All the kids in the neighborhood said that Gina was a whore.  They said that she was caught giving a bj to a guy behing the bowling alley.  I didn't know Gina and I didn't know what a bj was.  I was 10 years old.  

I was living for a while in a foster home near the Pelham area of the Bronx.  My foster family was Italian.  There was my foster mother, Theresa and her ex-cop of a husband they called, "Sonny".  This was probably short for Salvatore.  I had a foster siblings who were the children of my foster parents.  There was Anne-Marie, Theresa, and Angelo.  

My foster sister, Theresa dared me to go on the roof of Gina's garage.  Theresa said if I did this then she would hang out with me.  

It was early June.  I was out of school.  My social worker said that my grades were so good that I didn't have to finish the grade and I would be promoted.  I had a lot of time on my hands until everyone else was out of school.  I didn't want to spend the entire summer without any friends.  I had to get on top of the roof.

I had on my sneakers.  I knew I would be able to get up there and down without being heard or seen.  There was a group of kids that hung out from the neighborhood.  Gina was never a part of the hanging out.  The kids said terrible things about her.  I had seen her a few times.  She didn't look like a whore.  If she had given that guy a 'bj' it was probably cause she had to.  I tried to look up 'bj' in the dictionary but I couldn't find any explaination.  I wish someone would tell me what it was.

The houses on the block were next to one another with enough room to drive a car between them and into the garage behind the house.  Most people just parked on the streets and used the garages for other things.

Everyone was either at work or at school.  I walked up the block like I owned it.  My sneakers didn't make a sound.  I wasn't afraid.  I wasn't going to get caught.  Gina lived about half way up the block.

I walked between her parents' house and their neighbor.  I walked up to the garage and walked to the side of it.  Huge grape vines climbed up the side of the garage.  They looked arthritic with their twists and gnarled joints.  i could see an old latticing attached to the wall of the garage under the green leaves.  I climbed up like the silent cat that I was.  I was up on the roof in a split second.

The view was nice from the roof.  I could see the house behind Gina's.  I could see down the block on either side.  I sat down on the roof of her garage.

"WHO IS UP THERE?"  I heard someone yell.  I peered down over the roof of the garage.  I could feel the heat from the sun on my back.  Sweat trickled down my back.  My heart was beating so loud my hears felt as if they were going to explode.  

There stood Gna.  Her hands were on her hips.  Her legs were apart.  She looked ready for battle.  Our eyes locked.  Maybe if I didn't say anything she would forget I was there.  No such luck.  

"Well, who are you and what are you doing u there?"
"Did you get caught giving a bj to a guy behind the bowling alley?"

Her face turned so red I thought she was going to self combust.  

"What are you talking about?"
"I was told you got caught giving a bj.  I don't know what a bj is or how one gets caught at it.  Is that why no one hangs out with you?"
"You need to come down from there."
"Not until you tell me what a bj is."

Gina sighed a huge nearly adult sized sigh.  She was pretty. Sixteen years old, curvy body and really bad acne where her dark curly hair touched the sides of her face.  She had a heart shaped face with a cupid bow shaped mouth.  Her eyes were heavily made up with lots of mascara.  

"Come down from my parents' roof."
"I can't.  I am gonna get in trouble and I have to stay here forever.  My foster parents won't like that I got in trouble and I will have to go to jail."
"You aren't going to jail.  Come down and we will talk."
"How do I know I can trust you""
"I am going in the house to get you some cookies.  When I come back you need to be off the roof."

She walked away and I decided that cookies sounded like a good idea.  I climbed down the way I had gone up.  I felt a lot less like a cat and more like an ass.

When I reached the ground Gina was standing there with cookies in a paper towel.  She handed them to me and pushed me toward the back steps of her house.  We sat in silence while I slowly ate one cookie.

"I got caught kissing my boyfriend behind the bowling alley.  I was only kissing him.  We got caught by the manager and somoeonw started a rumor about me.  My boyfriend broke up with me and no one asked ME what happened."
"What is a 'bj'?"
"That doesn't matter."
"So are you going to come hang out with us?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"If you didn't do anything wrong then you should come hang out."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah."

Later that afternoon the regular crowd was there.  Theresa, Camille, Marion, and Arthur.  Theresa was a year older than me.  Camille was almost 17.  Marion was almost 18.  Arthur was between me and Theresa.  

We were sitting on Marion's parents' stoop.  They were all sharing what had happened that day at school.  I was quiet.  I was waiting.  

Gina was coming up the block walking her dog.  Everyone on the stoop got quiet.  Gina never walked her dog near where anyone else was hanging out  

Gina got very close to the property line and I said, "Hi Gina.  What's the dog's name"

Theresa punched me in the arm.  Everyone else just stared with their mouths open.

"His name is Sweety."

I looked at everyone on the stoop and said, "Hey Gina isn't a whore.  Someone told a lie about her.  Whatever a bj is, she didn't give one to that guy."

There it was, the elephant was on the block.  Gina stood there with Sweety at her feet.  I got up and walked down the steps to Gina and pet her dog. From behind me, I heard Camille say, "what kind of dog is he?"

Just like that Gina became part of the neighborhood.  I didn't find out what a 'bj' was until a few months later when Theresa yelled at me for being so dumb that I didn't know what it was.  So she told me.

Teach your children well

When I was a little girl my mother always told me that I was Jewish.  In my head that word sounded like Joooish.  It was a word.  My mother told me that my father was Catholic.  I lived in a Catholic-Irish neighborhood in the Bronx.  There was a huge church called St. Nicholas of Talentine.  It was the only Gothic style church in the Bronx.

I went there a few times with friends that I had.  In the 70's it was still part of the service to blame the Jewish people for the death of their Savior.  This was confusing and no one in my life at that time, had any answers.

My grandparents fled Eastern Europe.  My grandmother came to America with all of her siblings and her parents.  This tells me that they had foresight and money for them all to have left Russia.  My grandfather came to New York with his family.  He stayed in New York.  Most of his family went to Canada.

My grandparents kept kosher.  I didn't know what this meant at the time but I was loved.  I was fed.  I was adored by them.  If that meant being Jewish, then how cool!

After their deaths, my mother's mental health slid into a very dark place.  I was soon taken out of her home.  Well, let me correct that.  I pleaded to be taken out of there.  I told on her.  According to her, I betrayed her.  According to me, I fought for my survival.

I took my father's last name back.  I was Laura Joy Bennett growing up.  It's on all my school records.  I went back to DeBenedetto because that is who I was born.  This wasn't out of any loyalty toward my father.  It was all about me.

I moved through the world not as a Jewish person.  No one knew unless I told them.  I have heard many hateful things about Jews.  In those moments I could say nothing.  I always spoke up.  Always said what I could.  Ignorant people never understand.  I soon realized that I wasn't convincing them of anything.

When I moved to Los Angeles my cousin Donna took me under her wing.  She educated me on the rich history of my people.  She connected all the historical dots.  She told me what all those songs I sang at summer camp meant.

I went further and took classes so that I could better understand this tradition.  I can clearly explain to anyone the "why's" of my people.  I feel as if I am a literate Jew.  I do not shrug and say, "Um oh I don't know, I don't practice".  That isn't what people are asking.

The one answer I can not answer is, "Why are the Jewish people so hated".

To me it is like hating left handed people.  I am left handed.  Other than in grade school, no one cares that I write with my left hand.  This puts me in a double minority,  left handed AND Jewish.

Do we hate green eyed people?  Yes, I have green eyes.  This puts me in yet another minority.  Left handed, Jewish, and green eyed.  Look how rare I am compared to the masses!

It seems that fighting for a world that is accepting of things not akin to everyone is necessary.  I do not think there will ever be a time that we can stop fighting.

It really has to start with what we teach our children.  Everyone is unique.  Everyone has a right to exist.  Everyone can contribute to a better world.

The Jewish people are the caretakers of the Earth.  Social work, social injustice, teachers are some of the vocations taken to help heal the world.  Not just a Jewish world.  The entire World.  We don't do it by converting those to what we believe.  Heal the world.

I am afraid the hate and evil has grown out of control.  Not just by one group either.  This isn't a Muslim problem.  This is a human problem.

I hope we all teach our children well.

Pen Pals

When I was a little girl, I had a pen pal.  She lived across the country from me, in California.  She had two parents, she was a twin, and had a younger sister.  I thought she had a perfect life.

I don't remember how we became pen pals but I loved getting those envelopes from San Jose, California.  What could I writer her in return?  Only the basics.

I couldn't tell her how my life was not the same.  I didn't want to lie.  I kept it simple.

When I left my mother's home to go into foster care, I told her that we moved.  You can not write, hey my mother is losing it and I can't stand living with her and the authorities agreed so now I am living in a foster home and when that didn't work out I moved into a group home.

