It
started innocently enough with little ‘white lies’ meant
to teach a lesson. “If you pick your nose, your eyes will fall
out.” Well they didn’t but I learned that picking your
nose wasn't’t something you wanted to do in public.
With
six children clamouring at her feet, mother made adjustments as necessary.
We would return home from school just as she began dinner preparations.
We were starving and would try to sample the evening’s fare. “Have
a piece of bread and butter,” she would tell us. Nobody wanted
bread and butter. “Then you can’t be very hungry,” was
her well-rehearsed response.
On
this particular night she was making lasagne. The mozzarella cheese
lay sliced on the counter. It called to me. As my hand moved slowly
towards it I heard her voice, “Don’t even think about it.” She
had eyes in the back of her head. I think all parents grow them. I
responded as any normal child, protesting with the classic, “Why?” Exasperated,
she explained, “Mozzarella cheese must be cooked. If you eat
it raw, it will give you worms.” Well that worked for me. I certainly
didn't want worms and the cheese remained untouched.
Years
later when I was at university my roommate pulled out a block of mozzarella
and began slicing. “You’re not going to eat that are you?” I
questioned. She froze with the cheese in hand. “Why not?” she
asked, looking puzzled. She obviously didn’t know of the danger.
I went on to explain confidently that the cheese, consumed uncooked,
would certainly give her worms. After a moment of silence, she fell
to the floor in fits of hysterical laughter.
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And
so I came to realize, after years of being a firm believer, that my
Mother’s words of wisdom in this instance had simply been an
off-the-cuff remark thrown out to re-route harassing children. Boy,
was I embarrassed!
The Old House
The
house on Melrose Avenue was of an era and design that you just don’t
see anymore. The massive stone steps allowed a family of five to walk
abreast up to the lead and stained glass doors. The inside was a child’s
paradise, so many places to explore. The four floors had both front
and back staircases and the dumb-waiter in the pantry reached each
one. We weren’t supposed to play in it of course. It had a million
rooms with huge walk-in closets.
Ours
was an ethnic neighbourhood, all Irish and all related. My family consisted
of an eldest son followed by five daughters. The numbers were similar
among my cousin’s families. My father was a salesman, traveling
across the country, leaving Mom to watch over a gang of children who
ran free in a four-block radius. Mom fended as best she could, having
older siblings supervise the younger ones or trading childcare with
our Aunts. I realize now her need to escape, if only for a moment,
the craziness of six demanding children multiplied by the power of
three with all relations assuming an open door policy.
It
was a Saturday afternoon when a herd of us ran into the house yelling
for juice. My momentum failed when there was no response. Confused,
we all stood frozen, looking at each other and listening. A scrapping
sound came from the second floor. We ran up the stairs. I lead the
charge calling out, “MOM!! WHERE ARE YOU?” over and over
again. There was no response. Becoming somewhat panicked, we flitted
from room to room expecting to see her as we rounded each corner. She
wasn’t there! The shock of her absence silenced me. “Where
could she have gone?”
I
stood stone still, not knowing what to do when I heard it again, that
muffled scrapping noise. Following it brought me to the closet in my
parent’s bedroom. It didn’t make any sense but the noise
was unmistakably coming from inside! With my heart pounding in my temples
and a hole in the pit of my stomach I opened the door a crack, pressing
my eye to the thin line. There sat Mom and Auntie on folding metal
chairs. Each held a crystal wine glass, the bottle and an ashtray on
the floor between them!
Looking
back on it now with a mere two children to oversee, I often wish I
had a walk-in closet. But I’d have a lock on the inside!