It's all about values - I'm a product of the environment I was raised in ...

It’s About Values:  I’m a Product of the Environment I                                          Was Raised In

                                By Michael Smook

During my first three blogs, I wrote about how we can fix our politics and governing in America and create win-win situations to expand the economic pie to provide equity, opportunity and justice to many more Americans. The other two essays are about my thoughts and feelings related to psychology and spirituality. My thinking was initially shaped in the home I was raised in. So therefore, I hope to go further than my previous blogs and talk about my upbringing and the values which I still carry with me. My values reflect my evolving thoughts and feelings throughout my adult life as I am now in my late middle age.

(A.) Introduction:

One of the nice things about getting older is that you know yourself and feel comfortable inside your own skin. Whenever I get up in the morning either for work or it’s my day-off, I try to dress well because I am conscious of how I look not only to please myself and my family, but also to project a positive self to friends, co-workers, acquaintances and everyone else. I’m also aware that people frequently view me through my body language, my facial expressions, the tone of my voice, non-verbal clues and how I convey my thoughts and feelings. I’m not a narcissist and I am far from perfect. It’s just that in my life as an adult, I’ve had an opportunity to reinvent myself which relates to enhancing my self-esteem. In summary, I believe that if you truly like yourself, then everything else in your life flows from that.

Life continually presents various and unexpected challenges. In order to handle situations, I work at staying focused and listening closely to whomever I am interacting with. At all times, I try to maintain the proper balance of confidence and humility. I find that many people do not necessarily think and feel the way I do. So secondly, I frequently tell myself, “If I cannot modify someone else’s behavior and I can adjust my perspective, the world changes underneath my feet.” Therefore, in terms of many of the positives which reflect how I now think and feel, I offer much praise to my grandparents, my parents as well as my siblings and friends. Thus in summary, “I am a product of the environment that I was raised in.”

(B.) It All Starts with My Great Grandparents and My Grandparents:

I’ve never been inclined to dig deep through Ancestry.Com nor any other resources to learn more about my family tree. Perhaps one day that may change? I’m not certain where my mother’s grandparents came from in Europe or when they came to the United States? What I know at is this time is the following:

I loved my mother’s parents very much. My maternal grandmother died prematurely when I was four years old. Whenever she came to visit our home with my grandfather, she always seemed to come with groceries which she bought at a supermarket (of course) including fresh fruit and orange juice. Also, I remember that she was a kind, soft-spoken, cheerful, thoughtful and warm person. My grandfather’s personality reflected that he was sociable, talkative, affectionate, upbeat and was a dapper dresser. With a shock of gray hair, he resembled Charlie Chaplin, the famous silent film actor, when Chaplin was in his 50s and 60s. My grandfather also liked to smoke a cigar and drink whiskey when visiting my parents’ home visiting before dinner on a late Sunday afternoon. He sold gentleman’s hats for a living. It was a profitable business because in those days many men who worked in white collar professions wore a proper hat with a business suit to work every day. I presume that he was successful in his career because once he retired my grandfather lived in a very nice residential apartment with his second wife and traveled widely.

Regarding my father’s side, I know that my great grandparents came to the United States in 1894 from a town called Sighet, Romania, which is along this country’s border to Hungary. I’m thankful that my great grandparents left Sighet when they did. Otherwise, I might not be writing to you today because many Romanian Jews were unable to escape the Nazis responsible for the Holocaust during World War II. My paternal grandparents were either born overseas or within the United States? They grew up speaking both English and Yiddish. Yiddish was a language spoken by many Eastern European Jews.

My grandparents married at a young age. When they became husband and wife, my grandfather was twenty-three years old and my grandmother was seventeen. Within two years of their marriage, their first child, my uncle was born. My father was next three years later. Then five years later, a third son who would also one day become my uncle was born.

The story that was told to me as a small child was that before and during World War I, my grandfather first served a tour of duty in the United States Navy and later in the United States Army. I don’t know how this came about? However, it must have been an interesting story. Upon discharge from military service, my grandfather with no time for college went into business with his brothers and started a company which included a Manhattan parking garage which provided a unique service because a gas pump was located inside this building to provide gasoline for paying customers.

Eventually, my grandfather branched out by leasing a chain of gas stations within the City of New York and in the Long Island suburbs of Nassau and Suffolk Counties. I am uncertain how my grandfather was able to raise the capital necessary to start and maintain his business and/or whether his brothers remained as business partners? Maybe the Smook Brothers pooled their money together? Or maybe they secured a loan from a bank? I do know that my grandfather was able to keep his organization operational during the Great Economic Depression of the 1930s which was a difficult time for small businesses and consumers. Also in the 1940s during World War II when gas was rationed and price controls were in place, my grandfather faced new challenges to his company. At that time, our nation needed to fight fascism and gasoline was a precious resource. Thus at that time, the country was unified with a sense of shared sacrifice.

I do know that eventually my grandfather transitioned from leasing the land he operated his businesses to buying the land and renting them out to other businesses including a supermarket, a 7/11 Convenience Store, a Friendly’s Restaurant and other gasoline and automobile service repair businesses. Thus, my grandfather’s business survived the lean years and his family including my father benefited from this success.

My grandfather was a Mason which has historically been a fraternal order which performs charitable work, presents opportunities for members to make business contacts which can help fellow entrepreneurs. In the past, many Jews in business and other professions have been drawn to Masonic Lodges because this organization has a history of open mindedness consisting of free thinkers. As an often persecuted people, Jews from many professions when not focusing on their work, families or synagogue and Jewish communal organizations have looked to Masonic Lodges as a place to meet and work with people who are supportive and helpful.

For me, the thing about my paternal grandfather that I find very interesting were two famous friends who he developed life-long relationships with. One of these fellows was a brilliant attorney, a private practitioner, who is most famous for suing the federal government and successfully appealing his case before the United State Supreme Court which made a landmark decision in favor this persuasive lawyer, his co-counsels and his clients.  This appeal was known as “Schechter Poultry Vs. the Unites States” and helped invalidate a portion of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s (FDR’s) New Deal domestic economic policy regulations. My father later worked for this man for a year as an Attorney-Intern in 1950-51 while studying for the New York State bar exam which he passed on the first attempt and which was (is) required to practice law in the State of New York. This family friend and his wife attended my bar mitzvah when I was thirteen. What I remember from that day and on other occasions was that my grandfather’s friend would first go to my synagogue’s library and read through parts of a book about Jewish law (Halacha) whenever he visited our house of worship and before he entered the sanctuary.

