Saturday, April 18, 2009

My Dad


The first Christmas after the divorce my Dad gave me a pair of ice skates that were much two big. He promised to return them for the right size and bring the skates the following week. I couldn’t risk it. I hid in the closet clutching my skates and refused to come out until he promised not to take them away. I was sure the store would not have the same pair with the powder blue checks and furry strip on top of the boot. I couldn’t bear to lose any more of him.

Go-Go married her BF, Roger, in 1969. They went away one weekend and returned with a diamond on her finger. She was radiant. I was crushed. I vowed to hate Roger for as long as I lived. Living in our apartment in Madison with Go-Go and Roger, I ached for my Dad.

Dad visited us in Madison every Sunday and took us up north to Phillips to visit his Mom every holiday. His dedication to us made me so happy, and so sad. I would imagine him being alone and make myself sick with sadness. I would think about him eating alone, shopping alone, watching television alone and living alone, all things he so recently did with us. I used to get sad before he visited because I would anticipate his leaving at the end of the day. Sundays were always sad days. I loved him desperately and at the end of the visit, he dropped us off and left.

In the beginning there were car loads of kids going off on adventures with him-my siblings, our friends, he never said no - but by the time I was in high school it was frequently just my little brother and I. Those trips were some of the most precious to me because I would have him mostly to myself. We would talk about everything-politics, the educational system, his family, how cars operate, and my favorite, what happened to him in World War II when his plane was shot down over Normandy.

He told me I was smart and I should use my brains. Encouraged me by calling me college material. Go-Go taught me to clean and cook so I could get and keep a man, but my Dad insisted that I get a career, and then worry about marriage and all that. He helped me get my first apartment at sixteen, sent me money when I went to college, and most importantly, wrote me a letter every week, without fail. His letters were never scolding, despite how often I was failing at the things I set out to do. He died when I was twenty six, at a time in my life when I was too screwed up to properly say goodbye.

He'd been dead twelve years when I learned he wasn't actually my Dad. I was visiting Go-Go that summer and she woke me up at three in the morning, inebriated. “Diane, we have to talk.” I was now sober enough and old enough to realize this was likely the thing she had been trying to tell me my whole life. But why now? I was thirty five years old and suddenly I felt so trapped in this hideous childhood dynamic. She went on, “Now I know for sure, I mean, I’ve always known, but I didn’t know absolutely.” “Oh Diane, when I saw you walk off that plane it was so obvious". “You know honey, Roger is your father.”

Her words exploded in my heart, or maybe my stomach, because I jumped out of bed and puked.




Friday, April 17, 2009

Milk and Money



When Go-Go first met Roger in the 50's he was a milk man. He owned his route and was responsible for his truck and cooling systems, ordering and delivering his product, billing and collecting payments from his customers, and giving a percentage to Bowman's Dairy, the owner of the product. He was a veteran of the Korean War, a hard worker and a good money saver.

One day
after delivering a families milk, Roger ran over and killed a two year old child. It was a tragic accident but the pain of it made Roger want to get out of the milk delivery business. Later that year he was approached by his friend Mike Gintilly about buying a truck stop outside of Madison. Wracked with guilt about the dead child, Roger decided to take the risk, despite knowing nothing about running a huge operation like a truck stop. Mike later changed his mind and Roger was left to run the operation by himself.

The Madison Truck Plaza was a fueling station, hotel, restaurant, store, and a big rig repair shop. Roger worked day and night trying to stay on top of all the work that needed to be done to own and operate a truck plaza. He came home for dinner, slept, and returned to work around ten or eleven and worked through the night. His business was a success and Go-Go reaped the rewards.

The first evidence of their new prosperity was a vacation for Go-Go and Roger to Las Vegas. Go-Go had never been on a vacation or on an airplane and there was a lot of build up and drama leading up to that trip. They played cards with friends, went to horse races and bet on horses, but Go-Go had never seen anything like Las Vegas. She was a small town girl who had never been out of the state unitl she met Roger.

They stayed in Vegas extra days and when they finally returned home Go-Go had an extra suitcase filled with fringed leather vests for all of the kids and some for our friends (it was the late sixties). She came home with her eyes wide with excitement and stories of what a wonderful place Las Vegas was. She also returned with a gambling compulsion that would eventually ruin them.

Go-Go went to casinos every chance she got. When I was sixteen she took my brother and I to the Bahamas because there were casinos there. I spent nights waiting for her to be done playing black jack, days trapped in hotels, and weeks worrying about the money she had lost. Go-Go continued to gamble long after she could afford to. When she was too sick to gamble she died.







Saturday, April 11, 2009

My Friend Jackie


When Russell brought Jackie to dinner at our house, Go-Go was surprised she was a girl. She liked to tell the story of how surprised she was because she just assumed “Jackie” was a little boy.

Jackie was no ordinary girl. She was a tomboy. She played
basketball, had a very cool banana seat bike, and wore pants two or three sizes too large. I had never met someone like Jackie, who was fiercely independent, smart, funny, athletic, and a girl. I am certain she is responsible for what has turned out to be a life long attraction to boyish girls.

Jackie was closer to my age than Russell's and I wanted her to be my friend. I didn’t understand her attraction to Russell but mostly, I was unbearably jealous. We were new to the neighborhood and I had no experience making new friends. I began by stealing her bike, well, asking her if I could ride it around the basketball court and then taking off down the street and out of site. I upset her mercilessly. I don’t know why this act of bullying resulted in her befriending me, though I suspect I was relentless.

Jackie had short red hair and freckles and after we became friends, strangers frequently mistook us for sisters. Mom had fun with us. She really liked Jackie and I think she felt sorry for her because Jackie's Mom bought her clothes too large so “she could grow into them”. Go-Go took us shopping and bought identical outfits for us to wear. The first time we dressed alike, I knew Jackie was mine for keeps.

Jackie’s mom was strict. One afternoon I answered the telephone at their house by saying “hello.” Jackie’s mom, Mrs. Consiglio scolded me and then taught me the proper way to greet a caller: “hi, you’ve reached the Consiglio residence, how may I help you?” followed by “one moment please, I’ll call her.” I had never heard anyone talk like that. It was kind of cool. I answered the phone every chance I got so I could practice speaking this strange new language. When I ate dinner at their house I was coached to place my feet squarely on the floor and keep my elbows off the table. Manners were completely foreign to me. I found them strange and alluring. I probably enjoyed the structure but was nervous because I frequently had to be reminded.

Our parents became friends. They had a lot in common, like horse racing and bar hopping between Madison and Chicago where Mr. Consiglio worked. When we were eleven years old Jackie's parents moved to a suburb of Chicago. Luckily, it was close to the race track so my parents visited frequently. Jackie and I spent summers together alternating between her house and mine. We were together when we bought our first bras, smoked our first cigarettes, learned to shop lift (and got caught). We grew up together and I adored her. I think loving her and being loved by her was very important for me.
Here we are as teenagers, many years into our friendship. Go-Go is on the left and we are with Roger.