The envelopes still came.  Filled with whatever activity my cousin Dawn was involved with.  These weren't lengthy letters but they filled me with hope.  Hope that she was happy and safe.  It was like writing to someone living in Narnia.

One day I got a letter from her.  Her parents , my aunt and uncle, were coming to New York, and they would love to see me and my mom.  WHAT THE HELL WAS I GOING TO DO NOW?

I wrote back that of course I would love to see them.  I waited until they got off the subway and told them there were a few things I needed to tell them before we went to were I was living.  I was 14 years old.  We went to a nearby McDonald's.  I then told my aunt and uncle everything that led up to me living in the group home in Far Rockaway.

I took them to where I was living.  Introduced them to my house-mates and counselors.  They had a meeting with my therapist and the head of the group home.  They took pictures and even recorded me singing and playing the guitar.

My Aunt Carol and Uncle Paul invited me to visit them in San Jose, California.  If at the end of the visit everything went well, they said I could live with them.

My family from my father's side was always held at bay by my mother.  Not because she didn't like them but because they were connected to my father.  It never occurred to her to contact them instead of signing me over to the state of New York and leaving me there while she moved to Los Angeles.  She had issues, major ones.

I did move to San Jose.  I did live with my cousins.  The kindness of them will never leave my heart.

I wish I had those letters from my cousin Dawn.

Each one of my cousins played a part in my life that was deeper than a normal cousin role.  I am blessed beyond belief for them.  I don't say it enough but I think it every day.

I am lucky to have Dawn and Donna as my cousins, or my 'cisters" as Donna and I call it.

Thank you Donna

I've been thinking  lot about my cousin Donna.  Do you know that she saved my life?

I had just got out of the hospital and I had a dream.  My deceased grandfather, David, had come to me in a dream and told me to call Donna.  You have to know that I was very ill, and a long way from being back to a good place.  It was just me and my son, Dylan.  He was in the 6th grade.  He was afraid cause the both of us knew things had changed.  I wasn't working and unemployment wasn't going to keep us afloat.  I now had issues with my vision and the appointment with the specialist was a month away.

I called Donna and we must have talked for hours.  I told her everything.  You have to know something about her.  She sometimes has the attention span of a butterfly.  Except when her heart is involved.  Once she is connected to something with her heart, get out of her way.  She said Dylan and I should come and visit.  I told her I wasn't up to it at all.  She looked into how to get me from the little town in northern California to her home in Woodland Hills.  No easy task.  Bus would take over 12 hours, same with a train.

Oh did I mention we were in the middle of the worst heat wave in a long time?  Record heat of over 115 degrees all across the state.  Donna packed up her mini van.  Nicole and Joshua went with her and they drove to me and got us.

I was so very afraid of my life just then.  Donna was full of good cheer.  No, she glowed with determination that I was going to get better.  She also wanted to get to know Dylan so that he would understand that he did have family.  We drove down to Los Angeles and told stories the entire way.  Donna knew how important music was so she told me that I was in charge of playing music for the ride.

During our visit, Donna took Dylan under her wing.  She was nursing Joshua and was still unstoppable with her energy.  She took us for a drive to Zuma Beach.  I will never forget coming out of the canyon and driving up the coast when suddenly I felt plugged in.  Like a huge jolt of energy entered my body.  I told her and she just smiled.  She helped me go to the water's edge.  She knew this was part of the healing process too.

When our beautiful visit was done, she took me home.  I had that eye specialist appointment to go to.

There was a message from the friend who was supposed to give me a ride.  Yeah, I had no car.  She said that "I am sorry I won't be able to take you.  I am sure you can find another way there".  I was devastated.  Donna said don't worry I will take you.  She did.  The doctor visit was a joke.  They said I couldn't be seen because of my insurance.

Donna took me home and said she couldn't just leave me there like this.  She called her husband and asked if we could come live with them.  He said yes and she told me.  I was astounded.  Who does that?  They had a suite over their converted garage.  Move to Los Angeles?  Me?

After much talking we decided this was best.  My other cousin's ex-husband and his gf came and loaded us up and drove us to Donna's.

I have to tell you that I owe my life to Donna.  She gave me everything I needed but most of all she gave me love and acceptance.  She took us on and took us in.

I eventually got better.  Not 100 percent but enough.

I wake up everyday and thank G-d for my family.  All of them had a hand in my recovery.