My grandfather’s other famous friend was physician who served in the military in a high rank in the Far East and had great responsibility in charge of Medical Administration. I am told that as part of his duties he would travel to China to meet from time-to-time with the Nationalist Chinese Political and Military Leader know as Chiang Kai-Shek. After this gentleman’s discharge from the military at the end of World War II, he was appointed as the City of New York’s Commissioner of Hospitals. He later played a prominent role in the founding of the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in the Bronx and remained working for this institution in a high administrative position.   

So what qualities did my grandfather have which made him a success in business and able to maintain such well known, prominent and successful friends? I recall one conversation which gives me a clue in finding a logical answer. When I was eight or nine years old, I remember listening to my grandfather speaking with my dad and my uncles about how impressed he was with the great economic success the country of Japan was going through less than one generation post-World War II. Looking back at that time in 1964, Tokyo, Japan hosted the Olympic Games.  What this discussion leads me to believe is that my grandfather must have watched TV news and listened to the radio with great attention and interest regarding what was going on in politics, economics and business locally, state-wide, nationally and throughout the world.

My grandfather must have also regularly read the newspaper. I know this because there is a story going back to when the family lived in Williamsburg (Brooklyn). My grandfather had a family pet, a dog, named Mischief. Was he a German Shepard? Perhaps? I’m not sure? Anyway, the dog was trained to go into town a few blocks away from home unescorted to a newsstand and brought back the daily paper that was already paid for in advance. Thus rather than having a delivery boy bring the paper, the dog did the work for my grandfather and the family. I think that the story is interesting, unique and charming. In summary, my grandfather must have been very intelligent with a thirst for knowledge and social skills because he was a devoted family man, a good friend, a successful businessman and a stalwart Mason.

(C.) A Sunday Late Afternoon at My Grandparents Home in Nassau Country Long Island:

I would like to share an interesting story with my blog readers. I do recall a memorable Sunday late afternoon dinner at my grandparents’ home in Nassau Country Long Island. At the time of this meal in the early 1960s, I was eight or nine years old and my grandparents had been living in the suburbs since 1939 after having resided in Williamsburg (Brooklyn) for many years. Before I tell this story, please bear with me and let me digress for two paragraphs.

Back in Williamsburg, different generations of the Smook Family all lived on different floors of a Brownstone apartment. I am uncertain whether my grandparents owned this building or were renters? This building no longer exists. Thanks to the master builder, Robert Moses, the Smook residence on Rodney Street was knocked down to make way for the Brooklyn Queens (BQE) Expressway. I presume that the family’s moving out to Long Island was a reflection of my grandfather’s business success.

I’ll say this for the borough of Brooklyn. Its back because it’s now energized through gentrification and a return of major and minor league professional sports franchises. In addition, many talented people from many fields are drawn to Brooklyn for employment opportunities in information technology, financial services, hospitality, manufacturing, construction and health care as well as because of its cultural institutions including the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM), a sports arena (Barclay’s Center), its beaches (Coney Island) and its wonderful parks such as the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens and Prospect Park. So my family, my wife’s family and the Dodgers baseball team, all left Brooklyn to move elsewhere. But, this borough has made a comeback and it continues to thrive and grow.

Now back to the telling of a story involving a late afternoon supper at my grandparents’ home. On that particular day, I was sitting to the left of my grandfather. And like many patriarchs, my grandfather was sitting at the head of a long dining room table. My father was sitting to the right of my grandfather and directly across from me. Also at the table were my grandmother, her dear older sister (my great-aunt), my mother, my aunts, uncles and many cousins. My middle and younger brothers where somewhere in this home, but were not necessarily sitting at the table for this meal.

It was during this meal, I was sipping my Pepsi Cola, chatting with my cousins, enjoying myself and not eating very much of the food on my plate which my grandmother had cooked. It was at this point in time that my grandfather raised his voice and said unequivocally to me, “No more table-talk, enough soda and eat the food on your plate.”

I was aware of was that my grandfather’s comments were the final word. I did not try to question him and I remained quiet. I merely looked up sheepishly in the direction of my father.  My dad did not offer a word, a nod of his head nor even a shrug of his shoulders to show his support or encouragement. Perhaps, I was a little bit surprised by what transpired. One thing that I already knew and relearned that day was the value and necessity of always respecting your elders.  

When we returned home either that evening or shortly thereafter, I asked my father to explain to me, “What happened at the dinner table?”  So for starters, my father responded in a surprisingly emotional tone by explaining to me, “So, you think that I am difficult?! You think that it’s hard living in our home?!” My father continued his explanation by telling me, “Imagine how it was growing up as a child living in my parents’ home where my father’s rules and words always prevailed?” “I love(d) my father very much. However, when I was an adolescent, if I wanted comforting words or a hug, I would go to my mother or my aunt for consolation. Without their warmth and affection, it would have been a great challenge growing up in my parent’s home.” This discussion gives me a much better understanding of how my father grew up to be the man that he became as an adult and a parent.

(D.) More About Holidays and Sundays with My Family:

In summary, I grew up in a tight-knit family especially on my father’s side. Nearly every Sunday, we would drive to my grandparents after Sunday (Religious) School. Our religious education was in a temple or a synagogue and not in a church because we were (are) Jewish. In Sunday School, we learned to read, write and speak Hebrew as well as studied Jewish history, Torah (The Old Testament) and Jewish culture including celebrating the holidays through communal prayer, singing, dancing and meals.

After Religious School, Sunday brunch at my grandparent’s home reflected their Eastern European Jewish roots. Brunch would include orange juice, bagels or bialys with white fish or nova lox as well as cream cheese, scrambled eggs and coffee or tea. In addition to my grandparents, my great aunt, my parents, my siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins were almost always there. From the time of my birth in 1955 to the early 1970s, Sunday afternoon visits to spend time at my grandparents’ home was an ongoing family ritual.

After both of my grandparents passed away and throughout the 1970s, 80s and 90s, I would see my aunts, uncles &/or cousins for dinner on the major Jewish holidays and for Thanksgiving. On occasions when my parents would go away with friends for a long weekend or a vacation, my siblings and I would stay together or separately with our aunts, uncles and cousins. It seems in retrospect that my uncles would have a friendly competition as to who could make the best scrambled eggs. I recall that both of my dad’s brothers would refer to the finished breakfast-product as eggs supreme.

