Busy Day

I have had a busy day so I am too tired to write down all the little stories floating around in my head. It is exciting to me to have all these stories in my head - I never get bored this way as there is always another story. I have stories about my grandfathers, stories about my youth, stories about my old boyfriends, stories about nursing school days, stories about my husband and our rocky first year of marriage. Speaking of our first year of marriage - My brother-in-law sent us a card on our first anniversary. It was truly priceless. I only regret that I threw it away. It is probably the only thing I ever threw away as I have more memorabilia than just about any person I know. Well anyway, on the front of the card there was a picture from an old movie. I think it was Clark Gable and his leading lady (don't know who she was). They were dragging themselves out of the desert. They were were leaning on each other, their clothes were torn and ragged-looking. They appeared dirty, sweaty and exhausted. In plain English, they looked like hell. Inside the card it said, Glad to see you two made it through the year. I remember thinking, Gee, was it really that obvious. Well as I said at the beginning, I had a very busy day. I am having a dinner party for 11 tomorrow evening and I had to shop and clean and cook so I will share some of the first year of marriage stories another day.

P.S. 7 - Stink Pot - 6

It was easier being Public in spite of the fact that one day many years ago, my cousin, Sharon, said to me, “Nah, nah, Na NaNa, you go to P.S. 7 stink-pot 6”. She was hitting below the belt and I felt like a complete and utter fool. So, in an effort to regain my footing I tried my best to answer her in an equally insulting manner. “Well ha, ha, Sharon, you go to St. stink-pot Barbara’s”. Without batting an eye, Sharon comes back with, “You committed a sacrilege, you committed a sacrilege”. I burst into tears and Sharon responds gleefully “cry baby, cry baby”. She knows it and I know it - I’m a great big cry baby – always was and always will be.

Shortly before this memorable verbal exchange Sharon tells me that she goes to Catholic School and she is a Catholic. “Are you a Catholic?” she asks. I think for a second and then recall that I go to a Public School -P.S. 76 to be exact -so it only takes me a second to deduce that I, therefore, must be a Public. I proudly announce, “I’m not Catholic, I’m Public”. This doesn’t sit well with Sharon. She is, after all, two full months my senior and she never heard of anyone being Public. In my defense I started PS 76 when I was a mere baby of 4& ½ years and I was just starting to learn all the intricacies of labels, religion and politics. Even the idea of “community” was a new and exciting concept to my little kid brain.

Sharon is stronger than me. She lost her Daddy, my Uncle Joe O’Donnell, in the Korean War when she was only 6 & ½ years old. She was forced to be strong. Sometimes life circumstances make us stronger than we ever cared to be. I admire Sharon. I love Sharon. After having heard the little scenario above, you might have thought differently. You might have surmised that we didn’t care for each other. Actually, nothing could be farther from the truth. I have been Sharon’s friend since the day I was born. In fact, I’ve always been grateful that, within two months of each other, her parents and my parents created female off spring. What timing! They produced a marvelous thing – two female cousins who would be able to share life’s adventures with each other. From childhood vacations, teenage dances, chatting about first kisses and boyfriends, conversations about plans for our future, participating in each other’s weddings, arguing and debating when we didn’t agree, sharing our sorrows when life didn’t work out the way we hoped it would. I dare say we have been gift to each other and for that I am eternally grateful. I may be part Public and part Cry Baby but I am forever Sharon’s friend.

PS. The photo was taken in January 1950 when Mary Beth & Sharon were flowergirls for their Aunt Margie & Uncle Bill.

New Baby Arrives in Town

Could not help but brag a little today. I just received my first glimpse of Marty & Kerri's 4th child. I think his name is Ryan but the final decision has yet to be made. I hope it is Ryan - I like that name a lot but hey, it's not for me to say. He was born on Sunday ( Sunday's Child is full of grace), April 25, 2010 - 7lbs 1 oz.- Mother and Baby are doing fine. Christian, Nolan, and Addison were excited- each in their own way- to meet their new baby brother.
So now my little brother, Marty, & sister -in-law, Donna, have their 5th grandchild. Wow! and to think that just yesterday, my brother, Marty, was just a kid himself.
God bless the new little guy. May he have a long and fruitful and very happy life.
Love, Great Aunt Mary

Happy Days - When I was a "Public"

Here is a picture taken in my happy days as a carefree "Public" - before I went to Catholic school and defined myself as a "Catholic". The photo was taken in my first grade class at Public School 76 in the East New York section of Brooklyn in January 1951 - two months before my 6th birthday. I remember all the kids in the photo and I especially remember being very happy at this school. Can you find me in the picture? Hint: I'm smack dab in the middle.

