tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post7334670629978115332..comments2024-03-23T18:50:32.902-04:00Comments on Telling Secrets: Kissing tin foil: Letters to my daughterElizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-17481361635630234542008-02-22T12:00:00.000-05:002008-02-22T12:00:00.000-05:00Imelda Marcos also had that problem. What did it g...Imelda Marcos also had that problem. What did it get her?Brother Davidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06333089314994730330noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-48134225798741947252008-02-22T11:12:00.000-05:002008-02-22T11:12:00.000-05:00Of course Elizabeth, in keeping with the snow, may...Of course Elizabeth, in keeping with the snow, may I show you something in a mukluk perhaps.Billhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05623709712119761741noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-83479890567103056712008-02-22T08:22:00.000-05:002008-02-22T08:22:00.000-05:00It's snowing today, I'm housebound and my head has...It's snowing today, I'm housebound and my head has stopped hurting. I think that calls for another pair of shoes, don't you?Elizabeth Kaetonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-58528389693139636462008-02-22T08:19:00.000-05:002008-02-22T08:19:00.000-05:00David writes: "I feel blessed for those years of p...David writes: "I feel blessed for those years of poverty."<BR/><BR/>Nicely put David. I mean look, even our Elizabeth turned out ok. Except of course for an addiction to shoes.Billhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05623709712119761741noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-72487435323247502732008-02-21T17:11:00.000-05:002008-02-21T17:11:00.000-05:00Bill said, In the end, I think we were all the ric...Bill said, <I>In the end, I think we were all the richer for the experience.</I><BR/><BR/>Similar experience to yours (but ours was bread and milk for supper). Many years later when I was grown and the slums of Buffalo were far behind, my mother tried to apologize for the weirdness of our childhood, and I stopped her right fast: "I wouldn't have changed a thing!"... and then went on to tell how grateful I was for a childhood like that where nothing was taken for granted. I feel blessed for those years of poverty. Same with Nam. And look at us now. Life is a miracle.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-92195196399062654132008-02-21T15:53:00.000-05:002008-02-21T15:53:00.000-05:00You can’t really walk around in my garage when the...You can’t really walk around in my garage when the car is parked. There are boxes of stuff all over the place. Stuff I probably forgot I have and stuff that I will never use again, but I keep it. My sister is the same way. Her house is full of stuff from one end to the other. Stuff that makes no sense, stuff that no sane person would ever keep.<BR/><BR/>When you grow up poor, that can happen to you. I know the South Bronx well, I was born there. Eagle Avenue in the Bronx is about two miles from Yankee Stadium. Back in the forties and fifties it was mostly German and Irish immigrants. First, second and third generation all mixed up. They were a dirt poor working class lot. They did what they had to do, in order to survive. We eventually moved to the North Bronx, not that it was a step up, but that it was a place to live on our own. Just to get a place separate from your grandparents was a step up. So we moved into a three room apartment in a non-descript tenement up on East 179 street. If your doing the math, three rooms means a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom. They throw in the bathroom at no extra charge. Three rooms for mom and the three kids. Mom and my sister in the bedroom and me and my brother on a pull-out in the living room. <BR/><BR/>My mom used to make French toast for supper. We thought it was great because it was French. We thought that was somehow fancy or rich. We didn’t know that it was a poor man’s supper. We ate first and if there was anything left, she ate. That’s the way it was. We got by and I’ll never forget it. I’ll never look at what I have now or where I am now and not thank God. I knew kids who volunteered for the Army just to get a bed of their own. The military was a ticket out of the tenements. If they survived it was great and if they didn’t, it was still better then where they came from.<BR/><BR/>What I got from the tenements and what I cherish is my world view. As poor kids, we played with Irish, Italians, Germans, Jews, Blacks, Chinese, you name it. We never thought about what the other kid was as long as he could field the ball and cover his base. That was all that mattered in those days. The funny thing was that we didn’t look at the rich or well to do with envy. We had our own thing. We had good times along with the bad. In the end, I think we were all the richer for the experience.Billhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05623709712119761741noreply@blogger.com