When staying overnight with the family of my dad’s oldest brother, I sometimes had to work for my room and board. From time to time, there was yard work to be done and I was expected to help out. On more than one occasion, I seem to remember raking leaves and feeling tired when this task was completed. I never complained. I considered it a family obligation to help out.

In addition, my uncle was a war hero during WWII. However, like many veterans, he never spoke about his combat experiences to me and I never asked about his experience during the war. But, we both followed the news and had good conversations talking about American foreign policy as well as defense and intelligence issues as written by Drew Middleton of the New York Times. For me, our discussions were interesting, stimulating and rewarding.

(E.) About My Father, My Mother and My Siblings:

These days, most of the music I listen to when driving our Equinox SUV is “Siriously Sinatra” on XM radio where many of the songs are sung by Frank Sinatra. Also singing the same genre of music on this station are also Sinatra’s contemporaries, new disciples &/or pop stars who are reaching out to expand their repertoire by singing the great American song book. One day while I was listening to this program and the disc jockey (DJ) who is his famous daughter, Nancy Sinatra, she was giving listeners a better idea what an “old school” type of guy Frank was and what it was like growing-up in his home. In Frank’s personal and professional life, he viewed the concept of “time” differently than many other people. Therefore, in Frank’s way of thinking regarding any type of meeting, you were either exactly on time or you were late.

After I heard Nancy’s comments, some familiar feelings resonated inside me in an important way. I asked myself what does my father have in common with a show business celebrity? Sinatra was born in 1915 while my father was born in 1922. They both experienced living through the Great Depression in the 1930s, World War II in the 1940s and McCarthyism in the 1950s. They differed in many ways. Sinatra was an entertainment superstar while my dad never became famous but was a success in his career and reached a level of affluence in his life. In summary, Frank Sinatra and my father had one important value in common which was that time was a precious commodity. Therefore, always arriving not too early and not too late, just right on time was an important value which is something I readily did for many years without even thinking about it.

Secondly, my mother and father had a good marriage. They were married just short of fifty-seven years at the time of my father’s death nine years ago. From time to time, they argued. But they always (shortly) made up. My siblings and I had close relationships living under our parent’s roof. We argued and fought, verbally but never physically. We always resolved our differences. We knew that our parents were a unified team and they would speak privately before telling us their joint decision on an important matter. They did not favor one child over the other. And, we were smart enough to know that we could not play one parent off against the other to leverage some kind of advantage. So in that respect, we knew that in our parents we had met our match and we respected their authority.

We rarely talked specifically about G-d. But, we still believed in the existence of G-d and G-d’s 4,000-year relationship with the Jews which includes our Reform Jewish family. So adding it up, I can state that my parents loved each other, believed in our religious faith and our creator. In addition, my dad preferred paying for food and other needs in-cash. Credit cards when in use were paid in full on a monthly basis so not one penny of interest was ever assessed against my parent’s credit.

It remains a mystery how my mother was able to remain at home as a full-time mother and homemaker and my father was able to earn enough of a salary as the sole bread-winner in order to maintain and expand our home, save for a private college education for four children and put away a retirement nest egg? The economics of today must be much different today than it was in the 1950s, 60s and 70s? I have no idea how my parents were able to make ends meet? But in retrospect, I am thankful they did.

(F.) My Father Believed in Justice:

One important value my father stood for was justice. In 1945 after three years of service in the military in the United States Coast Guard during World War II, my dad was a twenty-three-year-old Petty Officer aboard a ship known as a Destroyer Escort in the frigid Aleutian Islands of Alaskan in the north Pacific Ocean. Just before this ship was to depart for China on its next mission, my father witnessed an incident involving a homicide onboard ship. What my father observed was a fight between a Native-American shipmate and another shipmate who was African-American. The fight took place in the sailor’s quarters. During the fight, the Black sailor was losing badly. It was at point during this altercation, a knife fight broke out and the Native-American sailor was killed. My father’s Black shipmate was unjustly given a prison sentence and my father who may have been the sole witness was not given an opportunity to testify on behalf of the surviving sailor to mitigate or exonerate his shipmate. The African-American sailor was given a dishonorable discharge and a prison sentence.

Fifty-two years later, belatedly my father was able to testify in a deposition before Hofstra University law professors and their students about this ship board homicide. My dad’s account of what transpired during this incident was presented to the Governor of Alaska as exculpatory evidence. The Governor was persuaded to award a pardon to this shipmate. I am uncertain if subsequently at the federal level, either the United States Department of Defense, the Veterans Administration &/or Homeland Security removed or reversed this sailor’s conviction, paid back forfeited veteran pension benefits and/or compensated this sailor for a miscarriage of justice? What I do know is that my father did a righteous thing to help override a terrible wrong and help ensure that a measure of justice was granted to a deserving fellow sailor and veteran.

(G.) My Father’s Painting & Gardening and My Observations:

One of my father’s hobbies was art. He liked to paint in oils. I remember as a small child he painted a portrait of a clown and mounted it in a picture frame in my bedroom. With my child-like imagination when I went to bed at night with the lights turned off in my room, I could swear that the picture moved in the dark. It did not speak to me. I never decided to try to speak to the painting. I don’t recall ever talking to my parents about this observation nor to my siblings. I was unafraid by what may have been going on in my mind or in my room which is a good thing. I suppose at that time that I viewed the oil painting as possessing the spirit of a friendly clown.

Performing landscaping chores was a task I performed year after year from the spring through the fall and eagerly accepted these tasks as an ongoing responsibility. I don’t recall if I ever asked to be paid for this task or did it gratis (free) as a family obligation?  I just remember that these tasks as something I did and I took ownership of these responsibilities. While I often cut the lawn and edged the curb along the sidewalk, my father tended to the gardening where he grew tomatoes, lettuce, carrots and cucumbers. Dad also took special care of the trees, scrubs and flower beds. My father used fertilizer, peat moss, mulch and water (of course) to enrich the soil and help all plants grow in a more robust manner.

