Hilda? Perhaps you have a “Hilda” in your family. We had one in ours. She was my Father’s Spinster Aunt. There was a “secondary” Hilda in the family as well. Paul had a Fraternity Brother who was married to a “Frieda”. For reasons unknown, Dad always called her “Hilda”. This Friedian slip was a source for amusement in our family circle… as you will soon see, you did not want to be mistaken for Hilda… or anything closely resembling her.
Hilda was my Grandmother’s younger Sister. I wasn’t as close to my Father’s side of the family. Mommie Soph, my Mother’s Mother, lived with us. Bubie Lena, my Father’s Mother lived in a small apartment on Dwight St. with Hilda.
When I would go over for a visit, Bubie would bring out a plate of cookies for me and we would play cards. She taught me how to play Gin Rummy. At some point during the visit, Bubie would berate Hilda. For what? I haven’t a clue. But as sure as God made green apples, Hilda would be in for at least one good scolding during my visit.
It made me uncomfortable. What could Hilda have said or done to warrant that treatment? Here was Bubie smiling sweetly at me, giving me cookies, teaching me about “runs and suits”, and then she would turn on her like Hilda was a misbehaving dog that had just peed on the rug. I don’t know… maybe she did.
You could see Hilda’s embarrassment… her shame.
For Thanksgiving, Passover & cookouts during the summer Bubie and Hilda would come to our home on Alston Avenue to share in the festivity. Even in our home Hilda would not be immune from suffering some form of rebuke.
It’s a sad thing for young children to see this. It becomes all too easy to think that she deserves this treatment. And of course, human nature, even for little kids, is to look for things to confirm a thesis. In this case that Hilda was an idiot and should best be kept out of sight.
It’s hard to sit in judgement of others. To think that Bubie was simply being cruel. Maybe there were other issues for Bubie. Maybe it was difficult living with a Sister for so long… being responsible day in and day out for her… And doing it in an era when we didn’t better understand the nature of folks who didn’t have all the mental tools… a time when we thought that it was Hilda’s fault.
So there we are… the family would be gathered in the living room of our home… stories going around the room, laughter liberally punctuating observations… and there Hilda would sit in silence, in a chair off to the side, hands clasped on her lap, legs crossed at the ankles, head cast slightly downward, hollow darkness surrounding watered eyes.
Perhaps the conversation moved to something she knew… or more likely, a tag line to a story had a musical delivery, that in turn would connect to a song… Hilda’s expression would brighten, she would clap in appreciation, or perhaps to accompany her sense of the melody’s beat… maybe she would join in with a hum. And then she would contribute a cackle to our laughter… something out of Margaret Hamilton as the Wicked Witch of the West.
Bubie would then chastise her for intruding in our fun. Hilda’s brief moment of joy flickered and died. If she remained in the room, she did so in silence. If her embarrassment was too great, she would retreat to the privacy of our den where no one could see her shame.
Hilda would out live Bubie. And with no big sister to look after her, she would go to the Jewish Home for the Aged. For Holiday dinners one of us would be assigned the task of driving over to the home, picking her up and returning her at evening’s end. We would groan at the thought that we might have to sit next to her at the dinner table.
At an age when I should have showed greater compassion for her, sadly I did not. Of this I am not proud.
Over the years I have changed my thinking about Hilda. I now consider our family to have been blessed to have her in our life. It isn’t every day that we’re presented an opportunity to demonstrate compassion and generosity of spirit.
Hilda has given me a valuable lesson… I just wish she were here, to hum one more off-key melody, so I could tell her so.