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.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
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.
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!
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!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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
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
Sunday, March 14, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, March 8, 2010
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.
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.
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