I can’t pinpoint, exactly, the first time I knew who I would never be, but it must have been very early in my life. I have memories of my childhood; warm memories, fun memories, happy memories, confused memories, frightened memories. I think the last two types of memories are the ones that helped me decide who not to be.

The warm, fun, happy memories were always connected with my mom, or my brothers, Billy and Orville. The confused memories were, usually, connected too my father or my sister, Dolores, and the frightened memories were always connected to my father.

My mother sang to us and read to us and cooked for and comforted us. She was a rock in our lives and we could lean on her, always.

My sister and my father both confused me, from a very early age. They would sometimes seem to be happy and willing to interact with the rest of us, and, occasionally, the other four of us would let ourselves be drawn in to a false sense of ‘family’ or ‘togetherness’ only to have the situation explode (a bomb filled with emotional shrapnel) and leave us stunned and wounded. I think that the worst part about it was never knowing when, where, or why the explosions would occur.

Sometimes it would be my sister going off into sobs and shrieks over some real or imagined slight, or, playing with my brothers and I and ‘getting hurt’, so that all the attention was directed at comforting her or tending to injuries (real or imagined).

I remember going to see the movie, King Solomon’s Mines in 1950, and my father went with us. It was a wonderful movie filled with adventure and wild animals and, since we didn’t get to the movies often, all four of we children were wound up and chattering, as we left the theater. Everything seemed to be alright until, on the way home, it started to rain. We lived about fifteen miles from Fort Collins and by the time my father had driven two or three miles, the rain was hammering the windshield of the car.

My father simply exploded. He shouted at us all to shut up and began to berate my mother for wanting to bring us “goddamn kids’ to the movie. He ranted and raved all the way home. By then the happiness had been sucked out of the inside of the car as thoroughly as the rain had washed the dust from the outside. We got out of the car in silence and went in and went to bed in silence. The next time any of us spoke of the movie was when my father had left for a week long trip, driving truck.

When I talk to friends about my childhood, sometimes I tell them that I grew up thinking the phrase “goddamn kids” was a legitimate description, like red-headed kids, or blond kids, I heard it so often

I don’t remember when I made the vow, but, I know I did, consciously, make a vow to never be like either my father or my sister. I swore to myself that I would never lose both my temper and control of my tongue the way both of them did. I couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. I can pin it down that specifically only because my sister’s resentment toward me began to grow, exponentially, about then.

When I was twelve and my sister was fifteen, my older brother, Orville, who had moved out when he was fifteen, had brought some friends home with him for a visit. I now know that she wanted, desperately, for them to notice her and flirt with her, but, with my brother there, it never would have happened, so they played catch with me (she wouldn’t play) and kept it very casual. I don’t know what set her off, but she got angry and slapped me. You could have heard a pin drop (and it was a dirt yard). I didn’t raise a hand. Twelve years later, she brought this up as an example of just one of the terrible things I had done to her. I had not struck her back. I had made her look bad.

I know that I made the right decision about who I would not be, but it has left me ‘scars’ I might not have had otherwise.

I cannot fight with people. I cannot scream and shout. My close friend, Jim, decided (when I was about twenty-seven) that this was unhealthy. So, we went for a drive into the Rockies, and when we were miles from anywhere, he had me get out of the car and told me to scream; that it would be “good” for me to let it all out. I tried. When I opened my mouth to scream, it felt as though someone had closed their hand around my throat, and I could not breathe. It scared the hell out of both of us, because I couldn’t get a full breath until I had fallen to my knees by the car; so much for quick cures for emotional issues.

I always try to be fair and I never say anything I don’t mean. I never let my mouth run without checking with my brain, as I grew up with two people who would, and did, say just about anything that popped into their heads, no matter how hurtful or harmful. Two people that I had vowed to never emulate. These were the people who helped me decide who I was never going to be.

I am aware enough to know that there is a down side to the decision I made as a child. If you can’t fight with people, sometimes you can’t fix what might be fixable problems. Because of my reluctance to indulge in any kind of argumentative behavior, I have let myself be involved in situations and relationships that have begun to ‘go South’ and, instead of ‘fighting it out’ and ‘fixing things’, I will back up until I’m in a corner. The bad thing is that when I’m cornered I simply walk away. It takes forever for me to get fed-up, but when it happens, whoever has pushed me to that point might as well go away and die, because I’m through forever. I never forget and forgive.

Maybe the person I chose to be has as many problems as the person whom I chose not to be.

Part Two

My second visit to Toronto is completely different. In the intervening time Gail and Fred had celebrated their 16th wedding anniversary. Pops, then Jack and finally Sarah had died and Fred had retired early so he could keep Gail company. I had married Hal, Gail’s brother, and our child kept us busy. Hal did keep up the weekly phone calls to his sister though fifty-six years of her negativity often makes him impatient with her. Sometimes he doesn’t listen closely to the litany of complaints that now range from plumbing to gaining weight to suffered social slights to a contractor dispute. But now she sounds worried.

