Tag Archives: Love

Dad on Mother’s Day

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We did good —
he whispers to me,
out of sight and hearing from the others
at our Mothers Day dinner —
but who is that sitting next to you?

Oh honey, I’m so glad you’re here –
I smile back.

They are young men with lives —
he continues —
and they love you.

Stay, will you, so we can talk later?
And can you talk to them too?

I don’t know how —
he answers after a while —
Did I ever know how?

And I try to remember
what we spoke of back then.
The four of us at the table.
The two of us in bed.

Brothers-in-Law

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My dad David and Uncles Eddie and Elliot home on leave, 9/5/1943

Several years ago my basement flooded and many of the family treasures were lost or damaged.  The days of sifting through papers were bittersweet.  My twenty-something boys came up for a long weekend to go through the boxes I had marked as “Morgan’s Life” and “Alex’s Life.” They contained drawings, writings, school papers, letters, whatever I thought precious enough to save for them when they grew up.  It was a sad and joyful weekend of hard work — emotionally and physically. My sons were amazed at how clever they were as little boys!  They told me they would love to go through the papers again, but not until the next flood.

Here’s a gem I found among my father’s papers.  It’s an undated letter from my mother’s sister’s boyfriend to my father during the war.  My mom and dad are Mil and David.  Her sisters and their beaus are Thelma and Eddie and Shirley and Elliot.  The little girl is my older sister.

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Hi ya fella,

I hope this finds you well.  I am alive.

Hey, don’t call me those names.  I’m lucky if I can write a note home now and then, beside the fact that we are now not allowed to say anything.  We are busy — to make a terrific understatement.

I guess you must have heard of my good fortune – the thirty day leave.   It was like water to an old desert cat in a sand storm or land to a sailor in any kind of storm.  In short and to put it mildly, it was great.

A picture for daddy, 1943

Now comes the flattery. Dave, you are the luckiest guy in the world, that kid of yours is just a dream, she’s beautiful.  She’s got more sense than I have (maybe an insult but considering her age).  She’s so sweet you could just eat her up.  I spent half my time with her.  I just can’t put into words what I thought of her.  For the first time in my life I can truthfully say that I love a child. She’s not like the run of the mill.  She doesn’t cry and pout all the time or make a pest of herself.  In a nutshell, she’s wonderful.

I came home fully intending marriage in a year of receiving 20% sea duty pay and all I only saved about $250.  As you can see, that is nothing to boast of.  In the past few mos. in the Pac. I have saved easily that much.  I got 2nd class giving me $96 base pay & 20% plus $10 for extra service (running motion picture equip).  I save about $86 per month, I could do worse.  So we got engaged.  All of which leaves me very unhappy, because I have been kicking myself ever since for not getting married when I was home or not saving dough when I could, well no use crying over spilled perfume.

Elliot, Thelma, David, Shirley, Eddie, Mildred

Getting back to an interesting subject, everything at home is as well as could be.  I saw your family a few times and Doris quite a few, all fine.

Getting home to serenity and peacefulness is quite a shock though pleasant. I hope you can experience it soon.  I know that whenever Mil or Shirl looked at me they saw you & El, but it was beyond my control, though I wish it weren’t.  I probably caused them more grief than happiness by my very presence.  If so I’m sorry, but I just hope you get home first this time just to square things.

If possible let me know where you are now.  Take care of yourself,

Ed

Elliot, Eddie and David with the parents of the sisters, their loves, 9/5/1943

My Boyfriend had Crabs

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There we were.  Cuddling together watching Factotum on the laptop.  We cuddle together every night with a movie on the laptop – it’s a wonderful way to end the day.  I kept thinking the story seemed familiar, but I’ve read a lot about down and out writers and seen a lot of movies about bums and bargirls.  The guy’s name was Hank, he was reading his poetry, his voice was crusty.   I decided this was somebody’s Kerouac film.

All of a sudden Hank starts scratching his balls – can’t believe I just wrote that.  Really scratching his balls, and he starts fishing around in his pants and pulls out something – it had to be a bug.  And then the scene shifts to a doctor’s office it turns out that Hank has crabs.   The doctor writes him a prescription and tells him that he must NOT let the ointment stay on for more than 30 minutes.  We’re back at Hank’s.  He says forget that.  Hank goops himself up and goes to bed.

My boyfriend says something like “He’s going to be sorry.”   My eyes light up!  I pause the movie.  I lean over, look him in the eye, and say, “Did you have crabs?”  And then I bug him until he tells me the story.

It’s a good story.  It was during his hippie days when he was living with the Lots-o-Bucks Commune and Follies Review in Baltimore.  I asked who was she?  I asked did she live there?  I asked did everyone in the house have the crabs?  I asked was she your girlfriend?  Was she everyone’s girlfriend?  Anyone’s girlfriend?   He had told me lots of stories about the Lots-o-Bucks Commune, but this was something new.  My boyfriend had crabs.  I kept probing:   Did you leave the medication on too long?  Did you ever get them again?

I wasn’t surprised that he had crabs.  Once he left his family home and moved to downtown Baltimore he discovered a whole new world.  He wasn’t that young.  He had already finished a few years of law school and a stint in the reserves, he had been in and out of a first marriage founded on rebellion.  He was doing photography and carpentry for a theater troupe.  Divine was among his acquaintances.  But I was surprised he had crabs.  Whenever we talked about our sexual pasts he always led me to believe that he had a very innocent sexual history.   This didn’t sound so innocent to me.

I was ecstatic with the discovery!  But why hadn’t he told me this before?  I know it was forty years ago but this was interesting.  We do exchange tidbits about our romantic pasts.  But somehow we’ve got enough common sense — mine acquired the hard way – to not tell too much of our pasts, and not to dwell too much on the other’s.

What else hasn’t he told me that would make me pop up with delight?  What hasn’t he told me that would destroy me?

Of course, I’ve had so much fun with this new bit of information – I wish I could remember even two or three of the great lines I teased him with this morning.  He’s such a sport. He even encouraged me write about it.

Anyway, back to the movie.  It was Charles Bukowski.   Of course.  I realized it towards the end of the movie when his former landlady opens his mail and read a letter from Black Sparrow Press accepting one of his stories.

My boyfriend has said that he would rather hear a good story than a true one any day.  It’s up to you decide.  Love is wonderful.

Happy Valentine’s Day!