Introduction

Introduction

While I was born in 1951, sometimes I feel like I was born in 1914. My father told me so many stories about growing up in Philadelphia, and occasionally even about his family, that I feel some sense of at least one person's life in those years before I was born. While my mother, of course, wanted a child, I'm not sure that my father did. I think there was a part of it all that scared him, so they waited quite a while to have me. I hope I was "a relief" to my father, and I think I worked hard to be a good son. Looking back, especially at those few older pictures I have of my father, I think the very best part of his life was the first half - back when things were simple, he had good friends, and the burdens of adulthood were not yet upon him. Looking back, I feel like the best part of my life was the first half, largely due to my parents. It was a time when life was simple, controllable, and when I was actually organized! I'm sure my father found many good things in his entire life, as do I, but I believe we had this in common - that there is nothing better than growing up in Philadelphia. So, do not find the title of my new blog in any way depressing, my friends, its just a perspective that I've found interesting to investigate.

I'll start by writing about my family. I realize we are nothing special, but as we've learned from millions of pages of memoirs written and published, there can be much to be learned from those who came before us.

As I get past some family stories, this blog may be of interest to anyone who grew up in the Delaware Valley/Philadelphia/Delaware County in the 1950's and 60's, or to anyone married/partnered to one (if you are, there is much you need to understand before the two of you can communicate!).

Please check out my book, Saturday Night at Sarah Joy's. All proceeds go to the Hurricane Sandy NJ Relief Fund. Information is available at: saturdaynightatsarahjoys.blogspot.com.

Thank you!

Thursday, July 19, 2012

My First Half

As I said, the number of smiles per roll of film (kids, you should look that one up) is a good indication of the quality of someone's life.  My parents gave me a good life, and nothing says good better than Christmas!  Note the amazing (ugh) wallpaper.  It came with the house, not our choice.  I swear!  You can see this was back when people took the time, bought the stamps, and sent Christmas cards to each other.  It was the right thing to do.  We'd usually start by decorating the stairs as they came in, then any other white molding or trim we could find.  It was sad when the number of cards started to shrink, as the price of stamps went up, and my aunts and uncles started dying off.  I loved that robe!


Yes, I'd call this spoiled.  But then I still have the sled, so it was a pretty good investment.  People were still awfully interested in cowboys and indians back then, and Chief Halftown, a local TV celebrity, really tilted the scales in favor of the indians.  Oops.  Native Americans.  While I am dressed as a cowboy here, I did have my indian outfit upstairs, laid out on my bed.  "Honest Injun", as we used to say.  Hey, it was a long time ago!
Notice the train platform.  The tree stood on that along with my trains.  It was a 4 x 8 foot platform that took up 99% of the living room.  The tree had to be put on the platform, otherwise we'd have to purposely throw tinsel onto the train tracks.  It was more fun to be pleasantly surprised as they crackled and vaporized.


Mom!  God they used to put me in ties and goop up my hair like I was a little Mafia boy.  My father desparately wanted to be Italian (pronounced EYE-talian) since he grew up in an Italian neighborhood in Philadelphia, but it was hard for him to ignore the English/Irish blood, so the best he could do was to build a little Italian guido.  Also notworthy in this picture, the size of the train transformer (I can feel it hum) and the continuation of interesting wallpaper in the dining room.


I really do believe my father was very nervous about fatherdom, and really would have preferred to not do it at all, but it/I was what my mother wanted, so eventually they let me happen.  I'm sure it did not help matters that (according to my father), one night when I was just at crawling age, he was watching TV with his arm over the side of the chair when I snuck up on him and bit into his hand.  He had no idea what it was, or where the pain was coming from, but his natural reflex was to flick his hand, to get whatever was on there off.  Apparently he flipped me across the room until I met a wall. It probably upset him much more than it did me.  If he was a nervous father before, now he was accidentally throwing his kid across the room!  I had to do something to get back into his good graces, and decided that checking all visitors' glasses and bottles, after they left, would do the trick.  Once my father realized that we shared a passion for Ballentine beer, I think he decided that we'd be OK after all.


Yes, too much beer and eventually you do have to pee.  Take the picture!  Please!!


Lest you think I was only spoiled under threat of snow, they did trash their back yard so I could have a pool, and since I was an only child, they did keep me entertained.  Not a bad half life at all!


They were probably concerned when my interests turned from baseball cards to the theatre, but one must spread one's wings when one hits kindegarden, and mine was held in a beautiful church.  Oh, I'm the boy child on the right.  It was a low budget production, so the sailor's hat was all that could be provided, but I think we made a moving statement on the insanity or war, the existance of fairies, and the fallicy of god.  The reviews were glorious!


All in all, it was a great half-life, thanks to my parents and a cast of hundreds.  If you didn't know it, my mother was from a family of ten, so I had eighteen aunts and uncles.  It was really great.  I spent time with most of them, often at my grandparents house at 20 Main Street in Darby, PA.  But for each perk, there is a downside.  In my second half-life I got to bury them all.

© 2012 John Allison
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