Letter to Jennifer


October 27, 1998

Dear Jennifer,

Well, as I said, I can express myself better on paper than I can on my feet (or even sitting down sometimes!), so here I am to give you some thoughts I’ve had since you were here last.

Please keep in mind as you read this, that we are two generations apart, and the conditions under which I was raised were much different than they are today for most children.

I have seen many similarities between your behavior at times and things I used to do as a child and young adult.  When I was under 6 years, before my brother was born, my parents were considered fairly affluent.  We lived in a nice big house, I had many nice clothes (some sent from an aunt in Canada), and lots of toys.  I think I was outgoing and happy most of the time, but I also had quite a temper and was told I was stubborn.  I remember a severe spanking because I didn’t (and then wouldn’t) pick up my toys.  I’m sure there were other spankings, but that one remains in my memory.  I don’t remember whether I tried arguing my way out of it, but I do recall that my mother didn’t listen to me very much.  It was “do as you’re told!” with no explanations.

The Great Depression came along and with it, a baby brother.  Things were tough financially, and my family had to give up a lot of the luxuries that they had previously enjoyed.  My father held several part-time jobs just to keep things together, so was’t home as much as he used to be.  He used to take me to the beach (an island in the Detroit River with bathing facilities) to playgrounds, and we had fun together.  That was all gone now.

To make matters worse in my eyes, my baby brother was not well.  He was born with jaundice and an intestinal rupture.  Both of these conditions required special care and less attention to me.  No one bothered to explain any of these things to me.  It was only much later, and mostly by listening to conversations between my parents and other adults that I was able to understand the “why” of things.  I had come to resent my brother and actually felt hate for him.  It’s only since we are both adults that we are now the best of friends and feel love for each other.  I wasn’t allowed to touch him or have anything to do with him.  I think my mother was afraid I might hurt him.  Her motives could well have been honorable, but I didn’t know that then.

At some point, I may have been about 9 (Melinda’s age now), my mother became so angry with me that she locked me in the basement of the house we were living in.  I was afraid of the dark, so I sat at the top of the stairs, as close to the door to the kitchen, as I could get.  The light switch was on the other side of the door.  I don’t know how long had to stay there.  It seems that from that point on, and combined with other things I took as indications, I lost all confidence and affection for my mother.

I went through the motions, but I didn’t feel it any more.

At around that same time, we had neighbors with twin girls a little younger than I.  I was in and out of their home a lot.  At one point, I was in their bathroom and, contrary to all my instructions and instincts,  I opened and looked into the contents of the drawers in the vanity.  I found something that looked like a pair of doll trousers, and I took it.  As far as I know, it was never missed, but I was afraid to use them with my dolls because someone might see them and know what I had done.  I have no idea now what became of it.  This has remained in my memory like the spanking.  I knew I would be punished and I felt guilty for years.  I can honestly say it still haunts me!  I’ve never told this to anyone else.

At this point in time, I don’t know whether the basement punishment was in any way connected with the stolen item, but they occurred while living at the same location.

Other things I have done that remind me of your behavior is to not be completely honest about certain things.  I’d learned my lesson about stealing, but sometimes there would be situations that I didn’t want my parents to know about.  My mother was a very prejudiced person.  She didn’t like black people (“niggers” in those days); she didn’t like Jews (they were all around us in the neighborhood, tho’ the twins’ family wasn’t Jewish), and she didn’t like Catholics.  My father backed her up on these things, and I commend him for standing with her, but on his own, he wasn’t that way.

On Jewish Holidays my forbidden friends would invite me in (I played with their children) to light the stove at a time when their faith said they shouldn’t do any kind of work.  Mom didn’t know I did that.  Later I would do other things, such as associate with more of the “forbidden” children that she didn’t know about.  I wouldn’t tell her they were Jewish or Catholic and since she didn’t know their parents, she didn’t know.  If I had respected her wishes to stay away from “those people,” I wouldn’t have had any friends at all.

Now there was nothing immoral or illegal about these “forbidden” friends.  There were no drugs, alcohol or bad language in any of this.  I learned for myself, through friends in the neighborhood and at school that even though there were other religions and races, the people were basically good and not to be feared or hated.

