Two Half-Lives in Philadelphia: The Moon is a Watchful Eye

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!

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Moon is a Watchful Eye

A shaft of moonlight barely smaller than the row house itself

shone through the dusty blinds into the empty narrow back bedroom

Empty save for one large plastic bag

filled with musty furry faces and an occasional intact eye.

I think I got Andy Panda, my first, a stuffed bear, when I was born.

The crowd quickly grew.

My animal friends.

They slept in bed with me

on me, beside me, circling me

until I was in my pimply teens.

Mother would casually 'put them away' when friends came over-

to "make room"

we both knew I was too big for them.

But I was taught to value family and friends

playmates and advisors

trained listeners.

The moon would shine onto us as I went to sleep.

She'd close the blinds to hide the moon

and I, or Andy, would open them back up

Because the moon is a watchful eye.

Permanent, reliable, constant, so pure

a whiter light does not exist

A friend as well.

(In Sunday school they would tell us about going to heaven

and being able to gaze on the countenance of God.

I only understood a few words of the phrase but thought that

God must be the moon

You never grow tired of looking.)

Sun light would come into the window

But not moon light. We called it the moon.

The moon is coming in the window.

An important distinction.

They both died in their 80's and it took a hot

Philadelphia summer

to empty the house.

I did what I had to do.

Empty is harsh as a verb.

So we were down to this.

One bag of 50-year-old animal friends.

Their faces were familiar.

Was mine?

They hadn't aged well

about as I had

I thought of hiding them all above the ceiling

in the basement

where they'd probably be with the house for another hundred years.

I sat with them in the dark room of the dark house

All the lamps, everything, all gone.

I sat there

alone

envious that they were not.

Tomorrow was junk day. We all knew.

The realtor was impatient.

Each friend - Andy, Teddy, Rex, Lambie, and a dozen others

lined up on the wood floor

of that same bedroom

each in the moon.

I left that Sunday night, not being able to return

for a week

to decide.

For now, they can air-out their fur,

wonder (and wander) about the empty house

Consider that things change and you can't usually go back

To decide amongst themselves

about the realities of living forever

And to talk, as they always had

when the moon was full

Happy and safe

because the moon is a watchful eye.

Two Half-Lives in Philadelphia

Introduction

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Moon is a Watchful Eye

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