She had a life before she met me. Once we met, things would never be the same for either of us. We were together for 40 years. Although I’m no longer in her life, she will remain a part of mine until I am no more.
But that’s the way it is with mothers. Once they touch your life, their mark remains like barbeque sauce on a white shirt. You'll never wash it out nor do you really want to rid yourself of a tasty reminder of a good time.
It’s sometimes amusing to me that we, as children, often don’t realize that our parents were normal people until we came along and caused them to lose their collective minds. I know that before children, my wife and I had a rather carefree, interesting and often adventurous life. We were energetic with dreams and ambitions. But after late night feedings, 14,682.5 dirty diapers (.5 was on me. I thought it was dirtier than it was, so I wasted one.), teething, temper tantrums, helping with homework even we didn’t understand, driving lessons, proms, college and Greek life, all the breathing in and out that came before seems kind of fuzzy. Fortunately we deposited all that information slowly over the years into the memory banks of our children through the famous phrase “When I was your age.”
My mother certainly did that. I learned a good bit about her life before me. Born in 1920, she taught me a little about what it was like to live through the Depression. Then there was World War II. She was just starting her 20s when it began. She would meet my father in the midst of the conflict and marry him after the treaties were signed.
It is that life before me, before my brother and before my father that fascinates me. Firstly, because as a child, the concept of time existing before my arrival was novel. It was something I’d never considered as a possibility. I’m sure most children don’t until later. But as you mature, you discover that the world did exist before you came along and that it is in a constant state of change. It is never the same from day to day.
Such discovery spurns curiosity. Curiosity is that typical movie detective that is interrogation-ready with a ton of questions in tow. Some of those questions can be rather amusing. Such was the case with my daughter when she was but a little girl. Having seen photos and movies shot in black-and-white, she asked what the world was like before color. She actually thought that because the photos and movies were in black and white, that there was no color in the world when they were shot. She thought that life was black and white. We were able to explain that there has always been color, but that there hasn’t always been color film. Although I must add the caveat that, while the world had color before she was born, my world was more colorful after she arrived and has been ever since.
The second reason the life “before” interests me is that it sounded like fun. Even living through the Great Depression and World War II, she was able to live a life that had its moments of joy and frivolity.
When she was quite young, her godfather would give her a quarter on a regular basis. Those were big bucks especially after the market crash. He laughingly called it her “cigar money.” That is until she was old enough to actually consider buying cigars.
Somewhere along her timeline, she moved to New Jersey to live with a good friend whom I would come to call Aunt Alma. That was during her high school years. They would spend summers on the Jersey shore working as housekeepers at a set of rental cabins.
Her late teens and early 20’s saw her close circle of friends gel into the Rowdy Rumpots. At least, that’s what they called their little club. Their password — because you can’t have a club without one, right? — was “thunder mug.” According to Mom, a thunder mug was what you used when you didn’t want to trek to the outhouse in the middle of a thunderstorm along the Jersey shore.
I’m not sure how rowdy they were, but she sure loved a good laugh. And I’m not sure they were true rumpots, although she did leave me a nice collection of glass swizzle sticks she collected from some the Rumpot’s favorite haunts.
It seems that one night after having a bit of fun in The City — that being NYC — they decided to make a record. There were booths in those days where, for a small price, you could pop in and record a message to a platter. They were like those photo booths you used to see at carnivals and amusement parks.
They weren’t exactly the Andrews Sisters, the Supremes or the Spice Girls. But the content is a unique slice of life. Better than a photo, the audio truly transports you across time. When you listen, you are with them in their time. Sharing their moment of youthful, carefree bliss during a time when there wasn’t much to be blissful about.
Even with all the “back in my day stories,” the picture of her life before is incomplete. I suppose that is to be expected. They can’t tell us every detail and we’re usually too self-centered as young folk to remember all of it.
After my mother passed, my brother told me that Mom hadn’t had the best family growing up. That apparently is why she went to live with Alma. I never would have known. She was always working to make our lives better. And that she did. Her wit, work ethic and caring manner were all we ever needed.
As for that “Rowdy Rumpots Only Hit,” it’s the best record in my collection.
Just like my mother, a true treasure.
