Those Days/December 2005
I have spent the last several days on hold. I’ve pressed “1″ to get more options, “2″ to hear a menu of about 10 options that I don’t need,”3″ to hear yet another useless menu, and “0″ to get assistance when I run out of options. At that point, however, I am told that all the customer care representatives are busy with other customers, but that my call is very important, and the waiting time is a mere 30 minutes. I am subjected to Muzak consisting of elevator versions of The Who, Donna Summer, The Beatles, Jay- Z, and Mozart with...
Read MoreThose Days/March 2006
Last Tuesday, my husband and I took a mid-week break and flew to Florida for a visit with his parents. While we were away, our youngest took off for his Spring Break to the Bahamas, our middle one flew off to her Spring Break in Puerto Rico, and our oldest turned 23, and bemoaned the fact that while his family vacationed in the tropics, his “Spring Break” was spent on a business trip to sub-zero Syracuse, N.Y. Welcome to the real world, I said, laughing. How, I asked myself, was all this possible – that our entire family was airborne, nearly simultaneously, and flying in...
Read MoreThose Days/Summer 2006
Ellie was home over the weekend with her boyfriend. In about a month, the two of them are taking a place together on the North Shore of Massachusetts, a good five-hour drive from where we live, and a distance that I make a conscious effort not to think about. Of our three children, she is the only girl, the one who still allows me to wrap her in my arms and kiss the side of her head. Sometimes I pass the back of my hand along the curve of her chin, and the smoothness of her skin feels no different from it did when she was a “little one.” She is the middle child, the rose between...
Read MoreThose Days/February 1998
It never occurred to me that I would have a daughter since my first-born was a son. It seemed preposterous when people patted my pregnant belly and said, ”I hope you get your girl now.” When Ellie was born, I was thrilled to have a healthy baby who happened to be my daughter. Pink boxes arrived swathed in lacy bows holding bonnets and dresses with pinafores. Welcoming cards depicted girls dressed in outfits resembling Little Bo Peep with seraph wings and halos. Stereotypes were evident even at birth: Cards for David (and then Ben, the third child) were decorated with ballplayers...
Read MoreThose Days/October 1997
My high school graduating class consisted of 15 girls in plaid skirts, white blouses, and crested navy blazers. “Old” Miss Bradley greeted us in the vestibule each morning. Her watery, bloodshot eyes encased in jowly puffy cheeks scowled. Her chin lifted aristocratically, and with the scrutiny of a judge, she inspected us for both demeanor and attitude. Unlucky girls whose skirts seemed a little too short were asked to kneel, making certain that the hem hit the floor. Knee-length was the rule: an inch too short and you got a demerit. Three demerits and you were sent to The Office...
Read MoreThose Days/April 1997
He was lying on the floor outside the music store at the mall wearing baggy jeans barely held up by a heavy leather belt, a Nike tee shirt, and a small gold hoop in is ear. She, long dark hair and a fresh young face, wearing tight jeans and a skimpy sweatshirt pulled down on one shoulder, lay sprawled beside him with one leg thrown over his thigh. I quickened my pace self-consciously, my children, 10, 12, and 14, trailing behind me with their heads spun around, red-faced, staring…no… gawking at the couple. Partially, I walked faster hoping my children wouldn’t catch the raw...
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