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Where were you...42 years ago tonight??


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Believe me, Bahoo, I wasn't spoiled. The television was a Christmas present from my beloved Aunt Reva and Uncle Steve (my Dad's sister and her husband). They were very good to my parents because when she was young and lost her job, my parents, who were very poor, unconditionally took her in and told her she owed them nothing. She was a real light of my life when I was a child because she took care of my sister and me (she was never able to have children and loved us like her own) and spent hours of every day laughing with us, teaching us and doing fun things while both my parents worked at very tough factory jobs.

The "extras" my sister and I had (and my parents as well)were gifts from her and my uncle, whom she later married, because they loved us so much and were more well off than my parents. My parents bought my sister and me extras when they could afford it also. We used to beg Aunt Reva and Uncle Steve not to give gifts, and my parents sometimes got firm about it, but they insisted that doing so was their greatest enjoyment in life. Just before midnight every Christmas, Uncle Steve would appear dressed as Santa, laden with gifts. We would try to buy as many gifts for them as my parents could afford. Uncle Steve would take movies of the whole thing every year. I cherish them now.

After my parents passed away, Herman and I took care of them for many years and tried to offer some kind of repayment for their benevolence, love and devotion.

Underneath it all, because my sister and I understood the whole thing, we remained unspoiled. My parents' hardworking examples taught us to work for what we got in the world, even though they provided as much for us as they could at home.

After becoming older and established (and living through the 80s and 90s!) I'm probably more "spoiled" than I was then, but I hope not.

smile --Darlene

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Kathy's story cracked me up.

Why? Because I am way too young to have the memories of some of you (having been a mere toddler just past 2 at the time), or even to have much of a memory of what I am about to describe, my older sisters also once "played Beatles." One of them told me the story in detail.

They had a couple of neighborhood friends. One was the boss of every game they played. When the Beatles came along, she decided that a cool thing to do would be to hold a "Beatles concert" in the neighborhood. She decided who would play which parts. She, of course, got to be Paul. Their other friend was crazy about John and thus was delighted to play John. That meant talking my sisters into playing George and Ringo. This wasn't easy. (The one thing I can remember about it all to this day is this girl telling one of my sisters "Oh, you have the EYEBROWS to play George." Way to compliment a girl, huh?)

Anyway. My elder sister gets cast as George, the next eldest as Ringo. Their friend traces around her father's guitar on paper to make guitars, and assembles trash cans and a barbecue grill to serve as the drum kit (the sticks were, well, sticks). She then makes up posters and puts them up all over the neighborhood to advertise the concert.

Come the day of the concert, three people show up....our mother, dragging me (as the second) and some poor neighborhood kid who didn't know any better.

The younger of my sisters, as Ringo, was in charge of the musical aspect of the proceeding. A phonograph with a Beatles 45 had been hidden behind the trash cans and it was her job to turn it on, set the needle down and get the music playing while the "band" mimed the song.

But after she saw the sparse audience, and realized how pathetic the whole situation was, she was not too enthused about this, but she did it anyway. But after a while, it all got to be too much. She was just too embarrassed. She was tired of being the tagalong and tired of having to be Ringo. So, she leaned down to the record player and flipped the switch from 45 to 78...immediately transforming a Beatles concert into a performance by Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Well, her fellow bandmembers were not too pleased! Neither was our mom...who, she says, grabbed me in one hand and her in the other and dragged her off screaming. Nope, she didn't like the way my sister had ruined the little "concert"!

So that was that. My sisters and their friends never gave another Beatles concert. And one small boy probably learned the meaning of the word "disappointment" that day.

  • Haha 1
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