(H.) Some of The Things We Did as A Family:

Prior to joining the United States Coast Guard when my father was a teenager growing up in Williamsburg, he joined the Sea Scouts which is similar to the Boy Scouts organization. During that time, dad became friends with five fellows close to his age who also became Sea Scouts from the neighborhood. They would all later became life-long best friends. Dad’s experience in the Sea Scouts and the Coast Guard were an influence throughout his marriage and as a parent in terms of his love of the ocean, swimming, fishing and boating. We often took trips by car to Jones Beach and Robert Moses State Parks. We all enjoyed swimming in the Atlantic Ocean as well as in our home-town’s Olympic sized community pool.

In the mid-sixties, my father bought a boat. It was a twenty-one-foot cabin cruiser named “The Whiplash”. The name was chosen because of a traffic accident my father was once involved-in where he injured his back and received compensation from an insurance company. Some of the money from this accident was used to help pay for the boat. Naming the boat as he did reflect his wry sense of humor. During the winter, he kept the boat out of water but within the boatyard’s indoor housing to protect the boat from damage to avoid inclement weather. In the spring, dad repainted the boat. During the winter months in preparation for the coming spring, my father would take refresher courses of boatmanship in terms of learning how to read oceanographic charts and the mechanics of power boating.  During the summers over a three-year timeframe, we would motor out to Zach’s Bay on the weekends which was on the bay side next to Jones Beach. This state park faced the ocean side. On some occasions, we would meet up with two my father’s former Sea Scout buddies and their families. Often, we would fish, swim off the boat, enjoy lunch and/or sun bathe.

Other times, we would stay on land but end up close to the water. We would fish off the dock of a cousin who owned a home along an inlet of the Great South Bay which is on the south shore of Nassau County not far from where we lived. The fish would be biting onto our bait during high tide. Frequently when the fish were running, we would catch a fish with an unusual name known as a “blow-fish”. Why they were called blow-fish is obvious. When you reeled them in, they would frequently inflate themselves when out of water. My father would cook them sometimes to make a fish chowder. My recollection is that when these fish were fried, they tasted like chicken. No joke.

Living on Long Island, we were always close by to the water. My father took advantage of this. Sunday was his turn to relieve my mother of a responsibility by making a family dinner. I remember many times, driving to the docks on the south shore of Nassau County where the boats would come in from a day’s catch. Prior to buying the fish, the fishermen would gut the fish which made it easier for customers to quickly cook the fish when they arrived home. For the seagulls overlooking this activity, the fish guts thrown into the water were a free lunch and they were eager to eat what remained. Once our purchase was complete and we returned home, my father would fry, broil or bake a variety of fish depending on what fish were running that day.

(I.) My Family at Work and My Observations as a Young Man:

My father had an unusual working environment. He shared an office where he practiced law. During the 1950s and 60s, my grandfather also worked in the same office running his commercial real estate operation. In addition to being a land lord, my grandfather still actively ran gas stations which also provided servicing and repairs to cars, buses and trucks. When my grandfather was short-staffed, my father filled-in working second-shift pumping gas in the late afternoon and early evening. As a small child, I thought that it was not unusual that an attorney would practice law during the day and then later from time-to-time, pump gas for a living at night.

At the same time my father and grandfather worked in the same office, my dad’s brothers (my uncles) also operated an insurance brokerage practice. After my grandfather passed away, the three brothers continued to work together in the same office in the 1970s and 80s. My father took-on the role of de-facto General Counsel and worked with his brothers as co-equals in managing the real estate interests originally operated by my deceased grandfather.

The brothers had an ongoing work-day routine. Every mid-morning, they would go out together for a mid-morning coffee break. For lunch, they would also go out as-a-group for a sandwich together to a diner called “Irving’s”. With a Yiddish accent and a little humor mixed-in, this diner became known throughout our family as “Oy-ving’s”. Waiting on my father and his brothers was this business’s owner and manager, Irving, who would also fill-in as a server. It’s my observation that the conversation between the three brothers and Irving was an ongoing inside joke. Even though I did not completely understand the back-and-forth conversation, it was enjoyable and funny listening to the dialogue and watching facial expressions and the brothers’ hand signals while trying to guess what was really going on especially when they placed orders directly with Irving for lunch.

 From time to time just to add a little variety, the brothers would travel a further distance to go out for a chili lunch to a restaurant called “The Texas Ranger.”  I did go when I had the opportunity because like my brothers, I had an open invitation to dine with my father and his brothers.

(J.) More About My Mother, My Siblings and My Childhood Neighborhood:

My mother graduated from NYU with an undergraduate degree in education. Mom never taught. Instead, she started immediately working as an executive secretary for the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) and shortly became a full-time wife, mother and homemaker. With my father, she helped provide a stable home environment.

Whenever my siblings or I had any kind of event, my mother would take us to an activity and do her utmost to stay with us unless if she was busy juggling other parenting tasks. As children, the kinds of activities she would attend included brownies, cub or girl scout meetings and serving as a den-mother as well as taking us to athletic events including little league, (baseball or basketball) games, birthday parties, hair-cuts, clothes or shoes shopping, doctor’s or dentist’s appointments, graduations, assemblies and parent-teacher conferences. Mom had (has) a beautiful voice and also sang as member and volunteer in the temple choir.

I can remember being trusted at the age of six or seven in 1961-62 to cross streets and walk home in the warmer weather from my first grade class immediately after school. My class was no further than four to five blocks or a quarter mile away from home. I remember this privilege distinctly because one day one of my sneakers accidently fell out of my book bag while walking home from school. My mother was not angry at me and patiently walked back to my first grade elementary school with me step-by-step. Unfortunately, we failed to find my missing sneaker. But, I did learn important lessons from this incident such as to be more careful while holding onto my possessions and to try to I remain calm when bad things happen unexpectedly.

 By the time I was in fifth grade, I often met with buddies at our local elementary school on Saturdays which was perhaps a half mile from home. We had no digital games to play in those days because they had not yet been invented.  Instead, we would play half-court basketball, touch football and sometimes soccer. It seemed that in those days we would play games from sun-up to nearly sun-down. In the town I grew up in, my parents possessed a level of comfort in our safety. So, rarely was it necessary for them to drive by the playground to check-up on my siblings and me at the elementary school. In those days, they knew we were safe.

When we were home to keep us occupied, my siblings and I would play the Monopoly board game. In particular, I also liked to play an American Civil War game with friends or by myself with little plastic soldiers representing both the blue and gray sides. Nearby by my imaginary battle field, I would build a house with “Lincoln Logs” in honor of our late President, Abraham Lincoln, who occupied the White House and led our nation during this consequential war.

