed to me a beautiful apartment in Lafayette. It was high on a hill and right next to Freeway 24. It couldn't be better. I could watch the cars all night long on what seemed to be an amazing view. I loved it and vicariously took me away from my loneliness. I really lucked out.
The owner was extremely accommodating, being an immigrant himself. The place was fully furnished down to the spoons and forks. It seemed so spacious compared to my old home.
It wasn't long before I started school. Not only did I have a long walk to the bus stop, I also had a long bus ride to get to the school. I didn't know what to think except roll with the punches. In Amsterdam I lived in the security of my own home. I could walk in minutes from my school. But, I guess, this is how it was done here.
Despite the fact that the bus ride was long, it was a whole new world for me. I always loved to sing and found much encouragement from my parents. On the way home I learned all kinds of songs, which I still remember to this day, and probably as incorrectly as then. All the kids sang and it seemed to make the long ride go by. One, two buckle my shoe. John, Jacob Jingleheimer Smith. Who knew I would later become a Smith. It was definitely a tongue twister. Ihad no idea what I was singing, but to this day no one ever asks me to sing.

My first trip to the nurse.

Weather was significantly different to what I had been exposed to in Amsterdam. It was beautiful weather anyway you looked at it. Maybe a bit too beautiful. I started itching. Developed hives on both of my arms. In fact, my limbs were swelling at the wrist.
Well, obviously this must be a disease only a foreigner could bring in. Off to the nurse who was babbling all kinds of stuff. Wanted to take my temperature, but not really comfortable to touch me. I tried to explain that I was not concerned. To them it had to be measles or something contagious. It was weird to think there was even a nurse at school. She had no solution, I think. How would I ever know.
I came home an explained the incident to my mother. In her own loving way, she washed my arms and gave me a cold wash cloth to put on my arms. Like magic the hives disappeared. I knew in my heart I had the best doctor available to me.

My first day in school

My teacher's name was Miss Paul. She seemed to be a nice lady. Elderly, as I best remember, but she knew absolutely nothing about communicating with me. Nor did I know how to communicate with anyone. It was probably one of the few days in my life that I was quiet in class.
She took me to the library at lunch. She gave me a hardbound book with the alphabet in BIG letters. I was miffed. I did take it home and looked at it with disgust. Afterall, I was already a proficient reader in my native language. I thought this was so childish. I showed it too my mom and noted, "They must be stupid around here."
One brilliant moment was math. To test my skills I got a worksheet. The page had pictures of apples and oranges. Apples and oranges? What was this all about? Two apples and three oranges made 2 + 3. My teacher than had to show me the answer was five. I looked at her rather quizzical. How could two apples and three oranges ever make five. apples were apples and oranges were oranges and I learned they are not the same. At home I was the math champ. I was able to do two digit multiplication in my head. I use to lay in bed and entertaining and challenging myself many a lonely night. Oh, yeah, that is another blog in the future.
Perhaps the most enlightening moment of the day was that we learned how to make butter. I was so fascinated. I had come from a strict academic environment. Time was actually made to learn to make butter. Wow.
Recess. Recess? You mean we got time to go play outside between classes? I was the center of attention. Everyone trying to communicate with me. I tried my best to decode a whole new language. Somehow hop and frog got confused. I made like a frog and they all laughed. I remember thinking, "Hmmmmmm, maybe that is not what they meant."
Then there was lunch hour. The smell of the cafeteria was grotesque and institutional. Never did I have the experience of eating lunch at school. I was somewhat fearful. I watched what was going on. Trays, tables, where would I have to go. I had a brown bag. I was so glad I had that because it made matters more simple. In it; one Hershey chocolate bar (worst chocolate ever to a Dutchman, bag of potato chips (never tasted before), and a sandwich. Let's not talk about the nutritional value. I was just relieved that I didn't have to eat that school stuff. And so began the education of Yvonne (another blog post) in America. All games.

Getting the hang of this.

Love my son-in-law. Always good to have someone else steer you to the right direction.
Despite the fact that everything was new to me, taking in sights not known to me before, I still felt I was on vacation. Lush green lawns in comparison to the paved sidewalks of what was once y home. The streets were actually wider than the sidewalk. So many cars, so many colors, so many shapes.
I was taught quickly to distinguish the years among each model, by looking at the taillights. Since we could not afford a car, and never had one in Amsterdam, I quickly learned what was new to me, all the models and the years they were built. It was a means of fantasizing of what I hoped the future would have in store for our small family.
My life would soon change as I became enrolled in elementary school. I was looking forward to it, since school was always one of my favorite activities. I hated being sick. I couldn't learn enough. On that premise, I went to my first elementary school in the USA in the second grade.