Perspective and Forgiveness

My sister thinks it is time for me to forgive Sr. Delores. She thinks it will do me good. This suggestion made me go to the trouble of looking up the definition of forgiveness in the dictionary. This is what I found: to cease to feel resentment against (an offender), to give up resentment of or claim to requital for (an insult), to grant relief from payment of, to excuse. So I am thinking have I done all this regarding the incident with Sr. Delores? Have I ceased to feel resentment against her? Honestly, probably not.
But neither do I want or expect her to pay in any way, shape or manner, for what she did to hurt me all those years ago. I have even found excuses for her; I have thought about the things that might have caused her to behave the way she did. I also realize that the story I have related to you is from my perspective only. It is my story and how I believe it happened. Maybe it wasn't exactly as I remember it. Maybe if someone spoke to Sr. Delores, she would have a totally different perspective. Plus, these were different times. Discipline measures that wouldn't be acceptable now, were acceptable back then. And, it wasn't just Sr. Delores who acted this way in the year 1957. And it wasn't just a Catholic school thing either. Although I do have to attest to the fact that in my experience- after that having been in public school from kindergarten until the end of 4th grade- I have nothing but fond memories. I loved PS 76. I enjoyed school tremendously and I was an excellent student. I did so well on one test in 3rd grade that they even wanted to send me to a school for the talented and gifted. I didn't go - again another story for another time. It was only when I entered 5th grade at St. Michael the Archangel's School on Jerome St. in Brooklyn that the s--t hit the fan. I was not cut out for Catholic School. I honestly was not.
So, maybe I have partially forgiven Sr. Delores. But I still don't accept that what she did to me was right and I will never believe that any child should be assaulted and humiliated in such a manner. Some people have questioned why I am still a practicing Catholic after having had some pretty awful experiences in the Catholic Schools ( the negative experience with Sr. Delores was not the only one)and with the Catholic Church. In spite of these things, I am still a practicing Catholic. And, I have very specific, well-thought out reasons why this is so. But for tonight, let me end with forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And, with the help of God, may I learn to forgive those things that I still need to forgive.
With love, Mary Beth
PS A photo taken by my Dad for our Dec. 1954 Christmas Card. Older sister, Mary Beth, teaches baby sister, Margaret Mary, about baby Jesus. In 2010, Margaret Mary teaches older sister, Mary Beth, about forgiveness.

Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child - 6th Grade - Sweet Little Catholic Girl vs. Sr. Delores Theresa

This blog entry was written awhile ago but since I am trying to organize my "Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child" in somewhat of a chronological way, I have decided to repost this entry here. As you know from my last blog entry I have finally left the horrors of Sr. Christiana’s classroom, albeit a bit battered and scarred. In my opinion the abuse in 5th grade was shocking and severe even though I do not remember ever being hit physically by Sr. Christiana. Nonetheless, in my opinion, mental degradation can be just as bad or even worse. That was to change in the next school year.
Here is the true story, as I remember it, of an incident that happened to me as a student in Sr. Delores Theresa’s 6th Grade classroom. I stuck my tongue out and shoved a thumb into each ear, waving my fingers wildly.
It was an instinctive, immediate reaction, certainly not a premeditated crime. I needed to say a thousand angry words quickly. In one spontaneous split second everything I felt was expressed succinctly and with complete abandonment.
She was retreating up the aisle with her back to me, so I thought it was safe. She had proven once and for all, at my expense, that she was the winner and she was in charge.
Then it happened. My classmates let out a roar. They were my perfect audience. A bunch of 12 year olds on the verge of puberty waiting for any type of entertainment, any type of show. Their outburst was as spontaneous as my own - the result of years and years of severe and unnecessary oppression. Hearing their loud, silly laughter, she stopped in her tracks and pivoted in the aisle - rosary beads a weapon at her side as she flew back to me and stood towering over my desk. Her beet red face squeezed in an unnatural way into the antiquated pre-Vatican headgear would have intimidated General Patton. "What did she do", she demanded of my classmates. "Oh dear God," I prayed to myself in utter desperation, "please don't let them betray me". No one answered. No one said a word. I never loved a group of kids more than I loved those kids that day.
If you knew what provoked my anger, you'd have been on my side, too.

