Things My Father Taught Me
Regarding life, I think we should remember what we have been taught by those who love(ed) us. Let me elaborate.
When I was young my father, or Daddy, as we called him, always took me places on Saturdays. We went all over the city, as far as we could. You see, I suffered from motion sickness as a child. I would ride two subway stops and get sick. My mother, who had no patience, decided that this only meant one thing; I would never travel anywhere. She felt that I would become one of those people who never left the neighborhood. My father, on the other hand, had a completely different view. He felt that if I was going to live in a city where you had to ride the subway, then I had to ride the subway. He would not settle for the idea of my becoming one of those people who never left the neighborhood; oh no. In fact, he was determined to make me into one of those people who traveled everywhere, saw and learned as much as I could and became stronger for it. There was just one problem; I couldn’t ride the subway, or bus or car, for that matter, without getting sick. What to do? Well, my father knew what to do.
He decided that every Saturday he would make me ride the subway. Yes, and he always came prepared - he carried lots of brown paper bags. And they never went to waste. Week after week, we did the same routine. He made me ride the subway, I would get sick and then we got back on the train and rode some more. He always took me places though, sometimes to the zoo, the park, a museum, the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (of which I am still a member) or Coney Island. After a few months, a change began to happen. We did our usual trip. When it was all said and done, and we came home from our outing, he leaned over and said to me “Jeanie (his nickname for me) you know, you rode two more stops this time before you got sick. You’re getting stronger.” (It's amazing for me to think that he was actually keeping track like that; but, he was First Sergeant after all.) Those encouraging words always made me feel good. Eventually, I got over it completely and began to ride not only the subway, but fly, go on ships and cross-country trains as well.
Now, some people reading this may think “How terrible, forcing a little girl to do something that he knew would make her sick.” My answer to that is this, he didn’t force me to do something that he knew would make me sick, he forced me to do something that he knew would make me strong. I asked him once in his later years how he had the patience to do that, and his answer was that he had to because if I was going to live in a city where you have to ride the subway, then I would have to ride the subway, and the only way that I would ever be able to do it would be if I did it when I wasn’t able to do it. Those words may not make sense to some people, I’m sure; but they make perfect sense to me.
One final thought...I have had some people ask me how he could stand doing this every weekend having to watch me get sick. My answer to that is "He fought in World War II. Trust me, the sight of little girl getting sick was not a big deal to him. He had seen much worse than that."
It has been fun writing about these memories; so, until next time...
Thank you for reading!
When I was young my father, or Daddy, as we called him, always took me places on Saturdays. We went all over the city, as far as we could. You see, I suffered from motion sickness as a child. I would ride two subway stops and get sick. My mother, who had no patience, decided that this only meant one thing; I would never travel anywhere. She felt that I would become one of those people who never left the neighborhood. My father, on the other hand, had a completely different view. He felt that if I was going to live in a city where you had to ride the subway, then I had to ride the subway. He would not settle for the idea of my becoming one of those people who never left the neighborhood; oh no. In fact, he was determined to make me into one of those people who traveled everywhere, saw and learned as much as I could and became stronger for it. There was just one problem; I couldn’t ride the subway, or bus or car, for that matter, without getting sick. What to do? Well, my father knew what to do.
He decided that every Saturday he would make me ride the subway. Yes, and he always came prepared - he carried lots of brown paper bags. And they never went to waste. Week after week, we did the same routine. He made me ride the subway, I would get sick and then we got back on the train and rode some more. He always took me places though, sometimes to the zoo, the park, a museum, the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (of which I am still a member) or Coney Island. After a few months, a change began to happen. We did our usual trip. When it was all said and done, and we came home from our outing, he leaned over and said to me “Jeanie (his nickname for me) you know, you rode two more stops this time before you got sick. You’re getting stronger.” (It's amazing for me to think that he was actually keeping track like that; but, he was First Sergeant after all.) Those encouraging words always made me feel good. Eventually, I got over it completely and began to ride not only the subway, but fly, go on ships and cross-country trains as well.
Now, some people reading this may think “How terrible, forcing a little girl to do something that he knew would make her sick.” My answer to that is this, he didn’t force me to do something that he knew would make me sick, he forced me to do something that he knew would make me strong. I asked him once in his later years how he had the patience to do that, and his answer was that he had to because if I was going to live in a city where you have to ride the subway, then I would have to ride the subway, and the only way that I would ever be able to do it would be if I did it when I wasn’t able to do it. Those words may not make sense to some people, I’m sure; but they make perfect sense to me.
One final thought...I have had some people ask me how he could stand doing this every weekend having to watch me get sick. My answer to that is "He fought in World War II. Trust me, the sight of little girl getting sick was not a big deal to him. He had seen much worse than that."
It has been fun writing about these memories; so, until next time...
Thank you for reading!
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