Sorority chick

Ok.. found out something while going through my mom's stuff.  I always knew she was a sorority girl at her college- but it was the Deaf University- Gallaudet in Washington DC, (The Standford/Harvard of the Only Deaf University in the World)  and while it was a sorority at her school, it wasn't the same as the "official" Greek system across American campuses.  Nothing wrong with her sorority. It was pretty neat from what I could see, and probably in many respects a lot like many other sororities like mine- even to this day.

I remember writing home from college and asking my mom if it was ok if I joined a sorority at my college campus. I sent her the stuff I got from the house, and told her how much I liked the girls and could I join?  If they asked me?  It was going to be expensive- more than what school cost with all of the dues and things. And my mom wrote back, and said. "Yes, you should. I was in a sorority and I loved that time in school and my friendships with the members. You should. It will be fine."  It was always fine with my mom. "It's fine."

I wondered if I would fit in there. You know, it was a varied group of girls. Some were from out of state, and not like the typical  "in-state" girl.  Some of the girls, you sort of got the impression that they were well taken care of by their families. They had cars; even new cars, nice clothes, nice stuff.  Me, I was a child of deaf parents,  blue collar by any measure; and while my parents worked very hard to achieve the American Dream... they were not wealthy-rich or even upper middle-by any means. I was lucky to go to college on loans and what cash they had saved, and I never had a car. We were strictly - middle class, government payroll - family.  I guess in today's world that would be a really good - upper middle class gig for most families. After all,  my parents worked at their careers for 30+ years, it did turn out to be a huge benefit for them and we all were grateful for the opportunities given to them. I think about that in today's economy and with the struggles that  my husband and I and other family members have had to go through the past few years.  My parents were fortunate. Very fortunate.

So I did join the sorority. It was a nice place, and really I loved it. I did. I loved the Monday night formal dinners, where the food was home cooked and there was china, and sterling silver and a matronly housemother and it was just so-oh-how do you say it without being ridiculous -so "country club."  It certainly wasn't what I was used to.   I didn't belong there; really I didn't.  But I kept remembering my Mom. She did it.  With the railroad engineer dad, and a mom that was ill and dying; she somehow melded into her east coast  "sorority life".  So I joined, and there were other girls like me too.  We all just went through the motions of school and social life and really we all got out of it what we put into it. Songs, Sweatshirts, Boys, Functions, Parties; I ate it up.

Throughout my years there, I kept thinking, well  maybe this is the ticket in?  Into a higher social circle? Outside of the circle I was cast from?  Maybe  if I meet the right people, do the whole school thing, and meet the right guy- the law student, the nerdy guy... maybe?   I wondered.  It didn't really happen that way for my mom.  She did the big University, she did the sorority stuff, I've rummaged through her pictures with her dates with what looked to be aspiring young successful men.  But she didn't do that.  She chucked it all and got on a train and came out west.  To be a teacher.  A teacher at a deaf school which when I found her first year contract the other day it stated "Congratulations- you're hired....  starting pay $320 a month for 9 months."  I suppose my mom thought that was a great thing.  It probably was.  Her mother had passed away, her sister was getting married or already was,  her dad wasn't in such great health, and her brother wasn't really any help.   So she never looked back and got on the train.  She'd never been anywhere out west. She had one friend that was here.  She met my dad later that year, he was a roofer.  They had an excellent life together.       

It's funny how lives parallel each other.  I did the same thing as my mom. I had the sorority life. I have great friendships from my time there, and still do to this day. But, I married a guy - sort of just like my dad.  Handy, physical, good looking, knows things about life and hard work, a loving father and admittedly a laborer of sorts.  So we're really middle class.  So sometimes just the option of being in the sorority life doesn't automatically admit you to the "good life".  Maybe it was a fait du accompli.  It was my choice. I bowed out.  I looked for other things in my life, not necessarily worse - and perhaps better--for me.  Just different. Like my mom. 
  

Hey, Dad is eating Santa's cookies! (Innocence Lost-Circa 1968)

So, dear reader; Yes this is ANCIENT history.  I'm that old.  Most of you are too.  But I call your attention to the photo.   That's me in the too small pink dress, my little sister all smiles with the curly hair.   I am eight and a half years old, my future husband to be has just  received his draft card and will be in the U. S. Army in three months. Nixon was just elected President, and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were assassinated earlier that year, and the Democratic Convention in Chicago had riots in the street.  Yeah, that 1968.

