IN THE BEGINNING

"DOWN FROM THE DOOR 
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN"*
 [Excerpt from my memoir with apologies]

     

I was born in the upstairs back bedroom of 77 South Main Street, Medford, New Jersey on February 26, 1943. My birth room also later became my childhood bedroom for a while. When it was, I never gave a thought about its significance to the beginning of my life—in fact, I didn’t become aware of that fact until later when my parents finally got around to telling me.

       It was a nice room, slightly sunken (two steps down from the rest of the upstairs), a back stairway leading down into the kitchen area, and three nice windows. The attic door was just up the aforementioned two steps—a two room place that was great for snooping around, exploring, and pretending, of which I did plenty.

       FDR was president when I was born and died when I was two years old, so, obviously, I have no memory of that. Therefore Harry Truman was the first president of which I knew anything about at all.  I remember seeing him on TV a few times, but I don’t remember the circumstances.

       Speaking of TV, the main source of entertainment at the very beginning of my life was radio. We had a small console style radio which was in the living room. My parents sometimes had friends over, and they would sit around listening to programs on a Friday or Saturday night. I would sit on the floor listening until I got bored or too tired.

       The radio also had a frequency for listening to short wave, seemingly from around the world—I always thought it did anyway. I remember listening to it in the dark, imagining who was talking and where they were. The sound was often scratchy and would fade in and out, but that added to the mystery.  

       It all seems so quaint now, but the truth is that life was what it was as it is today. The present moments projected on the future screen of our memories often edit out the pains, the frustrations, and the discomforts of the past so that they sometimes seem idyllic. Of course, even though we know better, there is comfort and joy in allowing ourselves to think and feel that way and, and at this stage of my life I think it's quite okay that we do.

       In one of my favorite plays, Our Town, a young woman, Emily, who has died, is allowed to go back and relive a day of her life. She chooses the day of her 12^th birthday, but she finds it to be a very disheartening experience because everyone in her house is so caught up with their busyness that they never notice her or even give notice that it’s her birthday. She says, “Doesn’t anyone ever realize life while they live it?”

       That line is worthy of being either a bumper sticker or a poster or both. 

*The Hobbit