This may be a good place to elaborate on my memories of
Michelle and Amy growing up. I had no
sisters, so didn’t know what to expect.
Michelle was our first born, so I also didn’t know what to expect of
myself as a father or as someone married to a mother. We had also heard that the first child can
drastically alter the relationship and the dynamics of a young couple. I suppose it did, but we found out that our
commitment to each other was stronger than anything else we had to deal
with. I am suddenly reminded of that
little family of four in the little 2-bedroom house on No. Kings Street on Long
Island: young and healthy adults with two young and healthy kids, the high
hopes and optimism, excited about the future.
That was us in our 1,000 square foot home on Garnet Street in San Carlos
after Bobby was born and before we moved to Belmont.
Michelle had her bedroom all to herself for the first 18
months or so of her life, though I’m sure she doesn’t remember it. We put her crib near the door, and I so remember
her smiling little face peering around the corner at us, once she was able to
pull herself up at the end of the crib.
I’m not sure whether I was more likely to be home when she first woke up
in the morning, or whether it was when she was getting up from her nap, since I
worked shift hours at Pan Am, and I was going to school at that time, as well.
Based on our experience with Michelle, I thought all
babies woke up smiling and were happy to see their parents. (Bobby was literally a rude awakening!) Michelle liked to put two fingers in her
mouth, the middle finger and what would be the ring finger, with her index
finger extending up toward her nose, usually holding her blanket in place. It was quite unique. However, one morning she burned her middle
finger on some oatmeal and from then on she only put the ring finger in her
mouth, with the other fingers all extending up, and it just looked weird. But in either case, she gave us big smiles
when she leaned over her crib, peered around the corner of her doorway, and let
us know she was awake.
All three of our kids were born at Sequoia Hospital in
Redwood City, which was less than 5 minutes away from our house in San
Carlos. When Sandy was at the hospital
delivering Bobby, her mother (“Nana” – Doris Moulton) stayed with Michelle so I
could be with Sandy. After delivery on
May 25th, with Sandy and the baby needing to rest, I came home for a couple of
hours. Doris had Michelle in a plastic
wading pool in the backyard, and as I walked up she asked me to listen and see
if I could make out what Michelle was asking.
It sounded like, “Where goff off?” with ‘off’ rhyming with ‘goff.’ Neither of us could make it out. I had no idea and thought it was doomed to
remain a mystery, until the next time we put Michelle in the tub for her
bath. She immediately held up the wash
cloth and said, “Goff off!” Obviously
(though not to us at the time) she was associating the wading pool with the
bath tub and thinking there ought to be a wash cloth in there somewhere.
I learned the word ‘hemangioma’ when Michelle was born,
because she was born with one in the middle of her back that started out as a
red mark that was not raised, but grew to about the size and shape of something
that you could place a tea cup over. The
doctor knew it would, but said that we should wait and see “just in case” and
we could always have it removed surgically if and when it became a problem,
either for us or for her. Michelle was
of course blissfully unaware of it until one day after her bath I was holding
her and drying her with a bath towel, and she happened to get a glimpse of it
in the mirror. I’ve never forgotten the
look of horror that came over her little face and how my heart clutched and
sank with hers. She was around 3 years
old and bright enough to know, not only that it didn’t belong there and that no
one else she knew had one, but that Sandy and I had known all this time and had
not told her. I always felt that her
horror was tinged with a sense of betrayal.
It also felt to me like a loss of innocence somehow, or the crossing of
a threshold with no turning back.
I think we were advised to wait until she was ten years
old to have the surgery, which we did.
This would have been by a new set of pediatricians in San Jose. So she carefully chose swim suits, ballet
outfits and tops in general with that concealment in mind. And she had to try to avoid anyone patting
her on the back and feeling it. It was
located right where a boy’s right hand would go if they were dancing (at least
the way we danced in high
school!). But she wouldn’t be going to
dances until middle school, anyway. The
surgery left a large scar roughly the shape of the letter Y, so she still had
to choose bathing suits and prom dresses that minimized exposure of the
scar. It didn’t tan, of course, so that
made it stand out even more.
Michelle and I did all 3 years in the YMCA’s Indian
Princesses program, the 2nd and 3rd years running
parallel with the 1st and 2nd years of the Indian Guides
program for dads and boys. It is interesting
that in 1st through 3rd grades, boys and girls pretty
much enjoy the same kinds of activities – archery, face painting, hikes, gunny
sack races, etc. After the end of
Bobby’s 3rd year it was time for Amy’s 1st year. Groan. I was getting tired of it! Poor Amy.
I struggled through the first two years with her, but announced before
the 3rd year started that I couldn’t do it anymore. I tried to convince her that she wasn’t enjoying it, but she never
agreed that that was the case. But
getting back to Michelle, the Saturday morning that we were supposed to leave
for our first Indian Princesses overnight campout, she was acting strangely, so
Sandy pulled up her top and found…the measles!
I don’t know who was more disappointed, her or me. I knew what we were missing; she really
didn’t, but of course wanted to be there with the rest of her tribe. There were two campouts per year, so there
were five more opportunities, and we were able to go to all of those. So in the two years that Bobby and Michelle
ran concurrently, I went to 4 weekend overnight campouts per year, long after
the novelty had worn off (for me, if not for them).
