I Am What I Am Now

And that’s because I didn’t want to be what I was. I was from a middle-class family — somewhere in the middle where we weren’t rich and weren’t poor. I lived among the wealthy and comfortable but there were things they had that I never had.

I never had a birthday party. I never received a birthday gift or a Hanukkah present. I really never got any gifts for any occasion. But, on Wednesdays, if it had been raining, I would return home from school to find the most ridiculous assortment of new clothes laid out on one of my twin beds.

That was because on Wednesdays, my mother would drive into Queens to visit a younger sister named Lee. They usually had business to take care of in Manhattan, but, on rainy days, they would go to Alexanders and the May Company department stores instead.

My mother would return with skirts and dresses more suited to a hooker half my weight and twice my age. Not for a curvy early teenager who lived among Quakers and horse people and very ambitious and successful entrepreneurs, who dressed carefully – subtly ostentatious.

Of course, there would be arguments because I wouldn’t be caught dead in those tight skirts with frilly hemlines — or in lacy plunging necklines. Gifts but not gifts.

In time, I took myself and her credit cards to Bonwit Teller or Post & Co., either in Manhasset or Great Neck, Long Island. And I came home with hip stich or A-line skirts and outfits from Villager.

But let’s “descend” back to my early youth. I didn’t have toys. I had three dolls named Meg, Margaret and Peggy, which I named after my Christian girlfriends, who seemed to have everything. I especially remember their Sunday clothes. And those white satin First Communion dresses for the Catholic girls. I was pea green with envy. Plus, they had doll houses and doll clothes and drawing supplies and sewing machines to create more doll clothes on.

What I had was the unique ability to create stories and scenes populated by these three doll friends. I would have them play various parts in each scene. So, I became a writer — sort of.

In kindergarten, I wrote and illustrated a story about an elephant. My parents came to “Back to School Night” where they were shown my work, which had won some honorary place in the classroom. I remember my teacher telling them that I had such good drawing ability and could create stories beyond my years. I knew I had something right then — something which would soon turn into talent.

My Aunt Reggie was a big influence in my life. She was my father’s aunt and just a kind delight. Though she seldom came out to our house because it was so very far from civilization, when she and Uncle Abe did come to visit, she taught me how to stitch by hand and transform old socks and scraps into the most fashionable doll clothes. What a treat!

Eventually, after drawing on napkins and spare paper, I got colored pencil sets and started to outline scenes to color at will. This led to Venus Paradise coloring sets, but I preferred my own designs by then. My original designs kept my younger brother from boredom — without my mother’s involvement. She’d say, “Ronnie, make a sketch he can color,” and off she’d go to I don’t know where. Somewhere, anywhere — at home or out.

I remember our early years in Brooklyn. Very early. On Fridays, my mother lit candles, which rested on the kitchen windowsill under a yellow and green cornice. She’d put a towel over her head and shoo me and my brother away. But I saw and heard her recite the prayer. I missed that ritual when we moved to the boonies and she stopped lighting candles.

In the boonies, North Shore Long Island, with hitching posts, dirt roads and a general store, there was not a kosher shop for miles and miles and no shul (synagogue) either. Not that we attended schul or obeyed any Jewish customs. Turns out my mother hated synagogue services and loved unkosher seafood and shellfish. She chose this isolated home for us.

In the boonies, I was exposed to a Quaker Meeting House, potato farms, Black Angus cow ranches and horses. I met Republicans and churchgoers. I watched the Long Island Expressway plow through a playing field. I went to a one-room-school house with my younger brother and even younger cousin Elise.

And we still never had celebrations — until I graduated from high school. It felt like, finally, I became a legitimate person in my mother’s eyes when she made me my first party. For the first time, I had friends over. And she served booze! As far as she was concerned, we were now adults, and she could relate.

We had a really good time. My friends wondered why I never had them over before. I knew: Our house was far from welcoming, especially to kids. My father died when I was 10; before that, there was tension, arguments, struggles, disenfranchisements. No inclusiveness or family entertainment – for children. My parents, and later my stepfather and my mother, would partake in lots of weekend entertainment. My brother and I made do at home. Alone.

But that graduation party awakened me. I realized I had friends. I had talents and goodness to share. I needn’t be afraid or insecure anymore. And I’d be leaving for college come September.

With that realization, suddenly I was a person of appeal. Two boys fought over me on my patio that afternoon. Imagine that. I had no idea that I was in that league or that these two boys were remotely interested in me.

I only remember a few things about that party — how it was briefly interrupted in order to separate those boys and send them both home. Jon Small (later to become Billy Joel’s best friend and bandmate in the early stages of Joel’s career) liked me! And liked him, but I had to send him on his way anyway. We never did end up dating. But when I watched the Billy Joel documentary, I saw he had not really changed – he was gray and a bit wrinkly like the rest of us, but so very Johnny. Cute.

As for my Jewish identity, I’m still not much of a temple-goer, but I light candles on Friday nights and say the prayer over them before we sit down for Shabbat dinner. I make sure my children feel welcome and are included throughout their lives. I like celebrations –mine and theirs. I love to host or attend parties for others. I don’t really drink, never developed a taste for it. And I’m still slow to recognize a flirt. But I know I have something to share.

It’s where I am now.

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Ronnie is a member of the Hadassah Writers’ Circle, a dynamic and diverse writing group for leaders and members to express their thoughts and feelings about all the things Hadassah does to make the world a better place. It’s where they celebrate their personal Hadassah journeys and share their Jewish values, family traditions and interpretations of Jewish texts. Since 2019, the Hadassah Writers’ Circle has published nearly 650 columns in The Times of Israel Blogs and other Jewish media outlets. Interested? Please contact hwc@hadassah.org.