I may not love Los Angeles but I sure do love Donna.

Connecting

I said I was going to write this year.  So, here I am.

I am always surprised by the quickness with which life can change.  Whether it's good or bad, all it takes is a moment to change everything.

Some moments occur more often than we'd like.

My hope for the new year is that I have less fear.  I am actually afraid of very few things.  What I have been experiencing for the past ten years is a kind of P.T.S.D.

I call it "post traumatic shitty life syndrome".

There are days where I am paralyzed and can not get out of the house.  I feel overwhelmed and full of sadness.  It has nothing to do with my present circumstances.  It was one hell of a first 25 years.  Some days I just wish I didn't have my past.

Then I start to think:  I am a part of something greater.  What if my soul had agreed to take on the challenges?  What if I agreed so someone else in my family didn't have to?  What if it was so that my children would see first hand how important your choices are?

We all matter.  Even the people we don't understand.  I believe we are connected by many things.

I believe the answer is love.

Cycles broken

It is a new year.  I have been neglectful in my writing.  This doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about a trillion things, I just haven't written anything down.

The holiday season is always hard to go through.  It is a reminder of what I don't have and what I have created.  I am profoundly grateful for the relationships that I have with my children.  Solid, truthful, and clear, my children and I communicate quite well.  I can't say the same for my parents.

I looked through a few photo albums that I have.  I can see how happy my first five years are.  It is in my face.  Smiling and glowing.  The pictures of me at 10 years old are very different.  Things had changed a lot.  My mother was in and out of the hospital, my grandmother had died, and my grandfather had died as well.  Things were deteriorating in my home.  My mother was growing more mentally unstable and my father was out of the picture.

I had walked in on my mother shooting heroin.  I wrote about that in my diary.  "My mother is a drug addict".  Of course she read it and I got in trouble for it.  Talk about twisted.  I could see and feel what was right and what was clearly not right about our lives.  Normal is all I wanted.  What was normal to me?  People who didn't lie, who were clear.  That made me feel safe.  Everything with my mother was muddled.  My extreme loyalty to her was starting to change.  She relied on me way too much.

Looking back, I could see that my individuation was a direct threat to my mother.  She had me doing all the grocery shopping, the house cleaning, and as I reached my teen years, she began to accuse me of actions I hadn't even thought about, much less acted upon.

It became harder to be in her house.  Then she started taking me to psychiatrists.  Insisting to them that I was an out of control teen.  They told her I was very normal kid.  She didn't believe me.  I went to another doctor and learned to just talk to him.

One rainy day, I arrived soaked to the skin.  I remember the impression of his office.  It was dark with a lot of leather furniture.  The room felt safe.  So I did something I longed to do, I told him the truth.  The bottom line was I saw one thing in my life and my mother was trying to convince me and everyone else of something the opposite.  Psychiatrists rarely talk directly to you other than to make a suggest or offer a direction.  This doctor talked to me at length for a bit.  His words filled me with hope.

He told me, on that very rainy day, that there was nothing wrong with me.  He said things were about to change in my life and to remember that I had done nothing wrong.  Do you know what it feel like to have an adult validate YOU?  For the first time in a very long time, someone believed in my.  He told me that my mother's problems were not mine to hold or to fix.  He told me that wherever I went I could hold my head up and be proud of who I am.

I left his office that day never to return.  I left my mother's home forever a few weeks later.  I went to a foster home in Valley Stream, New York.  Then to a group home in Far Rockaway, New York.  Those were very hard experiences that I have survived.

I have huge anxiety about random things now.  I sailed through some terrifying times when I was young.  Youth gives us such strength and momentum.  I didn't realize what I had missed until I had children of my own.  I did not parent with my ego out in front.  I knew a few things that people that come from a traditional childhood may not have known.

Children need to know you love them unconditionally.  Not just with your words but with the choices that you make in your life.  You may not be able to give them every new toy that comes out, but you can be there to listen.  You may not have a perfect life, but you can show them that you can wait trouble out and not fall apart.  You may not have all the answers, but you won't give up on them.

I have tried to show Samantha and Dylan what I didn't have and what I was committed to them to respond.  They are adults now.  With lessons in front of them that I won't be a part of.  I broke the cycle of abuse and neglect that was visited upon me.

I hope my grandchildren hear stories of how fearless their Nana was as a young girl and that they learn that our choices shape our future and touch the lives of so many that we don't realize how much of an impact we have in the World.