Well, not strictly true.
My parents were married for over 30 years. I was 20 when I left my parents’ home and 31
when my father died. My quick memories
of him are of a dour and unhappy man.
But when I look back at pictures, he had a lovely smile. Why do I not remember him smiling more? Pensive, yes, but smiling no. Not even when I am actually in the picture
with him. Why is that?
It’s not that there are no happy memories. When we were little and my father took the
bus to work, my sister, brother, and I would sit on our front porch steps
waiting for the bus. When it got to our
house, we burst off the steps trying to race the bus to the corner to be there
when he got off. What a lift it must
have given him – and probably a smile to the other tired workers coming home –
to see us racing to meet him.
The words of wisdom he gave me were also priceless. When I was growing up in the 1950s and ’60s,
women – and girls – were being taught by society to hide our intelligence. He taught me to value mine. I must have been 11 or so when I took our
chess set into the stairwell of our apartment building to play chess with one
of the boys. When I returned he asked me
who won. I replied, “He did, but I let
him.” I got such a lecture on never
hiding my intelligence, that I still remember it. (I did try it one more time when I was dating
in high school. I went out with a boy
who was, frankly, boring. I realized
then that what my father had said years earlier was true. I was not going to be able to enjoy being
with someone if I had to fake my intelligence level in order to boost his ego.)
Another piece of his wisdom came when I received my first
piece of good jewelry – a pearl ring with little rubies on either side of
it. He said, “This is to be worn only
when you are prepared to act like a lady.”
What a wonderful piece of advice!
I was only 12 or so and it gave me permission to continue to act like a
tomboy when I was wearing “play clothes.”
But when I was dressed up and wearing good jewelry, I was to “act like a
lady.” I still take that to heart. I don’t pretend to be a lady, except when
dressed up, and then it is just that: a pretense!
But there are the questions I never thought to ask that I
would love to have answers to: How did
he manage, coming from a small town in Pennsylvania, to get posted to Paris and
Rome for 3 ½ years for the US Department of State, before being dumped back in
Philadelphia? He was “on loan” from the
Veteran’s Administration, not a career diplomat. Those are still considered prize postings. The dots don’t connect. Growing up, it seemed natural. It’s just how it was. But looking back, I’d love to know.
The job in Europe was posted, as are all government jobs. Dad mentioned it to Mom, and she thought it was terribly exciting (she was always adventurous), so he applied as a lark. He never expected to get it, and it took more than a year for background checks, physicals for all, a week getting vetted in Washington (the position required senate approval). They were expecting the posting to be Frankfurt, and were surprised and delighted when he was told at the beginning of December to report to Paris ASAP. He left before Christmas, but the family were able to stay at home until after Christmas, I suspect because the elder daughter whined so much. Also, because the mother insisted that travel be by ship rather than plane. The trip on the SS United States might make a good blog post!
ReplyDeleteThanks! I've been wondering for a while and then on my long cruise met a retired career Foreign Service officer whose face just FELL when I told him about our postings. They were such plums - still are - and he was jealous!
ReplyDeleteWell, his job was inspecting schools where the US was paying tuition for war babies of WWII soldiers. His only possible postings were Frankfort, London, Paris, and Rome, since he could make short trips to schools in or near those locations. (That's why we went to Holland - we museumed/churched during the day while he inspected schools.)
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