Michelle also had nine years of dance – mainly ballet and
jazz – from age 3 to 12. I remember the
first recital we attended: the dance skit had the older girls dancing with a
shopping cart as if shopping, and guess what was in the shopping cart…the
little 3 and 4 year olds in outfits to resemble a variety of fruits and
vegetables! I think Michelle was a head
of lettuce or cabbage, all fluffy and green.
The little ones climbed out of the cart and danced around and climbed
back into the cart. I remember Michelle
just standing there looking for her Mom and Dad in the audience…not an
auspicious start to her dancing career!
I must report that I didn’t take much interest in her dancing. I knew at the time how much it cost, but I
did also understand and appreciate that ballet was very good for her: poise,
balance, strength, discipline, muscle tone, etc, and was good for her self-confidence. So I didn’t mind the cost, but didn’t go to
many recitals, either.
Michelle also played Little League baseball (not girls’
softball). I had gotten Bobby involved
in baseball, and Michelle promptly announced that she wanted to be involved, as
well. She did pretty well. She threw and batted left-handed, often
playing first base, as many lefties do.
Her arm was a little weak for throwing from the outfield. But she learned quickly how to cover first
base, and she could catch the ball better than most. For a couple of seasons, Sandy served as
score keeper, and learned the game fairly well.
It is nice when she and I watch the Giants on television, and she
understands the rules and what just happened.
I remember one time that Sandy was sitting behind home plate keeping
score when Michelle was up at bat.
Evidently Sandy yelled some encouragement to Michelle, calling her
“pumpkin,” though pronouncing it as she usually did more like “punkin.” Michelle whirled around and shouted, “Don’t
call me ‘punkin’,” and the catcher jumped up and protested that he wasn’t
calling her punkin. So she and the
catcher got into an argument, and the umpire behind the plate had to sort it
all out, get everybody calmed down, and I think tell Sandy not to sit behind home
plate to keep score, unless she could be quite.
Michelle was our best student, though Amy and Bobby did
fine. In elementary school Michelle was
asked to participate in the GATE program (gifted and talented), which she did,
and benefitted from. All I remember from
the explanation given was this example: Where average kids are told the story
of Goldilocks and the Three Bears and tested on the facts of the story, GATE
kids would be asked questions like, “Do you think Goldilocks had the right to
enter the Bears’ place when no one was home?
Even though she was hungry, should she have eaten the baby bear’s
porridge?” Interestingly, this took me
back to junior college where one of the teachers in either a history or English
class advised us that, to make your paper stand out, try to present a unique
combination of ideas, or a combination of unique ideas. An example that comes to mind is seeing the
Declaration of Independence as primarily about economics, not freedom; or
presenting the Civil War as being about personal liberty, not the institution
of slavery.
In high school Michelle made the Dean’s List most
semesters, without seeming to apply herself much, although she had one
horrendous semester where she got an I for incomplete, an A in PE, and the rest
of the grades were almost all Ds. I
remember because I quipped that she was trying to spell DADDI! How sweet! She’d had some terrible PMS, which
I didn’t really understand, and Sandy would let her stay in bed some mornings
and skip school. I thought she was just
being lazy or irresponsible or getting to bed too late, or something. As mentioned, Michelle paved the way for her
brother and sister, and we were much more relaxed parents with Bobby and
especially with Amy.
But Michelle, by her own admission, went through some
difficult times and struggled more in the first half of her teen years than her
siblings did. So they were easier,
anyway, but being more experienced parents helped us, too. I recall how relieved we were when she seemed
to settle down by around age 17. We even
discussed with each other and with her how good it was that she was not a late
bloomer who started to get out of control in her late teens, but instead had
“gotten it out of her system” by then.
More serious, life-changing things are apt to take place in the late
teens, when booze and drugs and cars and pregnancies are all more prevalent. So
we had a lot to be thankful for when she settled down.
In the terminology of child psychology, Michelle was a
strong-willed child, and Amy was a compliant child. I guess Bobby was in between. I have never forgotten the time when Michelle
was maybe 4 years old and we were staying in Poppa’s trailer at Camp Richardson’s
up at Lake Tahoe. The trailer park was
across the street from the lake side, and the automobile traffic was nearly
non-stop in both directions – slow, but constant. I had to cross over in a hurry for some
reason. Michelle had followed me to the
road, and I told her firmly: STAY ON THIS SIDE OF THE ROAD. I WILL BE RIGHT BACK! I got myself across the road as quickly and
safely as I could, and as I reached safety I heard car horns beeping and
drivers hitting their brakes.
I knew
what had happened even before turning around in horror. Sure enough Michelle was standing in the middle
of the road, surprise and fear written all over her face. Several motorists had those facial
expressions, too, mixed with anger. As I
doubled back to get her, the looks changed more toward anger, all directed at
me for being so stupid and irresponsible.
Now that I have written this I see that the incident was not about
Michelle being a strong-willed child; it was about me being stupid and
irresponsible. She could easily have
been killed or seriously injured. No
wonder I have never forgotten it.
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