With my older sister and her friends, I remember playing a board game called “The Barbie Game” which was based upon the doll and her activities. In this game, the winner got to go to the big dance known as the “Prom” and take a date to this event. I was a “boys-boy” and saw no harm in playing with girls in a game played mostly by girls. I had fun and enjoyed winning this game. Entertainment also included going to the movies. For feature films at a movie theatre, we would all see, The Beatles, in full length movies, “Help” and “Hard Day’s Night”, which were very popular in the mid-1960s.

 My brothers enjoyed watching with me short films on television (TV) of the comedy teams known as “The Three Stooges” and “Laurel and Hardy” and full-length movies featuring Abbott and Costello”. We would also watch reruns of a TV situation comedy (a sit-com) called, “Leave It to Beaver”. This comedy was about a typical American Family with a stay at home mom parenting two energetic children and a father who worked close-by in a white collar job. In addition, the father arrived home weekdays for dinner, smoked a pipe, read his evening newspaper and helped solve whatever minor issues needed to be resolved between his children in a thirty-minute weekly episode especially involving the youngest child nick-named “The Beaver”.  Along with my siblings, I identified with this TV show because it reflected the type of family and life style we lived in our suburban home and community. It was a show about an average everyday people who did normal things which we could relate to.

In the 1960s and 1970s well before the digital-age, a friend came to our home “to play” with us or we came to his or her house especially when the weather got colder. There always were other kids in the neighborhood for my siblings and me to have fun games with. When not in a school-yard, we would sometimes play in one kids family’s backyard. On the quieter streets, we would sometimes play whiffle ball which is a game a lot like baseball. Our choice of location seemed in those days to be a safe place to play this game. We were aware of our surroundings. But, it seemed that we were never worried about oncoming cars. Especially when I was in fifth and sixth grade, playing this game seemed like an idyllic fun and stress-free-time to be an adolescent.

(K.) You Can’t Go Home Again or Maybe You Can?

When this chapter was written, the time entire 8,100-plus word blog was already completed. It’s now much longer and hopefully more interesting? I decided to add to this essay because I was thinking nostalgically about my past and the ways of how a road-trip experience fell short of expectations and how in other ways I can still relive the past in my imagination.

Before I sat down to write this chapter, I said to myself, “You can’t go home again.” Then, I asked myself as I thought out-loud, “I’m not the first person to speak this phrase. Who did?” Knowing that I am never a google-away from eternal wisdom, I looked it up. This phrase was made popular in the title of a novel, “You Can’t Go Home Again”, written by Thomas Wolfe whose book was published posthumously in 1940. This phrase serves as a metaphor to mean that the most vivid and important memories of past events in your life are almost always better than your best attempts to relive them. Now that I have your attention, let me share the following story with you:

I lived in Queens Country for the past thirty years which is an outer borough of New York City (NYC). For the first twenty-six years of my life, my education, work experiences, family and social activities centered around my life in the suburbs of Nassau County. At the time of my adventure, it was a rainy overcast fall day on a Sunday. If you are a sports fan, it was professional football season. I was off for the day from my employer (of course).  I did not have any tasks to perform and my wife, an educator, was going on stay home to work on lesson plans. We had no other plans and I was given the okay to go on a road-trip, solo, down memory lane.

My first stop was to my childhood-hometown on the south shore of Nassau County. For some reason never explained to me, most people seem to feel that Nassau Country is the start of Long Island. Brooklyn and Queens are attached to Nassau. Suffolk County is also attached to Nassau. But Brooklyn and Queens are generally considered by many people to be part of New York City (NYC) and not Long Island while Nassau and Suffolk are jointly referred to as exclusively Long Island. If you simply were to look at a map where all four counties are connected, you would most likely come to a different conclusion than the suburbanites. Go figure?

 It has been thirty-five years since I left home to move to NYC (Manhattan). I was twenty-six at the time. On the day of my journey, it took me about an hour to drive from my home in Queens to the town I grew up-in in Nassau County. Once I reached my destination, the first thing I noticed was that the trees had grown quite a bit. Although I had returned back to what was once my parents’ home from time-to-time over many years, this was the first time that I really noticed the change.

The second thing I noticed about my boyhood home was that it now had a six-foot-high white fence around the backyard. From my parked car across the street, I could tell that the fence was not made of wood, but instead of some kind of synthetic fiber. So, it would not be easy to see the backyard and the lawn which I had mowed or raked many hundreds of times. After a bit of thought, I finally decided that it was not worth trying to find a way to view my old backyard.  My only thought of caution was that the new owners might not appreciate uninvited guests or trespassers walking on their property however briefly.

The third thing I noticed was that perhaps one in ten homes had added a second story since I moved away. Also, I noticed that in the driveways of many homes were two brand new shiny sport utility vehicles (SUVs) or mini-vans. This observation upon further reflection shouldn’t have been a big surprise. In my adolescence and teenage years, there were no such things as SUV’s and mini-vans were not widely used. Instead when I was growing up, people drove around in station wagons with an ersatz wooden panel which was called a woody. Among my siblings and I, we referred to this style of station wagon as a woodchuck.

I am aware of the high cost of property taxes and the expenses of living in general in the suburbs. When I later asked several people, “How can people afford to live there?”, I was told that many people sublet a portion of their home by renting out the second floor or the basement. In addition, I was told that many of the two stylish cars on each driveway may have been pre-owned or leased cars and were not complete (full) purchases, thus saving home owners in having to pay up-front money. In reflecting about the economics of living in the suburbs, all I can say is, “G-d bless the homeowners of Long Island who can meet this challenge and win.”

In addition, next on my agenda for this rainy Sunday, I drove past my former house of worship where I was Bar Mitzvah when I was thirteen as per Jewish custom. The name of this temple had changed because of its merger with another synagogue from another close-by town. Thus, the demographics and economics of the changing times required an adjustment by some members in the location of religious observation in this south Nassau County suburban community.

The last thing I noticed before leaving my home town was that the basketball court at my elementary school where I had spent so much time in fifth and sixth grades after school or on Saturday afternoons no longer had baskets. So, playing outdoor basketball at this school in nice weather was no longer an option. It was now a parking lot. The only thing which came to my mind during this visit was my thinking of the words of pop singer Join Mitchell who once sang, “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”

Was this lyric relevant? To me this change meant something very important in a symbolic way. During the good-old days while in elementary school especially from 1965 to 1967, this new parking lot was my Saturday afternoon paradise by hanging out with great friends and playing many hours of basketball and on the lawn next to the basketball court for a nearby touch-football game. Now this playground was only a memory to me.

Next stop on my nostalgia tour was a twenty-minute drive northward to the office where, my family including my paternal grandfather, father and uncles all worked at some point in time during a forty or more years’ timeframe from the 1950’s to the 1990’s to earn a living. When I first arrived, I looked across the street for any sign of the shopping mall where Irving’s diner was once located. As stated earlier in this blog, “Oy-ving’s” was the diner the male working side of my father’s family gathered during most week days for coffee breaks and lunch near the office.  What I first saw was a huge parking lot. At the extreme end was a mega-super market. It was my observation that even a world class archeologist would be challenged to unearth any signs of a previous commercial restaurant establishment in the mid to late 1900’s.

I then approached the entrance of dad’s former office, the first thing that I noticed was that this establishment was now a sports bar and had a sign facing outward towards the street which stated that there was a limited seating capacity in accordance with Nassau County law. It must have been ten o’clock on a Sunday morning. The first football fans had not yet arrived for the pre-game pro football shows hosted by former players, sports writers and on-air broadcast personalities. When I looked through the window, this bar looked dingy. In fairness to the owners, my best guess is that if I had stuck around an hour or two to buy a beer, watch a game and possibly run-into a memory of my past, the place would have seemed much livelier with the lights turned on, the flat screen TVs lit-up and at full volume at the first game time kickoff. Or perhaps initially, the TV would be toned own until the start of the game with Compact Disks (CDs), Spotify, Pandora or XM radio music piped in playing Rap, Hip Hop, R & B, Country, Pop or Rock’n Roll music?

Thus, the reality of my observation revealed what I should have known already before I started my journey. My grandfather, father and uncles had long passed on. The only thing this place now had in common with my memories was that it existed on the same location and address. But that’s okay, I can live with the change. Shortly, I will tell you why.

I next headed northward to my former college on the north shore of Nassau County. I was a government major at college studying political science and public administration at the undergraduate and graduate levels between 1974 and 1980. During my visit, I tried to visit Humanities Hall where political science and other social science undergraduate majors met with their professors and academic advisors. It was the weekend and the building was closed (of course). As I walked away, I reconciled myself to the fact that my favorite professor who I had a twenty-five-year relationship with post-graduation had passed away a decade ago. Looking back, I remember that I would regularly visit my professor once a year. Frequently, he would give me books to read, take me out to lunch and most importantly lend me his ear and give me sage advice which I still carry with me in my memories. So, it was not a great loss that I could not walk around this locked building on a quiet Sunday.

In my next visit while still on-campus, I succeeded in entering the building next-door where my graduate professors and advisors met in a building named Hoxie Hall. Still working in this building was one of my former professors. When I passed by his locked and unoccupied office, I could see his name and title on a sign posted on his office door. When I had attended graduate school, he was Dean of the College of Management and had now changed administrative positions taking on slightly less responsibility. My former professor was now Chair of the Public and Health Care Administration Department. While still performing teaching and administrative tasks at my old school, my teacher was (is) an entrepreneur of sorts. He has also maintained a municipal government lobbying firm in Manhattan and sometimes travels to Washington, DC, where he has worked on Senate Investigative Committees which helps him make connections with elected officials.

My last visit was to the Student Union which includes a room formerly known as the Ratskeller which is a German word for pub. Back in-the-day when I was an undergrad, the drinking age was eighteen years of age or older. Now, the age to buy and drink alcohol has been increased to residents who are at minimum twenty-one years old. When I visited the campus, there it was no longer a pub in business because most underclass students would be ineligible to legally buy a drink. It was now a lecture hall. My initial thought was that it was unfortunate that society had evolved over two generations to a point where an undergraduate student couldn’t buy a beer on campus.

When I lived on campus, my most vivid Ratskeller memories relate to a time when I was a senior at school and while working for this institution’s admissions office, I would often drop by this pub after giving a campus tour and after the orientation treated a prospective student to a drink in order to talk about campus life. I don’t recall whether I bought my guest a cola or a beer? I do remember that we would have just one drink and generally had good conversations. Now, I suppose with the change in the laws that underclassmen need to reach out to juniors, seniors and graduate students as beer procurement agents?

In some ways, you can’t go home again because if you do, you would find that the place as it existed in your memory has changed. If you happen to meet with some of the same people you knew back-in-the-day, you might find that sometimes their mind-set in the present was different than when, back-in-the-day, those good nostalgia memories took place.

In other ways, you can go home again. All you need to do in a very simple way is to sit or lay down in a comfortable place in your home and perhaps turn on some soft music and start thinking about a memorable day which was important in your life. In your imagination, your memories of the people, places, events, conversations, laughter and good feelings still resonate inside you. In addition, reliving days when you were challenged or fell short, it’s possible to turn a negative into a positive by assessing the important life lessons learned.

In addition, it’s possible to “go home again” when meeting with family, friends, co-workers, former classmates and others at dinners, parties, reunions, graduations, chance encounters and luncheons. During these meetings, the conversation will be about the past, present and the future. For example, many of us have children who are still in college. Also, some of our older youngsters may have recently graduated, a few of our kids are now adults who are getting married &/or now have children of their own. The latter situation would make some of us new grandparents. To borrow a phrase from the Disney musical, “the circle of life” continues.

Also, some of us are thinking of retiring at some time in the future. When in the course of a conversation with the proliferation of smart phones, many people can bring their visual memories with them to reunions in the form of hardcopy pictures or digital photos including selfies, group or family events and videos. What’s interesting is that different people will have a different memory of the same event. Today, we are able to keep in touch with each other more readily and quickly through electronic devices including personal computers, lap tops, work stations, I-pads, tablets, I-watches and most prominently smart phones through emails, texts, social media (Linked-In and Facebook), phone calls, skype/or and face-time.

In summary, it’s all connected because you can at times go home again by reliving your memories and through keeping in touch with people from your past. In addition, the values which you hold near and dear can help give your life structure to remember what memories resonate most brightly inside you and help define you. Embracing these occasions helps enhance happiness and puts a little spring in your step as you live your life one day at a time.

(L.) Moving Forward to Adulthood in the World of Work While Using Talk Therapy to Look Back at My Childhood and My Parents Especially My Father:

I went through a period of time in my late middle age, my late 50s, where an influential co-worker who I previously considered an ally, turned against me. It felt like the kind of problem or incidents which I faced in “high school” or earlier in my childhood. But, it was real challenge and caused a great deal of anxiety inside me. There was a meanness and anger inside of my new adversary’s voice. This co-worker was reporting to the same person as I did, a senior manager, who was approving and signing my weekly electronic time-card and writing my annual work performance reviews. My new adversary continually threatened to report me to my immediate supervisor and tell of my incompetence. I felt that these accusations were both groundless and yet still very disturbing.

At some point, I decided that I needed a change of perspective and a new strategy was required in order to manage this troublesome situation which is why I went back into therapy after a three-to four-month hiatus. Therefore, I decided to resume talking to my psychotherapist on a weekly basis. I told my therapist that I felt that my co-worker was trying to undermine my self-confidence or as we would say when I was an adolescent, this person wanted to hurt “my feelings”.

In particular, I felt that the tone of these meetings was particularly striking. As I recall when I returned to work after extended medical leave in both March and September of 2014, I found my co-worker’s attacks to be unwarranted, without merit and vindictive. After one acrimonious meeting on my first day back, I impulsively decided that I had had enough of the verbal abuse.

While my co-worker was in mid-sentence and attempting to release another verbal barrage, I simply got up and left the room without excusing myself. I said nothing and offered no non-verbal clues as to what was going on in my mind. It was a rather unique meeting because I did something which I had never acted out before nor experienced in all my many years employed in the world-of-work. Therefore, I decided to no longer be subject to this abuse.  My worker had gravitas (weight or influence) in the organization I belonged to. However, because of her behavior, I felt that on this particular day she did not deserve my respect.  Also I decided that arguing with her would escalate the verbal exchange in her office. Thus by withdrawing at least temporarily, it helped me defuse the situation.

From my discussion of the verbal beatings I was receiving from a co-worker in a private office and in an enclosed space at work, my therapist and I would talk about my relationship with my father where at times as a child I engaged in what might be considered to be misbehavior. I remember a great many things from my happy childhood. But, I can never remember doing anything warranting a spanking. The only thing I ever can remember doing what might be considered bad was accidently shaking a can of carbonated grape soda which erupted out of the can and sprayed onto the kitchen ceiling. I suppose that a little 409, Fantastic, bleach or water-based paint removed the stain? On this occasion, I don’t recall being spanked for this accident. I was just embarrassed and unhappy that I could not clean up the mess-up before having to tell my parents.

When I was spanked as a child, it was in a bathroom just off the master bedroom where my parents slept. My father would spank me on my bare bottom with either his hand, a wire brush or a belt. It’s my recollection that my mother knew that this punishment was being carried out while she was not present. I do not recall how many times on average my father would hit me nor how often I was punished? I recall that this punishment occurred between the ages of five and ten years old. I suppose that at the time I was going through spankings, I presumed that all kids in my neighborhood had to deal with this type of situation and were engaged in a “rite of passage”.  However, I do recall that it was painful act and I probably thought at the time that it was unfair.

The purpose of this section in not to disparage my father. It’s just that through therapy, my counselor helped me connect the dots between my receiving physical punishment as a child and what transpired with the painful verbal abuse I received as a late middle age adult at work.  Once I understood the genesis of where my fears came from, it was helpful to me to better understand my co-worker who had (has) what I believe to be unresolved anger feelings related to her relationship with her father. I believe that her father never favored my co-worker because of her lifestyle, sexual orientation, and because she was (is) a female and her father favored her brother. I know about her past because of the stories she told me when we were on much better terms.

This understanding help liberate me. I stopped blaming myself, felt calmer at work and handled more withering attacks from my co-worker with a sense of grace. At one point shortly before my co-worker stopped working in the same location we both were employed and at the conclusion of a difficult conversation, my co-worker said to me, “The smile on your face is really pissing me off.” All that I could say when I departed from the elevator was, “Have a nice day.” And, she saw that an even bigger smile had unexpectedly emerged from my face.

So a challenging work related stressful situation was resolved. I knew that once I had this new information through talk therapy, my perspective changed. When I was being yelled at by her, I thought and felt that it was not really the voice of my co-worker. Perhaps, it was the angry voice of her father which she was acting out? The next steps for me were to channel my Inner-Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., in thinking about non-violent passive resistance. I also did a quick Google search by reading about Jesus Christ’s sermon on the mount about the need to turn the other cheek when faced with an adversary. I found all of this new way of thinking and feeling to be very helpful to me.

My co-worker and adversary had the potential to be a charismatic leader. However, by not coming to terms with the source of her own anger, she was unable repair the damage she caused by alienating many of the people within the building where we all worked. A year and a half ago, my co-worker had a serious health set-back, took early retirement and faded into the background. It’s unfortunate that we never had an opportunity to see a happy ending involving my co-worker at the office. I wish her inner-peace and happiness at this stage of her life.

(M.) In Conclusion (Part I):

Looking back three years ago, I thought that I had resolved any remaining issues with my long departed father. In further conversations with my therapist, my exploration to determine the source of my troubled feelings was successful. By making perhaps a final peace with my dad, I have done a lot of thinking and was able to identify the values which are a reflection of the home I was raised in by my mother and father. Both of my parents deserve credit for making me the man that I am today. In addition, I try not to underestimate my mother’s role in my developing into adulthood even though I spent much more time in this essay writing about my father. It’s just that thoughts and feelings about my father often come first because of my gender and because it is a fact and a feeling that he is the most prominent male role model in my life. It’s an influence I try not to underestimate. If I were to stay overtly or subconsciously angry at my father, I seem to feel that over the long term this anger could have a corrosive effect on the quality of my life. If not identified, I could easily misdirect anger at people who I perceive or misperceive hurt my feelings and eventually redirect that anger back at myself without understanding it.

The reason I studied government (political science and public administration) in college and forged a career in municipal government stems from the fact that my paternal grandparents were New Deal, Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR), Democrats as were my parents who transitioned on to Adlai Stevenson, John F. Kennedy (JFK) and Lyndon Baines Johnson (LBJ) in the 1950s and 1960s.

