How we resemble our parents

MY FATHER AND ME

Ira Stulbaum

I just realized, that the day I’m reading this, would have been my father’s 9O birthday. We are similar in outward, rather superficial ways. We both have a sense of humor and a modicum of intelligence. We each can string a few words together into a coherent sentence.

He was at times, too many times, a rage-full individual. His immense, often uncontainable anger was vented at everything from the powers that be, to his own flesh and blood. He took a perverse pride in calling himself, “The Last Angry Man!” The source of this overflowing river of angst and fury is a mystery to me. I have inquired in this line, of his brother, my uncle, and have not yet received a response. Ironically, I too have often vibrated with anger, sometimes humongously out of proportion to any precipitating event. The difference, and it is an enormous difference, is that my anger was passed down from him. It is an inheritance I could do without. It is a gift unasked for. My anger is a direct result of being an unwitting victim of his rage. It is as if I’ve received an elaborate, expensive package from United Parcel, with no return address. There is no one to send it back to. So I have learned to live with this tarnished inheritance. Through hard work, an IRON WILL, and a congenitally soft heart, the devastating affects of this spoiled gift have waned somewhat over the decades. Like the pain of a sharp, jagged shard of glass slowly being pulled from my eye.

Now I set out to forge a new existence for myself, as free as possible of the cuts of the dull rusty sword from an out of control father. I will never live the life I would have, could have lived, if it were not for this legacy of lunacy. My plan is simply to put one foot in front of the other, and seek a more sanguine, gentle path, lined with hope and the glories of love.

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Similarities with my mother

G.V. Umadevi

People who saw me with my mother used to say that I resemble my mother. My mother was a delicate, loving and affectionate person, always kind and loving to people she met.

I acquired those qualities – loving, kindness and generotity – from her.

But if I don’t like someone, I never even talk to them; I just walk away.

When unwanted guests arrive without prior notice, I put up with them and stay calm due to my mother’s patience. I have to tolerate them whether I like it or not!!!

As far as music is concerned, I always cooperated very well with my Mom while she was singing and playing the harmonium and I find similarity with my mother.
Good qualities I inherited from my mother and bad qualities in me are my own.


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Mama and I

Norma Crown

I have many of my mother’s qualities, although hers were taken to the nth degree. She was larger than life.

She was president of every organization to which she belonged, never afraid to take on additional responsibilities. I, too, enjoyed this challenge while serving as president of the Pitman Teachers Association and the Business Education Association.

She loved to read as I do, and told me she read classics to me while I lay listening in her womb to wonderful tales. I guess that’s why I never bothered reading War and Peace. I already knew the plot.

She was a natural swimmer. During summers my family rented rooms in an apartment in Brighton Beach, providing us with daily access to the ocean. Swimming is my only and favorite sport.

She loved to eat and so do I. Hence our life-long struggle with diet. We both ended up with diabetes which ran in her family.

She loved school and when she was a child she pretended to hold class with her younger siblings. I, in turn, became a teacher.

I resemble my mother in appearance and wrote, “Reflecting on Mama,” (copy below).

My mother loved movies and the theater. I still remember asking her to read me the titles of silent films. She took me to my first play, “Sailors Beware,” when I was about ten. I am a member of the Lincoln Center Theater,

She took life in stride and despite losses and disappointments, never whined. I try to present a positive front as well.

She always found something interesting to do and didn’t hesitate to travel on the subway at night to get there. I used to call her at 10 pm every night just to make sure she was safe. I, too, keep busy with many activities although I haven’t been in the subway for years. There’s nothing like the express bus or access-a-ride to get to a destination.
She never felt she was too old to try something new. At 65 she learned to drive and bought a big black Bonneville car. At 65 1 completed the doctoral program at Fordham University.

My mother lived to 90 years of age, and I hope to follow in her suit.


Reflecting on Mama

Norma Crown
.

When I look into the minor,
I can see my mother’s face--
Blue crinkly eyes, an upturned nose,
Hair flying out of place.

I hear her voice within me
filled with courage and with cheer.
I listen to her message
Unequivocal and clear.

“Despite the games that fools may play
To suck you into sand.
Dig your toes into the turf, dear,
And take a solid stand.”

“You may lose face, and place, and dough
Don’t let it get you down.
I will always love you honey,
Though I may not be around”

“How come you’re optimistic?”
Friends ask me frequently.
Need I really tell them
Mama’s spirit set me free?

So, seeing her face in my minor,
Gives me quite a lift.
I react to ‘our’ reflection
with a smile upon my lip.



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Similarities to my parents

Rose Smeenk

I do not see any physical resemblance to my parents. However, I’m lucky in enjoying their longevity. My mother lived to the age of 89 and my father to 91. Both were slim and I’m keeping my figure also. Although neither of them had diabetes, I ended up with this disease, as did both of my brothers. My parents never suffered from arthritis which I have now. However, I have ingrained their manner of living. They lived very frugally and I can’t be a spendthrift. I shop for only the necessities and would feel guilty going overboard on luxuries; although I feel that I lack for nothing. My mother was housebound by choice, never going out socially or hob-nobbing with the neighbors. My father was the opposite, having quite an interest in community activities. Like my father, I enjoy my daily sojourns to the senior centers. My father was an architectural draftsman, so maybe my interest in art is an outgrowth of his abilities. I love to draw and paint.

In my family [of birth] there was never much showing of physical affection, but in my marriage and daily routines we frequently hugged and kissed each other. I can’t recall other similarities, perhaps because of the dysfunctional family atmosphere resulting from my parents’ incompatibility.



Inherited Traits

Rose Smeenk

Mother skimped and saved
Denied her own comfort for family;
Hand sewed yards of muslin to make sheets,
Cut down larger clothes for hand-me-downs;
Boiled the clothes and hand-scrubbed them
On laundry day – ironing the linens,
Stretching curtains on wooden frames.

Frugally, she used organ meats for potato soups,
Baked her own breads and pastry each Friday.
Her children were her idols for whom
She sacrificed herself and prayed earnestly
That life would be kind to them in every way.
When we ere grown and tried to show
That we too could pamper her, she protested,
Overwhelmed by luxurious gifts, yet
Proud that we could be generous.

I find I’ve inherited these tendencies,
Tempered only by the independence I gained.
As a wife I could stretch a hard-earned dollar,
at that I became an apt scholar – sewing
pillowcases cut from worn-out sheets,
patches for shirt elbows and pants’ knees,
pot holders from old dish towels,
converted dresses into gamps or skirts.

Left-over juices from cooked vegetables,
Were added to make my savory soups
And meat trimmed from bones went into casseroles.
Tofu now stretches healthful stir-fry meals
And pasta primavera is a catch-all culinary dish.

When my 12-year-old son asked for a bike
I bid at an auction to get one he liked.
To this day I can’t be a spend-thrift,
From Mom I inherited this trait.

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The Children in China

Roberta Horowitz

“Finish what’s on your plate. The children in China are starving.” Not meaning to be chutzpedic I responded without hesitation, “Send it to them. I’m full.” Then I had my head handed to me regarding the proper way to speak, respect for parents, and, of course, ending with “Now finish what’s on your plate.”

I used to beg for less food. For dinner I was given the mandatory balanced meal – a vegetable, a starch, and a protein. The protein was consistent for each day of the week: chicken or a roast on Friday and Saturday, deli on Sunday, Monday was steak, Tuesday – hamburgers, Wednesday was fish and Thursday lamb chops or veal. I remember well a particular Tuesday. I was a little, bitty thing and my plate overflowed with peas, potatoes and two hamburgers. After I ate my fill, I viewed with dismay my still half full plate. With reminders of children in China, still in my mind, I asked ever so politely to be given only one hamburger instead of two. After a moment of thought, my mother agreed. I was jubilant. I looked forward to the next Tuesday. With my mouth watering in anticipation, I looked forward to a meal without the mention of a foreign country. My plate arrived. Next to the obligatory vegetables and starch was one hamburger. But the hamburger was huge. My mother had taken the meat of two hamburgers and formed one colossal creation. My heart sank. China was not far away.

I learned how my mother became who she was when my brothers and I were visiting my grandparents, allowing my father to take my mother away for a month long rest. Approaching the kitchen table on the first morning, a bowl of cheerios was awaiting me. My grandmother added milk and commanded “Eat your breakfast.”

I informed her that I never eat cheerios.

“Eat,” she said. “And don’t leave the table until you’re finished. The children in …” You know the rest. She never asked me what I would have preferred. Each morning cheerios awaited me and I sat at the table looking at the bowl until noon when my grandmother would move the soggy mess and announce that it was time for lunch.

I vowed to never give too much food to my children. I serve family-style, allowing everyone to take as much or as little from a variety of choices. I also vowed to never speak about China at the dining room table.