Me and the family

Where should every good story start?

At the beginning, of course.
So, to begin:
I spent the 1960's and early 70's in a 2 bedroom apartment on Rock Springs Circle, in an apartment complex that has since been demolished to make way for condos.
I shared the space with my parents and younger sister, and we were raised Conservative Jewish.
My father was a High School teacher, my mother a housewife. My father was in his early 40's when I was born, and my mother was in her early 50's - (I didn't find out conclusively that I was adopted until I was 25 - more on that in a minute.)

Their relationship is a whole other series of postings, let me tell you.

I had a nurse for the first few years of my life, her name was Carrie. I don't remember much about her except that she was nice and she was a black woman. I'm thinking that she was there more for my baby sister, and I was part of the bargain, i.e. she took care of the two of us.
After that, my mother shared a maid with her sister for the next 30+ years - different women, however if she worked for my mother, she worked for my aunt also.

We were technically the "poor" relations, since my mother's brothers and sisters were all successful, being doctors or accountants, or married to them while my father was a school teacher.
He also always had a 2nd job going of some sort. I think coming through the Depression did that, though. In addition, he was also only first generation American, as were my mother and her family.

I was the 2nd youngest of all my cousins, my sister being the youngest in the family.
Dad had 2 siblings, a sister and a brother. He was the middle child.
Mom, I'm not real sure of the birth order with - I do know she had 2 sisters and at least 2 brothers, and it wasn't until one of my uncle's heart attacks that I found out that my maternal grandparents had 6 children in the Old Country who died prior to their emigration to America.

Of these various aunts and uncles, I had 11 cousins of various ages, the oldest at my birth was I believe late teens, early 20's, the youngest around 1 or 2 - for various reasons, we were never included in social activities with them except on rare occasion.

(Being the "poor" relations I suppose *did* have a bit to do with it)

Anyway, my sister arrived when I was about 2.5 - we shared a bedroom until 1973, when my mother found a 3 bedroom apartment within walking distance of my father's work and my High School.

Yes, my father taught at the same High School I attended.

I think I'll leave it at that for right now - want to talk about one of the biggest influences in my life?
That's gotta definitely rank right up there. I'd say Top 10, possibly even Top 5.
When I think about the shit I got away with simply because my father was who he was, I still have to shake my head.
That however, was severely compromised for the same reason.
Kids automatically hated me because of who my father was, because he was, among other things, one of the hardest teachers in one of the harder classes at the school.

C'est la vie. No use crying over it, I'm just recording it.
Enough for now, I'm going to see what else this software can do and then head to bed.
Not bad for a first night's writing, I'll see what else I can add later.

Dear Dorothy:

Hate you, hate Oz.

Got the shoes,

find your own damn way home.

Toto