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.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, January 18, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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