I don't
remember mom dating much. One day we wound-up with a pot-bellied stove
- an extremely large and heavy, black-iron, antique. It was quite beautiful
and one of our families most treasured and sentimental pieces. The same
one, as I mentioned earlier, that we used as a storage container for our
winter gloves and hats. Mom may have dated the guy who gave us this stove,
Mr. McGuirk, I'm not sure.
I also remember someone by the name of Les
- mom would refer to him jokingly saying, "oh, Les this," and "oh,
Les that, hmmmmmph"!
Then there may have been someone named Red
Ball, as in ..."Red Rubber Ball"... I just don't know. Mom's relationships
with men during those 7 or so years after dad died seemed to be sporadic;
brief; fleeting; (or maybe "fleeing"). We rarely saw the men she dated
as I guess a night of staying home and playing with the seven little "angels"
wasn't really their idea of a good time.
We had a bit of fun, though. I'll never forget
the one guy, (I don't remember his name because he never came back), but
he was some type of foreigner I think. I sort of remember dark skin, and
red clothing and maybe a weird accent. Well anyway, he came over the house
to take mom out. We all sat nice in the living room and tried to not to
laugh as mom introduced all of us, one by one, to him. Well shortly thereafter
he excused himself and went upstairs to use the john. Now I don't know
whether it was from fright or a bad pork-chop, but he stayed in the bathroom
for a reeaaall long time. He wound up stinking-up the place real bad and
put a major clog in the toilet. There may have even been an "overflow"
situation.
But not to worry, having seven little boys,
mom had reached "expert level" in the use of a plunger. (An activity in
which I feel quite competent participating in today.)
Then one day, probably in 1971, a man came
over the house to meet us.
I'm not sure if this was his and mom's first
date or whether they had gone out a few times and decided it was time.
The first thing I remember about him was his braces; yes, little springs
on his teeth. He was tall and handsome, and seemed easy-going and friendly.
He was confident, and did not flinch when he stepped through the front
door. He just stood there, smiling, and saying nice things to the seven,
little, dirty-faced kids staring at him from the livingroom couch.
He did not run. He did not flail about, looking
for possible escape routes. He did not stink-up the bathroom.
Mom introduced us all by name and we'd each
give a little wave and say, "Hi." And he would smile, and nod his head,
and say things like, "Oh, that's a nice name," or "Oh, I have an uncle
with that name." It was really very nice.
His name was Toby.
I think we all hoped for the best. After all,
even though we had this tight little unit--mom and her seven sons--we knew
that mom needed help and deserved someone. By now, the oldest, Joe, was
around 15, and the youngest, Vin, was 7. The house was getting smaller,
and we were not getting any easier to handle. Lets face it, one woman trying
to raise seven little boys is tough enough, but seven boys entering their
teenage years?! Puberty? High School? Forget it!
East Orange was changing rapidly. Many of
the neighborhood families were moving out to Bloomfield, or West Orange,
and many black families were moving in. The Public High School was predominately
black and it would be very expensive to send us all to Immaculate Conception
in Montclair.
So without really knowing or understanding
why, I think we all were ready for someone. And plus, Toby was "A PSYCHIATRIST!"
we'd say. (I often wonder if any of his friends or family joked with him
about having his own head examined when they found out he was getting involved
with a woman and her seven kids). And we figured he made tons of money,
and being a psychiatrist he could handle even the most complicated twists
turns our lives might take.
So as mom and Toby went out, we got more and
more excited. It was a mixed blessing though. See, we had always been told
great stories about our real dad, Gene. How strong he was, and brave (our
uncle Vin would tell us how our dad had killed 17 "gooks" single-handedly
in Korea), and for so long he was like a ghost who was always there, just
beneath the surface...a sort of invisible glue that held us all together.
He had been very handsome and very athletic and had died while still loving
mom. I know for a long time - many, many, years - I expected he may even
come back, having been too young to see that he actually died.
And after what I'm guessing was around a year...?
six months...?
2 years...? I remember mom sitting us down and telling us how she and
Toby were thinking about getting married and how did we feel about it.
I sort of remember someone actually crying out, "What about Daddy!" I mean,
that's how strong our bond with our deceased dad was. But I'm pretty sure
we all came to the conclusion pretty quickly that it was a good thing and
mom deserved to be happy. Plus....we might move to BLOOMFIELD!
So this guy Toby was moving in. "That's cool,"
I figured, "I can deal with it." I can deal with it.? What about HIM!!!!?
It has taken me a long time to really appreciate
what kind of man Toby is. Here's a guy who was single, no kids, making
pretty good dough, and he joins our family - just as we're ready to enter
the toughest, wildest, most difficult and tumultuous times in our lives;
our teenage years. He did so with courage, patience, tolerance and love.
And he sacrificed, sacrificed, sacrificed, sacrificed. He was quiet and
stayed-out of things, until the time was right. Then he'd come crashing-down
like a tidal wave; weighing-in like a heavyweight; a mad referee.
He never hit me. But his voice would go BOOM!
And the years ahead were to be rough; very
rough. But we made it through. Thanks to mom; and thanks to YOU, Toby.
Go to Pete's Homepage
Go to Pete's Acting page
Go to Pete's Fire Safety Music page
Go to Pete's Youtube Channel
Go to Pete's Facebook page
Writings by Pete:
East Orange Life: