Life Science

Life Science. Oh how I adored Life Science. I was a seventh grader at T.W. Browne Jr. High and had Coach Rachel for my Life Science teacher. Now the mere fact that I can remember his name tells you something about him and his class. I loved nothing more than to study for his tests. I would spend hours in our front living room memorizing all the answers I would need to ace his tests. Then I would walk up and down the hilly streets of my neighborhood with my other best friend who coincidentally was named Susan, too. She was a year older and we both took our academics very seriously. Susan would faithfully quiz me time and time again over the material. I took great pride in always being the first one done and nine times out of ten making a perfect score. In fact, Mr. Rachel commented one time about how he had told his wife that he was going to make the test a little harder to see if he could beat me. He never was able to do it. I just took on the challenge. I was the Life Science champion. I also took great pleasure in putting together my insect collection. To this day I still remember that dragon flies belong to the Odonata family and grasshoppers to Othroptra. My other memory of this class was sitting next to Kathy Duff who was left handed and I was right handed. We were constantly bumping elbows. As smart as I was in test taking, it never occurred to me that Kathy and I should just switch places at our table to solve our problem. Two years later I would once again have Mr. Rachel for Honors Biology. It was here that the lyrics for "Put Your Hand in the Fin of the Shark From Biology" were crafted during our shark dissection.

Put your hand in the fin of the shark that swam the waters

Put your hand in the fin of the shark that swam the sea

Take a look at a shark and you can look at tuna differently

By putting your hand in the fin of the shark from Biology.

Every time I look at the gooey gook

I wanna tremble

Fake Fingernails

Fake fingernails. Oh how I loved fake fingernails. My own pitiful excuse for nails were usually bitten down to the quick. In fact it wasn't until the summer before my junior year of high school that I actually grew out my nails. I couldn't have been more proud or mortified when during my first day of typing Mrs. Tucker informed us that we all needed to cut our nails in order to type properly. But flash back a few years and let's continue the fake fingernail story. Each week I received $2.00 for my allowance. I would more times than not rush to M.E. Moses at Westcliff Mall and plunk down 50 cents on a set of fingernails. They would be applied with adhesive from a small tube included in the box. I would faithfully apply them and polish them and watch them pop off one by one. Now their lack of longevity never kept me from spending my next week's allowance on a new set. When I think what I could have done with the compounding interest of a weekly deposit on fingernails I'd be rich today!

Czechoslovakia

Czechoslovakia. Don't you love the way it just rolls off your tongue? It seemed so exotic, so foreign, so I can't wait to make the vacant lot next door the place of my dreams. When I moved to Texas I was in sixth grade. The same sixth grade I was in when I left Florida. But the difference between the two was night and day. I was eleven going on twelve and everyone else was eleven going on sixteen. I hadn't been at my new school more than an hour or two when a boy from my class wrote me a note asking me to go steady with him. Now I really had very little knowledge of this whole steady thing, but my mother found it highly inappropriate and said no way. I always blamed this event as the kiss of death on my junior high/ high school love life. Basically all going steady meant in sixth grade was wearing some boys id bracelet. Once the word got out that my mom wouldn't let me go steady no one else ever asked. So what does all of this have to do with a magical place called Czechoslovakia? Well while others my age were falling madly in love and going steady, I was busy climbing to the top of the mountain next door to gather pea gravel to bring home for dinner. Or I was crushing chalk rock into fine powder to be baked for our weekly bread. Life in Czechoslovakia was hard and required constant attention. It was here that I met my soon to be new best friend Susan. Susan was overweight and to be honest I had not met many kids my age who were overweight. My first thought was that I did not want a fat friend. But want it or not we became fast friends and continued to be for several more years. Myself and the neighborhood kids all played in that vacant lot until they had the audacity to build a house in Czechoslovakia. By that time I was ready to move onto bigger and better things like plays and carnivals. But that's a whole other story. 

