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.