Now a bit about my parents... 

I already shared a bit about some of my very early memories.  I have more, but I don't feel the need to write them all down.  I just wanted to say that my memories go way back.  Some are "flash bulb" glimpses, a frozen moment in time.  

I even remember some dreams I had at a young age.  One particular dream affected me for about 10 years.  In my dream, and in real life, I was at my maternal grandmother's small apartment.  There was a small bedroom off one corner of the living room.  I suspect that it may have been a small walk-in closet at one time.  There was barely enough room for a single bed.  Anyway, in my dream, there was a figure, I think male, draped in black clothing.  He was poking me with something but it didn't break my skin.  I remember seeing an object that looked like a thermometer.  Small in length and girth.  It dented my skin and the underlying flesh.  Again, it didn't break through my skin. I was terrified.  When I awoke, I remembered that I had fallen asleep on my back.  In my young mind, I thought that was the cause of my nightmare.  For about 10 years, I was unable to fall asleep while on my back.  I think I was about 4 years old when I had that dream.  I still think of it from time to time.  

Now, my parents.  My mother was born in 1926 to Romanian parents.  

OK.  I'm back.  I started to write about my mom a few weeks ago.  I'm just now getting back to writing about my mom.  See below.  (Some of my writings will be stop & go so please bear with me.  I have plenty of others things to do most of the time.)

My MOM, the un-motherly mother

What do I say about my mother?  He was the middle child of three, an older sister and a younger brother.  Her father was born in Romania and her mother was born in Chicago to Romanian immigrants.  I think she was sickly as a child.  I seem to remember being told that she had “scarlet fever” or “rheumatic fever” as a child.  She was always short and lightweight.  I think she was about 4’10” and only 90 pounds and even less.

I don’t have warm & fuzzy memories of her.  I don’t remember her showing me much affection.  Instead, my main memories are:  Her touching a hot match head to the skin on my forearm.  Picking me up by my head with my body weight suspended below.  Putting her hand over my mouth and my nose.  Most of the background for her behavior was the master bedroom where my folks slept.  I, too, at times slept in the same room in my crib. Oh.  There was another unpleasant memory I have of my mom.  When I was about 4 or 5, I was playing with a large metal spinning top.  It was fun.  It was noisy.  Next thing I knew, my mom had picked it up and threw it across the room...through the window of our third floor flat.  I don't remember playing with it again after that.  I think it flew away to a better place.

There were some fun times but I don’t remember any with my mom unless other family members were involved.  We went on fishing trips to Third Lake, the Riverview Amusement Park, the Olson Rug Company waterfalls, and the drive-in.  Those were relatively fun times.

My mother was an alcoholic.  Her beverage of choice in the early days was wine.  I remember she once tried to make wine by leaving a bottle of grape juice (Welch’s most likely) on the counter to ferment.  I knew little of the process at that early age, but knowledge I’ve gained since then has helped me to understand what she was attempting to do with the grape juice.

By the time I was about 7 years old, my mom was taking me to the local, and not-so-local bars, with her.  The main bar was on the south-east corner of Dame & Lawrence in Chicago.  I have very distinct memories of sitting at the bar with her.  I whined about needing to go home to do homework. One time I was in the restroom with her as she cried and asked me who I’d want to be with if she left my father.  Oh no.  I didn’t like my mother.  I wanted to stay with my father, but I knew that I couldn’t answer her truthfully.  I couldn’t hurt her feelings.  That passed.  Nothing happened for a while.

I remember one other outing to see a movie with my mother.  The movie was The Incredible Shrinking Man.  I think I was 8 by then.  (The movie release was 1957.)  She told my father we were going to the movies.  I was excited.  However, we went to the race track instead.  I don’t remember which one.  We had 2 or 3 in the Chicago area.  Afterwards I remember being in a restaurant sitting in a large semi-circular booth.  I remember thinking about what I would tell my dad when we got home.  I lied to him.  I told him about the movie.  I based my description on the ads I had seen on TV.  I can still picture some of the scenes “from the movie.”  I really didn’t like being put in the position to lie to my father.  That’s not something that should be put on a young child.

Some time later, my mom didn’t come home one evening.  I don’t remember the exact month and year.  I was about 7 or 8 years old.  I know we were still living in the first apartment build I had ever lived in.  (We were there from my birth in March 1949 to the time I was about 10 years old (1959).  I remember being in the car with my father and he told me he bought some new shoes for mom.  They made her taller.  I was looking forward to seeing them.  I didn’t get a chance.  That was, I think, the night my mom didn’t come home.

I think it was 1-3 days later when my dad and I went to the local police precinct to pick up my mother.  I ‘m not sure why she was there but I got the impression that she had “turned herself in” to the police.  I don’t remember how long it was before she did that again.  The next time she was gone forever…until she came back for the small portable TV that she’d won playing Fascination at the Riverview Amusement Park.  I think she picked up the TV on New Year’s Eve when I was 9 or 10. (Still at the first apartment building…on Winchester.)

So, this was the mom I spent my early years with.  It’s ironic that I didn’t particularly like her but I felt a loss because of her absence.  I felt unloved.  I’m sure that’s why I had some rough early years.  After all, if my own mother didn’t love me, who else would love me?

In spite of my mother, I felt loved by the rest of my family.  I continued to live with my father and grandfather. My dad’s side of the family didn’t show a lot of affection, but I felt their love nonetheless.  My dad’s sister, my dear Aunt Gert, was my savior.  My guardian angel.  Thank goodness for Aunt Gert.