Moving to Texas

Moving to Texas. Once again the words, "We're moving," were mine to hear. As an Army brat I had spent the first eleven years of my life moving from one place to another. I had learned to say good bye to friends quite easily, however I was still reluctant to be the new girl at school once more.  Prior to this news we had taken a family vacation to Texas.  I had learned that in Dallas people did not ride on horseback or carry six shooters strapped to their waists. I had met a girl named Janet who was my aunt's neighbor.  She had entertained us with her rendition of, "These Boots Were Made for Walking."  I liked her right away. I had even been to Six Flags Theme park and learned a little about the six different flags that Texas had served under. Leaving Florida was harder than other moves.  I was older and had become best friends with Ann Marie.  I even had a crush on Mark Zinzer from school.  I loved my neighborhood and was looking forward to moving into seventh grade at my school.  Dad had just retired from the military and was ready to start a new career. My mother's sister, Aunt Joan, had lived in Texas for many years. Dad was hired by LTV, the company my Uncle Dick worked for. In just a matter of a few years my mother's entire family would move to Texas making it possible for me to get to know my grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins.

The Bat Cave

The Bat Cave. I was a huge Batman fan. I looked forward each week to the next episode. Stay tuned: "Same bat time, same bat channel." In fact I loved to recreate those daunting last minutes of each episode. Whether it was holding my breath as I tucked my head under a shirt full of Vick's vapor rub, or filling up my Mom's shower with as much steam as I could stand, my over active imagination was in high gear when it came to reinacting Batman episodes. But the most fun of all came when Ann Marie and I created our own Bat Cave in the storage area of her carport. We used cardboard boxes to create the high tech equipment needed to fight crime. Now usually in my own take charge manner I would have insisted on being Batman. However, I had read that the actor who played Robin shared a birthday with me. This was just too cool of a coincidence to let go by. I played Robin and Ann Marie was Batman. We ran around with our capes made out of towels making Gothum City a safe place once again. I do remember saying, though, "Hey, Batman don't you think we ought to....." quite a lot. It seems you can take the bossy girl out of the lead position, but you can't take the lead position out of the bossy girl. In fact, a few years prior my Mom had warned me that if I didn't stop being so bossy I would never have any friends. I knew better than to talk back, but as I left I remember thinking, "Well they'll do anything I say." 

St. Margaret Mary's

St. Margaret Mary's. This was the name of my elementary school in Florida which I attended from grades 4-6.  I have many fond memories of this place. I remember on one of my first days there the teacher said we would be going to the laboratory. I was thrilled. What a really cool school  to have its own laboratory. You can imagine my disappointment when we ended up at the rest rooms. Apparently there was a place called the lavatory and I had just been introduced to it. St. Margaret Mary's was also where I learned about where babies came from. No, it was not sex education; rather it was from a more mature fifth grader named Rose who broke the news to me and my friend behind a tree on the blacktop. She began her discussion by asking us if we knew where babies came from? Being a good Catholic girl and the oldest of five kids I knew immediately. Of, course you prayed for a baby and then your prayers were answered through your pregnancy. Now Rose knew better. Not only did she explain in graphic detail, followed later by illustrations, she announced that, "You had to do it when
you were eleven!" Considering the fact that I was ten at the time it was actually quite disturbing. Now
 although, the thought of "doing it" was not on my radar at the time, I did have my first crush here.
His name was Mark Zinser, and he was both cute and funny. I was totally impressed because his Dad had been on the PT 109 with our then president John Kennedy.  I was also good friends with his twin sister Marcia, in fact we were cheerleaders together. I remember ironing the letters SMM on a white sweatshirt before cheering at Mark's football game. I also remember getting in trouble for laughing at one of Mark's funny impressions, and the teacher asking me if I wanted her to move our desks closer together. I was mortified! The most memorable memory of Mark, though, was on Valentine's Day when I received thirteen valentines from him. It must have been true love. He had collected all the extra valentines from his sisters to give to me. Although, I was attending a parochial school, I never actually had a nun as a teacher. I do remember considering the vocation of becoming a nun. I guess my desire to have four kids won out. I do remember that I enjoyed my time there and left half way through my sixth grade year to move to Texas.