Planning for Poppi's 95th birthday

So there have been some blog followers who are wondering why I am not more religious about my blog entries. What can I say, I'm running as fast as I can. My Dad will be 95 on Nov. 2nd and although that is a long way off, right now I am trying to get a place lined so we can celebrate this momentous occasion. My Dad is a popular guy and I want to get a room large enough so that it can hold all his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews, grand- nieces and grand-nephews, cousins, friends and colleagues (from Queens College days - he still stays in touch with quite a few believe it or not). He is still close friends with two guys, Joe and Nick - one he met in high school and the other he met in college. But then again, I think I told you that before - remember they call themselves " the three musketeers".
I want to lock in the date and reserve a place soon, before all the good places get booked up. I have been out checking atmosphere, prices and availability. This has been consuming a lot of my time and energy in the last few days, but I am narrowing things down and with the help of my siblings I hope to make a decision by the weekend. I can't complain though because I actually like planning celebrations. I believe that life is all about celebrating special people and special events. So, it is actually a very nice feeling to be planning something happy and special for my father.
So you'll please forgive me, if I don't write every day?
PS. The photo was taken last week at my niece's home on Long Island. My father got down on the driveway so he could draw with his great-grandchildren. Isn't that something for a guy who is 94!
Mary Beth

"I fell into the sea"!

"Tell her, I fell into the sea," Connor announces loudly from the backseat as I'm talking to Kerri on the cellphone. Kerri says, "Aunt Mary, what did Connor just say?" This is not the kind of thing she wants to hear when she knows we are babysitting for her children the very next day. Connor was on spring break from 4 year old pre-K and Bob & I were on childcare duty for the week. We were looking for things to do with him since he's a very active, inquisitive little boy. For a recent school assignment, the one word I used to describe Connor was "enthusiastic".
A week of hanging around Mema & Papa's house could have gotten rather boring; it wasn't going to cut it for an enthusiastic little child like Connor. We wanted to stimulate his mind and keep him busy. We initially thought about a trip to see some dinosaur bones at the Museum of Natural History in Manhattan but chalked that idea when we thought about some of logistics. We decided instead to take a trip to Long Island so Connor could play with his downstate cousins. I thought that he would like this even better than a museum and I think I was right. Lo and behold it turned out to be 90 degrees on Wednesday. Here it was the 7th of April and it was as sunny and as warm as a day in mid-July. What better time to go to the ocean?
Connor could barely contain his excitement. We pull into the parking lot at Jones Beach and I notice that we were not the only ones who had this marvelous idea. There are quite a few cars in the parking lot. Connor is out of his car seat and reaching for the door as I run around the car to keep up with him. (I promised his Mommy that I would guard him with my life and his safety and well-being is my top priority). He makes a mad dash for the sand and runs like a bat out of hell for the Atlantic. I understand what he's feeling, since I'm feeling it too. There is something about the ocean that draws us to it forcefully. It is vast and majestic and powerful. It is constant and unending. I think this is one place that I can truly feel the presence of the Almighty.
The sandy beach is very wide at this point and I'm getting quite a work out but I reach the water's edge at the same time as Connor. He pulls on the Velcro and frantically works his way out of his sandals as I fling my own sandals into the sand. We run recklessly into the receding foam of the waves. As the next wave comes charging we run, laughing, back to the sand. We do this over and over again. Connor gets braver and braver. One wave is a bit stronger than the others and Connor looses his footing and falls face first into the sea. He is stunned for a minute, the water is "April" cold but he gets himself up and begins his marvelous game again. He doesn't want me to stop him yet, even though he is soaked through to the skin.
We told him that it is important to respect the power of the ocean but now that he has experienced its strength firsthand, he seems to have a new understanding. He seems to be looking at the Ocean with a reverence he didn't have before he fell into the Sea.