So a year or so prior, we had moved to our new home on the south side of our town, and it was everything my Mom and Dad could hope for. Probably a bigger mortgage than they had bargained for, and with inflation and growing daughters with bad eyes and crooked teeth, expenses they didn't really plan for. Hence, my belief that maybe new Christmas dresses weren't in the budget  that year, so my dress I wore in first grade I was still wearing in third grade. Proof; right there in that picture.  But no, there too... are lots of gifts. I think I was having a bad day, and just insisted on wearing the too small dress, because truthfully-- there's a bit of this here too; being eight and a half was not too much fun. I was dorky, wore glasses, with coltish legs that grew three inches that year, and a dumb haircut and big huge molars growing in. Weird and dorky. Right there, that phase lasted about five years.  Ugh. I really wanted to be little and cute like my sister, and play with baby dolls and get all excited about Christmas. But there was this lingering doubt?

Days before, I went with my sister to the big department store downtown, where Santa Claus would have you sit on his lap, and you could tell him what you wanted.  I don't think I was an overly big child but Santa groaned when he picked me up, "Wow, you're a big girl!"  He smelled funny.  Not like the Santa I imagined the year before.  Strange shopping trips with my mom,  looking at things that we wanted Santa to bring us. Curious and strange.  Just this sense of doubt. You know?   Between third and fourth grade, little whispers from your classmates.  Not really knowing, not really sure.

So our family had this Christmas Eve tradition, just like many other families across the country. But ours was to celebrate Christmas Eve by going out to dinner at my parents favorite Supper Club, and then drive around for about an hour looking at lights at the Smelter Hill and all around town. The thinking behind this, our Dad told us, was to give Santa enough time to come to our house while we were at dinner and driving around.  Naturally, this was TORTURE for my sister and I.

So why were we not at Church? Well, our deaf parents had a "Deaf" church  that had their Christmas service the Sunday before Christmas. We weren't secular by any means, but going to a "hearing" church or Mass wasn't something we ever did.   We had the baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph and a Christmas tree, Angels and a Star at home. So we did our thing on Christmas Eve at our home.

So, Christmas Eve 1968, Mom had ordered my sister and me to the car where Dad is waiting for us and has warmed up the Chevy Impala.   "You go wait in car with Dad.We go eat soon." So we two girls bounce into the back seat. I reach over the front seat  for the radio and turn it up loud.  The AM station is airing the "SANTA CLAUS WATCH broadcast - LIVE FROM NORAD at the NORTH POLE".  It must be true. It's on the radio. The announcer says, we have a sighting of a red light and an UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT on the radar screen heading over North America."  Wow! That was impressive to me.    Then Mom opens the car door, and Dad signs...."Oh. I forgot something". The checkbook or something like that.  He leaves. My moms orders us again. "Stay here, Dad will be back soon, then we go."   We buy it.  But then, my sister looks at me with alarm and says, "WAIT! I forgot the carrot for the reindeer!"  She tears out of the car, and my mom looks at me with panic and signs "WHAT? WHY FOR??? Why is she gone?" I sign "she forgot the Carrot."  My mom signs "NO!! Go get her, Dad is putting presents under the tree!"

Um? what?   I walk into the house, and there's my sister, whimpering and crying that Dad was eating the cookies we left for Santa.  Dad signs.. "oh, sorry. I was hungry".  My sister grabs another cookie and puts it on the plate, and Dad signs "please go wait in car."  I think my sister was so upset about the carrot and the cookies she didn't see all the presents now under the tree that weren't there earlier.   But I saw them, hey there was a bunk bed crib thing unwrapped, and a bunch of big boxes with Santa paper that weren't there an hour ago. So...what's the deal?

I fidgeted all through dinner. If my sister knew anything she was oblivious 15 minutes later, happily playing with her milkshake and pickles at dinner.  I couldn't figure it out. Later in the car ride, I was annoyed by the radio announcer broadcast about Santa Claus sightings over Argentina, and how he was en-route to Mexico.  I was bored, and the driving around Smelter Hill and the neighborhood made me sleepy.  We finally got home, and opened the door, and my sister screamed with delight!  The bunk bed baby crib! The presents.   But for me, I saw them all three hours earlier, and there wasn't anything different. For me, Santa didn't come.

So the photo tells a lot.  Taken moments before we could open  our presents. I looked at it recently and tried to remember why the face? Why the pinched look and crossed arms? A too small dress that was for Easter, a Spring dress on a cold winters night. Cold probably.  A little lost look perhaps?   So when you see an eight, nine even a ten year old during this holiday season, know this.  They try. They really do.  They hopefully wish, they usually get things they ask for in our over commercialized-retail season.  But I look back at this picture, some xxx years ago, and I remember that feeling. Innocence lost.  I think It's interesting to remember that year in our nations' history too. Weren't we all a little lost, dazed and confused?

But I don't want leave you with an impression that it was a unfortunate circumstance. It wasn't. It's a story my sister and I share and laugh about, and we treasure those Christmas memories.  We have lots of them, and hey, that night I got the coolest Barbie doll ever.  Francie.  Her ponytail grew out of her head.