Dancing in the Living Room

Dancing in the living room. When we lived in Florida one of my favorite things to do was dance in the living room. Our living room was one of the few carpeted rooms in our home and it was sunken as it had a step down from the dining room. There was a rod iron railing that divided the two rooms. Not only did I love to dance in this room, this was where I would secretly take my baby brother to teach him to walk. Apparently, I wanted credit for this event. I spent many hours listening and dancing to Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass. The album belonged to my parents and displayed a young woman covered in nothing but whipped cream. Although, I had never taken any formal lessons I enjoyed flinging myself around the room, leaping with my arms flung out. It was some time during this period I asked my parents if I could take tap dancing lessons at the local dance studio. Once a week I would ride my bike up to The Royal School of Ballet for my lesson and learn all about shuffle, ball change, step. We would also spend some time doing some sort of tumbling, which I remember not being very good at. However, I enjoyed learning how to tap dance and took great pleasure in the sound of my tap shoes hitting the floor. I ended the season with a dance recital that my father and sister attended. It did seem a little odd years later when I looked back on it that my mother had not attended. This was the one and only time that I took formal dance lessons of any kind. However, in Jr. High and High School I was a member of the drill team.

Trolls and Ratfinks

Trolls and Ratfinks. Back in the mid- sixties, trolls were all the rage. They came in a rainbow if hair color and from teeny tiny to quite large. The coolest thing about trolls, though, was their hair. It stuck straight up and could be tested and stuck back down into the little crevice in their head resulting in a bun. It was fun to collect these little creatures and their clothing as well. Years later as a classroom teacher, I ran across a troll at Target, which I immediately purchased for my classroom. We had read a Jan Brett book about trolls, and he seemed the perfect companion for the book. I was happy to have one again. Another, little creature we loved to play with were Ratfinks. They were tiny little plastic "rats" that came in an array of colors and stood up more like a person. I must have had several, because I made their home in a cigar box with little Kleenex beds. Imaginary play was always my favorite along with anything of a miniature size. I remember many hours of enjoyment from these tiny toys. 

Harriet the Spy

Harriet the Spy. When I was around ten years old, I fell in love with all things detective. Along with Nancy Drew, I loved watching The Man From U.N.C.L.E., The Girl From U.N.C.L.E., and Honey West. Whenever Ann Marie and I played spies I would quickly claim to be April Dancer or Honey West. Somewhere along the way I read the book, Harriet the Spy. It was all about a girl my age who loved to observe and spy on people. She would take copious notes in her composition notebooks and refer back to them to solve her cases. I once did a book report about Harriet back in the 5th or 6th grade. It was written in my neat  cursive script, as it was always important to me that my work was of high quality. I even included a portrait of Harriet toting her spy supplies along with her. I was quite proud of my efforts as I never considered myself a gifted artist. Years later they made a movie about the book which I enjoyed watching with my daughter. I can't say that she was quite as enamored with Harriet as I remembered being. 