Gail had badgered Fred to get “their dump”, fixed up. It seems the work had taken much longer than predicted; the insurance would pay; then the insurance wasn’t paying; they didn’t have enough money to pay the contractors; now they had no money at all and no food in the house. Gail claims she is going hungry and that Fred goes out to eat. At this point we get concerned. I tell Hal has to go to check up on them, the whole thing makes no sense. Hal says he will go if I came along because he might not have the patience to deal with Gail. When asked, they say, ‘yes please come but bring sleeping bags because we have no beds, in fact, we have no furniture at all.’ We book a flight immediately.
.
The taxi drops us off at the freshly painted house. The doorbell chimes and Gail appears. Her hair is greasy, her sweater misbuttoned, her dress stained. She looks thin and nervous and greets us as though we are coming to a wake. Fred appears moments later, slim but tidier, serious yet smiling. Behind them I saw shiny new hardwood floors in beautifully painted, empty rooms. The rest of the house looks equally new and attractive, except for the one room that they had occupied while the remodeling was going on. On the filthy rug is a mattress with a sheet that has not been washed for months. The closet is filled from floor to shoulder height with what look like rags but which are probably their clothes. Caked plates are stacked or sitting here and there on the floor. The first thing we do is take them out to eat. They were glad to eat, we were glad to have a place to sit and talk.

Fred explains that a toilet tank in the extra upstairs bathroom had cracked and the water leaked out and continued to leak but they didn’t know it. At some point they noticed that the carpets in the whole house were wet but they didn’t know why. They solved the annoyance of walking on wet carpets by wearing boots. Finally Rhoda Gail had had enough of it and ordered Fred to do something. Fred went down the block to the local building contractor. The contractor told them the insurance would pay for repair of the damages and Gail said they might as well paint and do whatever was necessary to make the place look decent. She wanted crystal chandeliers for the dining room and chose gold-plated faucets for the bathrooms. The insurance company only paid for floor replacement and now they still owed the contractor eighteen thousand dollars. They had used up the money in checking, savings and retirement accounts and still came up short. The bank told them they have to sell the house. But now they have nowhere to go and don’t know what’s next. Gail looks frightened but Fred doesn’t seem to be overly concerned.

First thing in the morning Hal and I go to interview the contractor. There was no doubt that he has done a lot of good work, but our question is, had it been necessary and had they worked with the insurance. The contractor says he has been in business for decades and has never seen a house in such a state of filth and neglect. The interior was stacked in places waist-high with damp newspapers and magazines; the furniture covered with junk; clothes heaped everywhere; curtains wet and everything smelling of mold. Before they had been able to do any work they spent a week just shoveling everything out and taking it to the dump. Having seen that bedroom, we had to admit that he was probably telling the truth. He says he has proceeded ethically and legally and is sorry if the Ehrlichs don’t have ready money to pay for the work they had asked him to do.

The big task now is to get them into housing. They need to be resettled with some oversight. Gail talks about her doctor being her “only friend in this godforsaken country” so we make an appointment with him. We’ve heard about the Canadian health system and after meeting Dr. Harris, I wish we too could have such concerned caregivers. He gives us names of agencies and we do a lot of phoning. Jewish Family Services is able to assign Gail and Fred a social worker who arranges for their move into a low-cost senior building with meal service, in two weeks. Until then she will make sure that they have necessities. For once Gail is truly thankful though angry that their finances are to be managed by a custodian. Fred takes it all in stride, making up philosophical explanations for Rhoda Gail to help her make sense of this turn in their lives.

Whatever else they have neglected, Gail and Fred are keeping their marriage vows to go through thick and thin together, for better or for worse. I am happy for them that their lives are back on track, wherever that may lead. I am happy for us that we can leave and that we live many miles away from Toronto.

by Reiss

He grumps, he gripes, he makes untold noise
He’s not one of those simplistic old boys.
He can be overpowering and often, just terse
He’s been known, however, to write in sweet verse.

He’s opinionated, rambunctious
He’s been silly and unctuous.
He’s sometime, a creature, you know, straight from hell
He, though, when you know him, really means well.

He’s, to some, just a bore and a pain in the rear
He’s not really bad, to some, he’s a dear.
He’s most liberal of mind
He’s generous, he’s kind

He’s life is a novel, a book he’s still telling
He’s got lots to say, even when shouting and yelling
He’s a complex old bird who won’t retreat, lose or bend
He’s difficult, at best, but good or bad, he’s our friend.

My Dearest Stranger

Somehow I knew who you were
Before you were you.
A being from another dimension

Tumbling and turning,
Wishing to be free
Of the boundaries within me.

You landed in our midst
A voyager,
coming amongst us completely intact.
A stranger,
but so near and so dear.

I looked into your unfathomable blue eyes as
You gazed back, innocent and wise,
And suckled, as your fingers curled ‘round mine.

All your life nothing could contain you.
No tree was too high to climb,
No danger insurmountable.
No thing could harm you, you thought!

Who knew that peril was lurking in the shadows or
That you were destined for another path . . .
One few of us dared to imagine?

But in the end your innocence survived.
And, again, you led the way -- on a strange road
Back to eternity.

For John
Born April 6, 1968
Murdered September 3, 1998

WOUNDED

Wounded
is my daughter,
by lies that cut her deep;
by looks that scorched
her soul.

Wounded
is my daughter
by infidelity;
And she will never be
the same.

Wounds will heal,
pain will subside,
but scarred and
broken hearts
are forever.