In 1956, at the age of 14, I lived between states of being—not a child any more, but not an adult either. As yet, 'the teenager' hadn't gained status. I still wore the same clothes as my sisters, pretty cotton dress with a cardigan buttoned at the top, lace-up shoes and white socks, although I had dispensed with the ribbon on my hair.
My father, Lloyd as he liked to be called, had married the woman he loved, Mollie. He'd take me to swimming lessons at the City Baths in Melbourne, Australia. Sometimes, my sisters would come too, although not always—either because they were resentful or unhappy in his company. I found him charming. He'd sometimes take me to the Hilton Hotel for lunch, and I felt cherished. But wait, I remember one time when he embarrassed me. He asked for something they didn't have on the menu, let's say an orange. The waiter explained they didn't have any. Lloyd insisted they send out for the food he requested, made quite a fuss until he got his way. That's the type of alpha male he was.
Mollie was like a second mother to me, and cared for us all to the best of her ability, which must have been hard because she was an only child in a family of doting aunts. Inside her china cabinet were things like a tiny cup made from the shell of a coconut, and another with porcelain so fine we could see the light through it. In Brighton, we would sleep in the 'sleep-out', an extension built on the back of the house with louver windows and insect screens. If we took a short walk from the house, we'd reach a park where we could attempt to catch yabbies, like small lobsters, in the lake. We would tie a piece of meat to the end of string and catch whatever moved inside an old umbrella, squealing with excitement and nervousness. Then, we'd hurry home as fast as possible, pushing the poor yabby downward each time it crawled toward our fingers in a bid to escape. Mollie would cook our catch in a pot of boiling water to allow each of us a tiny taste.
Mollie was like a second mother to me, and cared for us all to the best of her ability, which must have been hard because she was an only child in a family of doting aunts. Inside her china cabinet were things like a tiny cup made from the shell of a coconut, and another with porcelain so fine we could see the light through it. In Brighton, we would sleep in the 'sleep-out', an extension built on the back of the house with louver windows and insect screens. If we took a short walk from the house, we'd reach a park where we could attempt to catch yabbies, like small lobsters, in the lake. We would tie a piece of meat to the end of string and catch whatever moved inside an old umbrella, squealing with excitement and nervousness. Then, we'd hurry home as fast as possible, pushing the poor yabby downward each time it crawled toward our fingers in a bid to escape. Mollie would cook our catch in a pot of boiling water to allow each of us a tiny taste.
South Pacific stage show When we arrived home in Prahran, Mother would give us a warm welcome and serve up some of our favorite apple fritters. No china cabinet graced our maisonette, but Mother decorated it with artistic flair. She'd given us the front bedroom, and she slept in the small second bedroom. I knew she was unhappy—lonely for company, wanting to be loved. One reticent man who lived in a house backing onto ours captured her attention for a while, Heinrich. We didn't know Germans were considered suspect, even ten years after the war ceased. Apparently, you've got to be taught these things. Like the lyrics in the South Pacific song of the same name.
You've Got to Be Carefully Taught. Those six words form the title of a song from Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein's South Pacific, the wildly popular musical revolving around cross-cultural love affairs in the South Pacific during World War II.
You've Got to Be Carefully Taught. Those six words form the title of a song from Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein's South Pacific, the wildly popular musical revolving around cross-cultural love affairs in the South Pacific during World War II.
You've got to be taught
To hate and fear, you've got to be taught from year to year
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught
To be afraid of people
Whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a different shade
You've got to be carefully taught.
To hate and fear, you've got to be taught from year to year
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught
To be afraid of people
Whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a different shade
You've got to be carefully taught.
In 1957, many of our neighbors were Jewish, loving, kind, generous people. One of the young women played Liat in South Pacific in Her Majesty's Theater, on Exhibition Street, Melbourne. We children would play together and occasionally sleep over. Some of Mother's friends were in the theater, or worked in star promotion. One of the fathers, Lionel Landman, brought the Trinidadian pianist Winifred Atwell to Melbourne. Here's the link to see her play 'Black and White Rag'.
During these years of living amongst mixed cultures, I learned to love different races and beliefs. In my dreamy years at the age of 14 and 15 years, life offered endless possibilities and held its breath, waiting for me to emerge as a young woman.
Wikipedia defines racialism thus: Racialism is the belief that the human species is naturally divided into distinct biological categories called 'races.' According to the Oxford English Dictionary, racialism is synonymous with racism.
Did you learn to respect all races and beliefs as a child?
During these years of living amongst mixed cultures, I learned to love different races and beliefs. In my dreamy years at the age of 14 and 15 years, life offered endless possibilities and held its breath, waiting for me to emerge as a young woman.
Wikipedia defines racialism thus: Racialism is the belief that the human species is naturally divided into distinct biological categories called 'races.' According to the Oxford English Dictionary, racialism is synonymous with racism.
Did you learn to respect all races and beliefs as a child?
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