Confirmation

Confirmation. At St. Margaret Mary's Parochial School, confirmation was held every other year. This resulted in you either being confirmed in 5th grade or 6th. It fell during my 5th grade year, so I was ten years old when I was confirmed. In the Catholic Church confirmation is considered one of the seven sacraments. In order to be confirmed we were required to commit to memory over fifty questions and answers from our catechism. We had to be able to recite the answers word for word. Questions like, "Who made me?,""God made me in his image and likeness." Part of the process was picking a confirmation name. I remember arriving in class that day having completely forgotten about this. I had not considered any name, and when put on the spot chose Mary the mother of Christ. To be honest I never really liked this name, maybe because it rhymed with Shari. I remember years later being a little envious of my sister who had chosen St. Francis of Assisi as her name. I always loved that saint. One of the things I really looked forward to, was getting my own missal for confirmation. It was white, quite thick and very grown-up. Not only could I follow along with the mass, it also had special readings for each day in honor of the saints. I still have it to this day and treasure it.  (Along with my plastic chalice and host from my First Communion.) On the day of my confirmation I had to wear a white robe and a red beanie. As we processed into the church I felt quite holy as this was a special day in my young life. We had been taught that when we were confirmed we would be soldiers for Christ, willing to lay down our lives for our faith. We had also been instructed that we would have to answer some questions from the bishop to see if we were prepared for the sacrament. He asked a couple of questions to the group that I thought were quite easy. I remembered how many hours I had devoted to learning all my catechism questions, and I was a little disappointed he didn't ask any harder questions. I was always the devoted student. The final act was to be a "slight blow" to the cheek administered by the bishop to show our sincere commitment to the whole soldier for Christ idea. I remember when it was my turn, I knelt down and the bishop slapped me across my cheek. It was no slight blow in my mind! It actually hurt. This might have been the beginnings of my journey away from Catholicism. Years later when I was the sponsor for my younger sister's confirmation it was all about peace and love. No slapping at all! This was a kinder, gentler church. Go figure?

Tressy

Tressy and Barbie. One of my favorite things to do when I was living in Florida was to play Barbies. Except that I had replaced my Barbie with a Tressy doll. She was super cool as she had hair that could grow. If you pushed the button on her trim waistline and pulled the center strand of hair it would grow into long trestles. Then when you wanted a short, sassier look all you had to do was twist the button on her back. Voila, short hair! I spent many hours playing Barbies with my best friend Ann Marie. Back in the sixties you did not have a plethora of the dolls themselves. Rather, you collected outfits for your doll. I had a small, pink armoire that held all my Tressy clothes and accessories. One of my favorite outfits was the Jackie Kennedy pink suit with the pillbox hat. I even had a fur coat for mine. I remember painting my Tressy's lips with light pink nail polish, and piercing her ears with studded sewing pins. Years later when Ann Marie and I reunited, I packed Tressy in my luggage and brought her along to my trip to Ohio. As luck would have it, Ann Marie still had her beloved Barbie doll. While Ann Marie and I caught up on the years between our meeting, Tressy and Barbie had a reunion, too!

Susie

Susie was the first pet that I remember. I got her when I was around ten. My mom had told me that when I was two I had had a puppy. She said I would pull its tail and it would nip me back. Needless, to say it wasn't a good match. Who knew that my next dog would be close to thirty years later?  So Susie would have to suffice. She was a small Red-eared slider. Her home was a small clear container with a plastic palm tree in the center. I loved Susie and did my best to care for my tiny turtle.  I didn't have her for long, as my mom found out they could carry salmonella. I had to let Susie go at the creek. I guess I learned a lesson about pets that day. As much as you love them one day they will be gone.

Swimmer

I remember almost drowning twice. Once when I was six and living in Germany, and we had to swim in an indoor pool. The shallowest end was over my head- now that's not exactly right. It must have been three times. The first time I was four and in Oklahoma. I was hanging onto the edge of the pool right next to my father. My hands slipped, I went under, I tried to get his attention. He must have been talking. I struggled and somehow my hands found their way back to the edge and I came up for air.

   Getting back to when I was six. I jumped in and the water was over my head. I had not yet learned to swim. Later I remember having to change out of our swimsuit back into our clothes in a very open locker room. I never felt comfortable in my naked state. 

     When we moved to New York I was probably nine. I was swimming at the local pool, except I really didn't know how to swim. I ventured out too far with a friend. Somehow she pulled me back to shallow water.