Children of the Heart........continued

As we drove together towards the store, Diane asked, “Mommy, Why did Liz have to go to the hospital to get her baby? Liz was a family friend who had just gone into active labor.

Figuring that the details from the recent TV special on the birth of a baby would be fresh in her mind, I answered, "Sweetie, Liz went to the hospital so the doctor could help her get the baby out of her uterus". (I’m a nurse, so I’d always used correct terminology concerning the human body with my kids.) Without batting an eye, Diane answered happily - more of a statement than a question - "just like I came out of your uterus, right Mommy?”

Before I could formulate my answer or get one word of explanation out of my mouth, my son who is 2 years and 2 months older than Diane, made sure he set her straight. You’d have to know Brian to really appreciate this verbal interaction. Brian does not mince words. Even as a very young child, Brian was smart, authoritative and outspoken. He knows the facts and he is going to deliver them whether you want to hear them or not. So he answers Diane loudly and emphatically, What are you talking about, you didn’t come out of Mommy’s uterus!

From the back seat I hear Diane burst into tears, she is sobbing like her little heart has just been broken. I pull the car over to the curb and turn around to comfort her. I feel like crying too. I wish I could assure her and myself, that "yes, indeed, you did come out of my uterus." But I have never been a very good liar, so instead I say as gently as I can, “It’s alright Diane, you can just make believe that you came out of Mommy’s uterus. I like to make believe that you came out of my uterus, too”.

Diane gradually stops crying and starts to calm down.

While she is calming down, I am thinking to myself that certain facts cannot be changed no matter how much you want them to be different. I wish I could tell Diane that she came out of my body. She wants that, and I want that, and I believe Brian wants that also. Life is full of longings but some of the things we long for, can never come to pass.

Here is another truth of my life. I prayed for children. God blessed me with children and I never once desired different children. I would not trade my beloved children for any other children. Not even a bunch of children who came out of my uterus. They have my heart no differently than if they came out of my very own uterus.

Simply Living

I would like to write something special and exciting but have been so busy with celebrating Holy Week and the great feast of Easter that I do not have the energy needed to be creative. Also I have been going into the office quite a bit lately to assist with the New York State Nursing Home Complaint Hotline. Whenever there are holidays, I am called in to work more often than usual to cover for staff who want some time off. I guess it is the nature of working per diem. Also while I'm at work, I spend my entire day listening to the stories that people tell me and attempting to capture the essence of their stories in the written word. Since I am no longer a young chick, by the end of the day I am left with little energy for much else.
I also did not want to miss the special services for Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter vigil. Our parish, St. Francis de Sales, recently merged with another nearby parish, Our Lady of Mercy, and our newly formed congregation is an exciting mix of wonderful, interesting people. The services at our newly formed parish, Christ Our Light Catholic Church, were more vibrant and better than ever.
On Easter I made a turkey dinner for my family. When I cook, I use every pot and pan in the kitchen, scatter everything all over my counter tops and generally make a tremendous mess. Because Bob likes to eat home-cooked meals, he is typically patient with the mess, and afterwards works hard to help me get the place back in order again.
Bob & I took a long walk together on Easter morning and stopped in briefly to see our dear friends, Jean & Mike, and to eat one of Jean's famous homemade Bunny cookies. We couldn't stay long though because Diane & Connor tracked us down and we had to get back home for the "big hunt". The Easter Bunny hid some eggs for Connor in our backyard and we all enjoyed watching Connor's excitement as he ran around through the woods looking for the hidden treasure. He will be 5 on May 5th so we wanted to enjoy this special time with him now. Before you know it, he will be much too wise for such fantasy. Some days, don't you just wish there really was an Easter Bunny?