I haven’t always been a news junkie, but growing up in Washington, DC may predispose one to thinking about politics a lot. Either that, or completely turn away in horror at the subject as soon as one is able. When all my friends in high school were planning to “intern on the Hill,” I wanted to go hiking in Wyoming. But that changed, perhaps after Watergate. I became a news junkie and have never stopped craving to know what’s happening.
I wanted to be a political cartoonist early on. I just thought I didn’t have enough opinions—which I now believe was societally induced gendered thinking. Everyone else knew more than me, I was sure. Back then, we thought that opinions were to be based on knowlege!
Ha, weren’t we silly.
Now, everyone has an opinion and is putting it on social media. I think folks are tired of this endless opinionating. It’s dividing us. We aren’t listening to each other.
Below is another excerpt of the memoir I am working on. These excerpts are free, but starting in September they will be for my community of paying subscribers.
The Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 was the first time I noticed news. My parents were huddled around the tv and they were worried. I, by extension, was worried although I had no idea why. The routine at school of “duck and cover” was just that– a routine we had to do, I had no idea why. There were bomb shelters scattered around. My mother stored canned goods and stuff in a section of our basement, I liked to go down there and look to see what she had put there and imagine living off it. Canned beans is all I could recall was there, a product we never ate in our daily meals. Because I grew up in Washington, DC, we were given dog tags to wear to school. To me, it was just part of my day. But that my parents were worrying around the tv was not normal.
Our street was a wide, tree-line street near the border line that separated DC from the Maryland. It was an idyllic childhood, at least in the beginning. For me, that is. My mother had seven miscarriages; that I am certain was not idealic. My parents adopted my sister and two years later, she carried me almost to term. Born two months ahead of time, I was very much a premie, my sister was very much a terror. Helen’s behavior was just a part of my day, but it is part of why I became a humorist.
My father was funny— a subdued, sort of devilish humor. Teasing was de rigueur in our house. I hated being teased, but as the baby, it was expected that I would be the brunt of jokes. I don’t recall if my mother was funny, but she must have been because she married my father. I do remember she had a silly side. I always felt in my early years that they were in love, and were a fun couple. They were the kind of couple who moved effortlessly together it seemed, threw parties and enjoyed their friends together. And there was always revelry and drink. For a while.
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You’ve really got it going, jumping around in time, DC dog tags (?!), weird food in the basement, 7 miscarriages. Bring it on.
Keep it coming. Always interesting to see where we creatives get our start. For me it was definitely my being around creative people and a method of survival in my teenage years. I just didn't fit in to whatever cookie cutter people were trying to stuff me in.
It caused a lot of friction while I was growing up. My parents, who were divorced, were on opposite sides of the fence. Mom was the practical one and my dad was the creative, free thinker that told me to ignore my mother. LOL!