I was sorting thru my “mental attic” and came across a couple of snapshots circa 1960.
Mom: We went strawberry picking together at some farm in Branford (?). It was a sunny day and we were assigned rows to pick from. Mom methodically worked down her row. I, in contrast, passed on some, put some into my basket, and ate some. And it became apparent to the farmer’s watchful eye, that not only was I not picking the row clean, I was eating more than putting berries into my basket. He told Mom that I would have to leave, and so chastened I went back to the car.
Dad: He was sitting in the breakfast room reading the paper when I returned home from Sunday School. I thought that maybe Dad would help me dye Easter eggs. Knowing that we would need a hard cooked egg, I fetched an egg from the fridge and brought it over for his inspection, and I asked him, “How can you tell if the egg is hard cooked?” And without hesitation he put the egg in the pocket of my white BD shirt which I wore to Sunday School, and smashed it into my chest, “This one is not hard cooked.”
Lynn: We were driving in the MG with the top down. Why or where to, I can’t recall. But I believe we were on Edgewood Ave near the park when a police car pulled us over. We hadn’t run a light, and we certainly weren’t driving at speed that would warrant a stop. But there we were. The officer inspected Lynn’s license and everything in order returned it and said that he thought Lynn looked under 16yrs of age. And whether he suggested it, or Lynn took it upon herself, she put on some lipstick. And now with this minor adjustment we proceeded on.
Paul: The upstairs center hall was an impromptu gymnasium for Paul. I was dragooned into being his workout partner for his wrestling escape moves that were necessary as a member of Union’s wrestling team. Never mind that we were in different weight classes. And even when his wrestling days were over and he took up judo, once again I was employed as an opponent this time to be thrown off balance, and in some matter put on the floor. But on another occasion, Paul returned home from Union saying he knew how to throw a curveball. I stood in front of our front steps with a wiffle ball bat in hand, and Paul at the end of the walk took a tennis ball and pitched his deuce, of which he was so proud, and I swung and launched that ball on a parabola over the Polaski’s house! I was 10, and I never hit a better ball in my life.
Mommie Soph: For my Bar Mitzvah Mommie Soph gave me 2 shares of I.B.M. stock. This had been on the advice of Aunt Tiny. I was there on a day when Clara came over for a visit and Mommie Soph with great pride showed her the stock certificate. Clara inspected the certificate and declared that it was not I.B.M. but International Business Machines. Not the same!! Mommie Soph was soooo upset. She immediately called Tiny to complain. Yes, calm was restored when Tiny assured her that they were one in the same.