Entry two

I love this picture of you guys. I pray you are always close and kind to each other. Snapshots, pics to your generation, are about moments. A glimpse into our shared experiences. That's why I always loved our annual Christmas calendar, bestest gift of them all. OK back to Boston. My earliest memory is seeing my little hand reaching for an ornate door knob in my grandfather's house, so much for child proofing. The apartment had a big kitchen with an old fashioned black, cast iron?, stove. My grandmother Fannie was always cooking something on the stove so the room smelled delicious. She made incredibly good dumplings. My Mom and grandmother were extremely close. My Dad's father and brother died in the 50s so I really have no memory of them beyond shared stories. What kind of child was your Dad? Well I seemed to be a trouble magnet. I was the type of kid who would take dares, sure why not jump off a second floor balcony. I also ALWAYS had an opinion. Now remember this is a time when children were supposed to be seen not heard. When we had company my folks would pull me aside and tell me, "Mark just don't say anything" Yeah fat chance :-) One time your uncle Wayne told me to stick my finger in an empty light socket so I could see Superman fly. The only one who flew was me across the room. Wayne apparently did not understand the concept of progenitor. If you reminisce with my brothers and sister there will be plenty of did my Dad really do that stories. The biggest event of my early years was getting osteomyelitus (sp?) when I was 7 in my left hip. I ended up on massive doses of antibiotics, a relative new type of drug at the time, and in a full body cast for 6 months. Second grade was a visiting teacher while I was on my back on a cot in the living room. I did get an A in English and a B in math. My grandmother slept in a chair by my bedside and held my hand every night. I remember staring out a window at the world just begging to be outside. My folks took me for PT but pretty much everyone thought I would be wheelchair bound or at best learn to live with leg braces. Well screw that..lol. I refused to sit in a wheelchair and tossed crutches. I'd stumble from chair to couch to table. Eventually my gait became smoother and I built up endurance. I think my love of hiking originated in that desperate need to move. My Dad moved the family to Peabody, 6 Downing Rd., shortly after I got well. It was a tremendous change from West Roxbury. You had to drive to some places and there were non-Jews. Dad bought the house with some help from his Veteran's Benefit, he was in the Navy during World War II. My folks lived there up until 1977. It was a ranch style house, three small bedrooms, one bathroom, attached garage, smaller than our downstairs, but more space then we had in Boston. Barbara had her own room. We boys shared a bedroom. Can you imagine your Uncle Edward in such a tiny space? The family had very little money. My Dad had sold his delies and was working in the meat department at Stop and Shop. We were probably the poorest Jewish family in Peabody at the time. My clothes were often hand me downs from my younger cousin, but portly, Arthur. If I had been hit by a truck I would have been identified as him by the sewn in name tags. The neighborhood was great, a lot of kids, open lots for sand lot baseball games, woods for tree houses, and a shopping center in walking distance. I entered the third grade at Center School,

short, scrawny, poorly dressed, and with a penchant for mischief. A parent's dream! Wayne got into a fair share of fights defending me. My grades were o.k. but I was not a star pupil. I loved reading though, Tom Swift, Jr., biographies, any comic except Archie, whatever I could get my hands, and yes I miss my right hand, on. I was a daydreamer, again no real plan just living to the moment. Entry 2 coming to an end. Love you guys, Dad