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.