My father was a huge influence in my life. I can not imagine who I would have turned out to be without him. And, much later in life, standing up to him made it possible to stand up to men, and for myself, in general.
Even though I made poor choices, and I have allowed myself to be put in negative situations, what others end up learning, once I’ve had enough, is mistaking my kindness for weakness. Dad hated when I was bullied. He would try to hold back, but often times he couldn’t stand it and would go out of his way to make it better.
Our home in West Covina, moving there when I was just in diapers, was the first home I recall. I even remember the address; 1334 Glendora Ave. With that first home came my first friend, Ricky. We lived next door to the Fox family. I Loved his parents, Helen and her husband. They had two much older children than Ricky, a son and a daughter, who didn’t pay much attention to their younger brother, or me. They were Jewish and owned a deli. To this day I have never had such crisp and tasty pickles as from their family owned restaurant. I would make paper ring chains with Ricky at Hanukkah, and remember fondly their menorah. We rarely displayed candles in our home, so I found this to be very pretty, and different from our traditions.
Ricky came over to our house daily asking if he could play with me, and when he did my Father dreaded it. More often than not, Ricky would hurt, and make me cry. Everything from bite marks on my hands and arms, to bouncing my hand in the car door. Not sure why my fingers weren’t broken. I just recall a huge bandage on my thumb. Once he got the brilliant idea that he would get the baseball that was stuck on his roof down by hitting another ball up on the roof to knock it loose. He wanted me to watch his know-how so he instructed me to stand directly behind him while he swung his wooden bat, tossing a ball into the air as he aimed to hit it. Well, he smacked me in the head instead, knocking me out cold.
Helen was a responsible, responsive parent. When my sister and I tattled on Ricky for swearing, his mother promptly grabbed Ricky by his ear pulling him into her bathroom, telling us “you stay right here and watch”! She then literally washed Ricky’s mouth out with white bar soap as he struggled and wailed. My sister and my eye’s were the size of saucers!
My childhood recollection of our backyard was an expansive green lawn. Ricky and I were playing as usually, and as usually, he made me cry. As I turned to run into the house, my Father was standing right behind me in an angered Jolly Green Giant stance. Scanning up from his knees, to his 6′ 1″ height, he was indeed a giant in stature. He pointed at Ricky and said “hit him”. I looked down, shook my head no. “If you don’t hit him, I’m going to hit you”. Gulp… as I turned to Ricky, his distance, and the backyard itself, instantaneously grew further away from me as if a warp speed burst just occurred. Ricky was frozen as I slowly approached him. With all my courage, I slapped him across the face. I couldn’t believe I did it! He went running and screaming to his home. I turned to look at my Dad, still stern, he said, “how did it feel”? I said good, and then he affirmed what I’ve been learning my entire life, “sometimes you just have to stand up for yourself.”
The most tender of his rescues was when our family went to Balboa Island Crystal Cove beach. My parents and toddler sister were under the umbrella, and I spent what felt like hours collecting sea shells. I was in my own world, completely content, gathering beautiful treasures. An older boy than me, came up to me, seeming friendly at first, then he stole my entire day’s beach combing. Returning to my parents blanket quietly suffering, my Father abruptly left. He was gone for a long time. I thought perhaps he had gone looking for the young thief and worried for my Dad. When Dad returned, he brought me out from under the umbrella and told me to dig in the sand. I didn’t understand, but he was smiling, and pointing to a specific spot. Low and behold, what I dug up was a huge, gorgeous abalone shell. As young as I was I figured out what he had done. Walking Balboa Island to find a shell shop to buy me the biggest shell he could find, and then hiding it for me to discover. I stayed under the umbrella the rest of the day relishing, and protecting, my grand treasure, not letting it out of my sight, not letting on to my Father that I suspected I didn’t really find and earn this one on my own. Knowing in my entire being, the most important thing that happened that day. Love heals.