   By the time I was ten we lived in Florida and joined a neighborhood  pool. I could not swim, but I
was signed up for lessons in June. It was April. I wanted to know how to swim. I watched. I saw how
your hands went over your head, one at a time and cut through the water. I saw how your feet fluttered back and forth. I practiced the arms first. Walking along the bottom, turning my head out of the water taking a breath. I added the feet, kicking wildly. It worked! I swam the length of the Olympic sized pool, treaded water for a minute, dove eight feet to the bottom, and swam the rest of the length of the pool. I proudly wore the green patch pinned to my swimsuit. Now I could swim in the deep end!

     In June I began my first swim lesson. I had removed my green patch because I didn't want them to know that I could already swim. We blew bubbles, we held onto the side and kicked our feet. Somehow they figured it out; they moved me into Advanced Beginners for the next class. It wasn't long before I earned my Swimmer's patch.

  I swam like a fish; side stroke, breast stroke, back stroke, butterfly and American crawl. I swam like a mermaid under water. I dove off the high board. I carefully scrubbed the tiles along the edge with a tiny bar of soap and a wash rag. All in exchange for a dime. A dime that purchased a frozen zero bar at the snack bar. I guess you could say that was my first paying job.

Super Hero

Super Hero. When I lived in Port Washington, New York one of my favorite things to do was ride my bike. Now remember I had brought back my German touring bike, and it was unlike anyone else's bike in the neighborhood. One evening my downstairs neighbor Marvin and I decided to go on a quick trip around the block. Now as usual I was leading the way. It was pretty much impossible for me not to be the leader.  Infact, my mother had warned me that I would not have any friends if I didn't stop being so bossy. I knew better than to talk back, but as I walked away I clearly thought, "Well they'll do anything I say." Hey I had skills- leadership skills that is. As Marvin and I got ready to cross the street I went first and he followed. That's when he went flying through the air. He had been hit by a car. Now this was the mid-60's and there was no such thing as a cell phone. As neighbors ran out to help I quickly volunteered to ride back home and let Marvin's parents know. I pedaled as fast as I could, and as I approached the house I was suddenly gripped with fear. I think I was afraid that I might be in trouble for Marvin's accident.  I quickly ran upstairs to find my mom. She was bathing my younger sisters. I quickly relayed the series of events and she immediately sent me downstairs to let Marvin's parents know. It was in that instance that my inner super hero kicked in. I bravely led them to the scene of the accident feeling all the while quite proud of myself for helping. I was saving the day. Poor Marvin had a broken arm, leg and a concussion. If the truth be known he was lucky to be alive. Marvin and I spent a lot of time together after that while he recovered. It seemed only right.

Book Reports

Book Reports. One of the most exciting days of my young life was when my parents bought two sets of the Brittanica Encyclopedia. When we moved to New York I took full advantage of the Brittanica Jr. One of my favorite things to do in 3rd grade was to write extra credit reports. Now no one had ever explained to me about plagiarism so these reports were written word for word from the encyclopedia. My topics ranged from snakes to sweet potatoes to kelp. Don't ask me why? I know I had never eaten a sweet potato at this time so maybe sweet potatoes and kelp sounded exotic to me. I would write the report in my best handwriting, and then would illustrate a cover out of construction paper. Now the fascinating thing is I'm still doing extra credit reports today. I guess my love of research started way back then with that first set of encyclopedias.