It sounds idealistic. But my motivation and choice of my career stems from my desire to help make the world a better place. And sometimes when I think about it, I did make a difference at least indirectly. For example, in my career, I have been able draft a series of contractual documents which lead to the computerization of my agency’s specialty clinics and facilitated Medicare credentialing on-behalf of two major in-house bureaus which ensured reimbursement for millions of dollars of services rendered to clients by my agency’s health care providers. In addition, I worked to ensure my agency’s compliance with federal privacy law and chaired &/or sat-in-on committees as a voting member to hire outside accounting firms, collection agencies and medical billing companies. In addition, my decision to join a political party and my overall philosophy at looking at the world about me is in many respects is (was) influenced because of the home that I was raised in.

My parents were born during the time of the Great Depression. Fortunately, my parents grew up in a middle class home. In my parent’s household, fiscal prudence and thrift were strong values. We (my wife and I) almost always pay the credit cards completely to attain a zero balance due once every two weeks on average. In addition, we withhold as much as we can in our 401K retirement accounts and continue to build on our government pensions and pay into the social security retirement system (of course). So, I am hopeful that we should be in good financial shape when we retire. My parents influence and values which guide us in managing our lives and our money are still with us.

I embrace the religious faith which I was born into which is Judaism. But, I also believe that there are different ways of finding G-d. In addition, I have a strong sense of ethnic or cultural pride in being a Jew. I have friendships with people who are both Jewish and Gentile. My non-Jewish friends are both Christians and Muslims. I have no problem if I am out to dinner with a Christian friend who wishes to say “grace” in blessing the food on the table and the friendships which bring us together in the name of Jesus Christ.

 In addition, I am comfortable if a Muslim friend wishes to talk about his or her faith and/or feelings generated through the disruptive rhetoric of the current Presidential campaigns, I am available to listen. Being a Jew and the member of a people who have been discriminated against, helps me remain open to the challenges and troubles of people who are from different backgrounds than me. Thus, listening carefully and having Rakmones (empathy) is essential.

(N.) In Conclusion (Part II):

More about my parents. Did they argue? Yes. From time-to-time, they argued. And perhaps except when I was a small child, it never bothered me. Their arguments did not last long. I don’t even recall over what they argued about. Most likely it had something to do with fatigue for simply doing their jobs to earn a living and/or parenting. It’s logical to think that sometimes people are tired and simply lose their temper.

After dating both Jewish and non-Jewish women in my mid to late twenties, I decided at one point to date only Jewish women. This decision did not come easily. It was a matter which I wrestled with in my mind for some time. However, at some point in time, I suppose I looked at my parents and decided if I marry within my religious faith to a woman who shared the same level of observance and cultural values, there would be a high probability that I would have a successful marriage. Also I suppose that a secondary reason for making this decision stems from the fact that after six million Jews were murdered in the Holocaust, I felt an obligation to help increase our numbers.

My parents wanted a large family and had four children. We’ve had one child in twenty-nine years of marriage. We’ve gone back and forth about expanding our nuclear family. However, we have remained the parents of one child. It’s never boring. At times, its felt like we were on an emotional roller coaster ride. Now, our son is living independently with his longtime girlfriend. They both live, work full time and attend college in another state.

As far as parenting, I’m starting to feel more relaxed and sometimes, I can exhale which is another way of stating that I don’t worry as much. Perhaps in the words of Henry Ward Beecher we have helped give our son “roots and wings”? Only time will tell.

My son no longer dresses like a Williamsburg (Brooklyn) hipster. He is much closer to a Gentleman’s Quarterly (GQ) kind-of-guy in terms of his Joseph A. Bank corporate suit & shirt tie ensemble and performs white collar related work. It’s at these times, I am reminded of what my mother would say to my father when something went well with one of my siblings or me. Mom would say to dad with her wry sense of humor, “We did something right.” Then we would follow-up and say, “What did we do right?” When I would hear that, I would simply chuckle.

Now as a parent, I have those same kind of moments. In addition, I’ve changed my approach and most of the time I no longer give speeches. When my son calls telling me about a situation, I listen carefully and focus on asking questions. I try to keep it short and before we conclude this conversation, I ask him to tell me, “What are your next steps?” After that, I often ask him, “Was I of any help to you?” My final word to my son is frequently something like, “You are your own best resource of figuring what to do. Go for it.”

(O.) Final Thoughts:

One of my brothers sometimes tells me that he misses my father all the time. I think that we have the same love for our father. However perhaps our approach differs?  For me since he has passed away, my father has never left me. When I look in the mirror, I see his face. When I speak, my voice sounds a little like dad. When I think through a problem, my approach does not differ greatly from my what he might have done. When I get angry and think of using a four letter word, I try to find a word in its place which softens my anger, sometimes shows some humor and gets my emotional intelligence back-on-track. Perhaps, dad might do the same?

When I feel insecure about my work in municipal government administration and finance, I recall that my father would openly admit to me that he felt challenged in his private law practice when a client with a new kind of problem which he had never faced before stepped into his office. Instead of referring a client to another more experienced lawyer, my father was able to fight his fears to handle a case, work hard at his job and be a fine attorney. When he was alive and I was a young adult, I would approach him with a problem sometimes. It was at these times, my father would say, “I’ve told you everything I know. Think back on our previous conversations and you will figure it out.” I never walked away disappointed. I would simply say, “Thanks dad.” The good news is that I almost always figured it out!

I’m a product of the environment I was raised in. I think of myself as an old school kind of guy. If not for my parents, it’s very possible that the entire trajectory of my life might be different? The choice of my career and how I view politics, religion, money, parenting and marriage is a reflection of my mother and father’s values.

I think of these values as a gift my parents left me. In subtle way, I try to pass it onto my son. By-the-way, I am far from a perfect person. It’s a day-to-day process and a challenge. I think of myself as work-in-progress. I’m continually trying to find the right balance between confidence and humility.

Our son is our best chance at immortality. If he accepts the values which his mother and I have passed onto him, then perhaps with his future children he will pay it forward? From time-to-time, life presents challenges. I can imagine that my son when faced with a difficult decision may think of things his parents might say or do in carrying on the business of his professional and personal life? When I reflect on what he said about us (his parents) during his Bar Mitzvah speech when he was thirteen and his toast at my sixtieth birthday party last year at the age of twenty-one, I walk away feeling confident that my son is now on the right track.