I turned down a potential boyfriend because he was Jewish and I couldn’t hide it because his name made it obvious.

My first “crush” was on an “acceptable” boy,  son of friends of my parents.  He wasn’t interested in me, however.  I invited him to a church function, and he accepted.  By this time I’d had so many warnings about “getting close” to boys, that I would walk on the other side of the street rather than pass one on the sidewalk!  Silly, but true.  My “date” with Charley wasn’t exactly a disaster, but he never invited me anywhere after that.  Again, no explanation of what “getting close” could mean.

Then we went on a trip to Canada the summer I graduated High School.  I think it may have been a kind of trial separation for my parents, though they never said anything to that effect.  They had been at odds with each other and I knew they argued a lot.  My mother was an unhappy person and my father didn’t know what to do about it.

I met all my Canadian cousins during that summer.  It was great.  I spent some time with the family of an Uncle who had a son my age.  I had a “crush” on him, and he on me.  We took many a late night walk, talking and some great kissing.  That was the first time I ever saw the aurora.  If I can find it, remind me to show you the only oil painting I have ever done--of what I remembered of that first aurora.

Naturally, Mom didn’t find out about any of that.  It was harmless, never went beyond kissing, but I was sure Mom would read more into it than there was.

When we got home, I found a job in downtown Detroit and finally had my own money.  I lived at home, and gave my mother half of my weekly pay, $10.  She had done that when she worked, but it went to help her widowed mother keep a home after her father died.  Mine was a matter of principle, I think, since by this time my father was working for Fords, during WWII and making good money.  They had bought their first home and were doing all right.  Mother herself had a part-time job in a gift shop.  I managed to save some and have a bank account.  I changed jobs several times, working up to better pay at the Public Library closer to home.

While there, I joined several other City employees in taking turns serving a meal at the local Service Men’s Center.  It’s wasn’t part of the USO, but did the same type of thing.  They had Saturday night dances and other activities during the week.  The military who came there were mostly Navy, and we weren’t supposed to leave with any of them.  We could, however, meet them somewhere else, and I had several sailor boyfriends.  I made sure to always bring them home to meet the folks.  If any of them wanted to get too friendly, I dropped them.  My parents seemed to like them all.

Then, along came your grandfather.  He was with the first group of Marines to come back from service overseas.  He had language you could cut with a knife, but he was very nice in other ways.  One night my mother saw him showing me some cards in his wallet.  His father was a member of the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars, and had enrolled him too.  One of those cards had something on it that looked Catholic to my mother and she was down on that boyfriend immediately.  She began telling me how terrible he was and she even wrote him a letter telling him how terrible I was!  Maybe if she hadn’t been so opposed, things might have turned out differently.

Wow!  I hope you’re still with me!  That’s enough history for now.  I tell you all this because I think I can understand teenagers, though the surroundings these days are different.  I know the feelings, emotions, and all that.  I vowed to myself very early on that I would not belittle my children or force them into molds they didn’t fit.  I hope I’ve had some success with that.

Now I have you in my life and I want to be the best grandmother that I can possibly be.  I love you dearly and want the best for you.  When I see you doing things you shouldn’t, being with people who really don’t have your best interest at heart, it hurts me too.  I realize you don’t have a lot of experience in some areas and your judgement sometimes shows that.  In other areas you have a lot more experience than I had at your age.  You show great wisdom and insight sometimes.  I’d like to see that developed more.  You are one very precious creation of God.  I thank Him for you.

You had a mother who loved you and still loves you.  I had a deep void in my life when I thought my mother didn’t love me.  When, in her later years, I tried to make peace with her, she couldn’t remember anything I brought up.  I had counseling and finally was able to free myself of the burden of not liking my mother.  I came to realize that she had done the best she could under what may have been to her, difficult circumstances.  I don’t know what went on in her mind.  I actually feel now that I have had some benefit from the negative experiences.  I’ve tried to do better with my children.  I haven’t been perfect, but my children don’t feel about me as I did about my mother.  I thank God for that!

Your mother may not be physically present now, but her spirit is with us both.  It is love, pure love.  Don’t ever forget that.


Your loving, if wordy, Grandmother,