The Talent Show

The Talent Show. I began second grade in Germany and continued in Leavenworth, Kansas. It would not be my last school to attend that year. Dad was participating in a 6 month school and we would be moving onto Long Island, New York next. I enjoyed my time in Kansas. I got to experience my first real tornado scare down in our neighbor's basement. I remember making shadow animals on the wall. Luckily, it was only a treetop high tornado and it did not damage our street. I used to walk to 3rd Ave. Elementary School where I probably had the most fun teacher ever. We made butter, and cheese, played with magnets and even wrote a song about the history of Kansas. It was a small class of no more than 12 students and made for a very unique learning experience. It was here that I participated in the school talent show singing with two friends, "My Home's In Montanna." We were awarded 4th place. I'm quite proud of myself for taking on this task and remember thinking I looked quite like a cowgirl in my bandana. It was also here in Kansas that my heart was broken. I had been involved in Brownies when we lived in Germany, and one day when I arrived home from school Mom told me to head back because they were having a Brownie meeting that afternoon. I may have been brave enough to sing in front of an auditorium full of people, but I was scared to death to return back to school on my own and ask where the meeting was. I was heartbroken and cried deep sobs for a long time. Mom had no car and with 3 younger siblings there was no way she could take me. That was the end of my Brownie days. Kansas is also the place where I got my first Barbie for Christmas. That Christmas was quite memorable because all of our ornaments were in storage and we had to make our own. Mom led us in making a red and green construction paper garland and other homemade ornaments for our tree. I still remember that tree to this day. We left Kansas in May on the Sunday I made my first communion and headed to New York.

Crossing the Atlantic

Crossing the Atlantic. I can truthfully claim to have crossed the Atlantic twice as a young girl. I even have a certificate to prove its authenticity. I was an Army brat and my Dad was stationed in Schwaebisch Gmuend, Germany while I was ages four to seven. I have many fond memories of my time in Germany. I started Kindergarten there and was shocked to see that some kids actually fell asleep at nap time. I went to the movies every Saturday and watched many a Lone Ranger film. My favorite candy was a German treat we called Sour Sticks. They were very close to a sweet tart. I learned to ride a bike on a beautiful German touring bike with straight handle bars. I took many a ribbing when I returned home with such an odd looking bike. It was actually quite cool and came fully equipped with a tool kit that hung on a leather pouch behind the seat. We played in the woods, collected glass seed beads from a neighboring factory, and sled down the big hill behind our school all the while wearing ski pants. My hair was a beautiful shade of blond and it cascaded in curls down my back. It would be a long time before I had long hair again as my Dad insisted my sisters and I get haircuts before the long journey home on the ship. Mom would be no help to him, as she would be deathly ill for the seven day journey. It was during this trip home that my favorite childhood president, John F. Kennedy would be assassinated. I am probably one of the few people of my generation who don't remember where they were when the tragedy occurred. We were away from television and missed all the events of this historical occasion. When I left Germany I was only able to count to ten in German;  the results of a weekly lesson at the American school I attended. 

First Born

First born. I am the first born of six children. Although, being the first born comes with its own set of challenges-rule follower, people pleaser, high achiever- it really is the best position of all in the family. I never doubted for one minute that I was my parent's favorite. Now was this true? I have no idea, but it didn't matter. Perception was reality to me. Being the first born also came with its own perks. Framed baby pictures, a baby shoe dipped in pink, the most photos in the family photo album all proved to me who was the favorite. I was a beautiful baby with big blue eyes and a smile from ear to ear. I always thought my head was awfully round and referred to it as a basketball head. It must have run in the family because my own daughter inherited it as well. 

Baptism

Baptism. I love the fact that I was baptized as a baby at just a few weeks old by my Uncle Richard the priest. I love that I was raised Catholic and that my family attended church every Sunday and all the Holy Days of Obligation. I love that I was raised in a family that prayed before dinner and at night before we went to bed. I love that going to church was always a part of our Christmas and Easter celebrations. I love that I was taught right from wrong, and the Golden Rule. I was actually a very devout Catholic as a child. I loved God with such a pure heart. I was so devout that I struggled with the church when things began to change in the mid-sixties. Although, I am no longer a practicing Catholic I treasure those days.

Beginnings

Beginnings. All stories begin somewhere. This is where mine began when my parents Rita Elizabeth McManus and Phillip James Cunningham were married on January 16, 1954. They were married in the beautiful Catholic Church, St. Columbkille, in Brighton, Massachusetts. On July 6, 1956 I was born at the Naval Hospital in Chelsea, Massachusets. My mom liked to tell the story of how the very large male nurses used to carry the babies around like footballs. I always liked hearing that story.