It was the summer of my thirteenth year that my mom asked me to sew some dresses for her.  The family was facing two kids going to college in the upcoming years and pennies needed to be pinched.  I was happy to do it for her.  Unlike today’s kids there weren’t a 1001 little gizmos to fill one’s time with. 

There were books to read of course.  Somerset Maugham seems to have been a particular favorite of my mother’s and so he became one of mine also.  Oh southern writers, I did so love them.  Who knew that such debauchery existed in one horse towns?  Those Book of the Month Club Specials has the added benefit of addng to whatever the “National Geographic” didn’t show in the way of sex…er…anatomy. 

There was a small boxy TV which only showed game shows and soap operas during the day.  I abhorred soap operas and the only time the TV was ever used during the day was when my grandmother visited.  When she visited then both she and the maid promptly sat down at noon for lunch and happily chowed down while occasionally dabbing at their eyes at a particularly sad part of “As the World Turns”.  After the show went off my grandmother and the maid would have earnest conversations on just how truly bad all those heathen vixens on the show truly were. The maid kept saying how all those wicked women needed to become “right” with the lord.  My grandmother would nod her head and say “yes sister, you are exactly right in that.”  I never did understand why if they thought all those women were so wicked they practically broke a leg to be in front of the TV everyday at noon to watch “their story” but there you go.

You know, come to think of it, every day in my office is somewhat like mini and multiple soap operas.  Maybe I don’t like the scripted soap operas.  Maybe it’s just the reality soap operas I like.  Or maybe unlike a TV which I can turn off, I don’t have the option of leaving the meeting with the patient.  Odd, life is odd.  Or maybe I am odd.

During the summer the pool was open.  We had two pools in town.  One pool was quite exclusive and most of my friends went to that pool.  My dad refused to join because they refused to admit people of the Jewish race.  So we belonged to the other pool where everyone else belonged.  It really was a better pool.  It was bigger and better equipped and had more things to do.  I actually felt sorry for the folks who went to the other pool. In fact lots of my friends from the other pool would often ask me to take them to my pool as a guest. 

My brother could drive but he had a job in a burger joint so in order to get to the pool I had to ride my bike.  Five long miles out and five long miles back.  I usually went every day. The good thing about all that exercise was that it kept the weight off.  I was 5 feet 8 inches tall and weighed 104 pounds. 

Although I did like to swim that wasn’t the compelling reason for my going to the pool every day that summer.  I had a boy friend of sorts that summer and the only place I ever saw him was at the pool  I’m not really sure I really, really liked him all that much but he was somewhat valuable for learning about sex. He was fourteen and I doubt he had a deep and abiding love for me either.  It was I think for both of us a win/win relationship.  Somewhat like a bike with training wheels.  We used to dive in the deep end of the pool and meet underwater and kiss, repeatedly.  Somehow in my barely teenage mind I was of the opinion that surely no one could see us kissing under the water.  But of course everyone could.  The mystery to me is how my mother never heard of it.  I guess I just got lucky for once.

When I wasn’t busy reading about about cats on hot tin roofs or closing my ears to keep from hearing about sinful vixens or learning about the mechanics of lust (is there a trend here?) I did find time to sew four dresses for my mom.  The seams were strong and sturdy, not the fine sewing and designing I was later to do in life but finished well , simple in design, and attractive on her.  My mother was pleased and thus I was happy. 

I sewed those dresses on an old singer sewing machine which was propelled by foot power.  I would often daydream and make up little stories while sewing and as the saying goes put the metal to the pedal.  It was fun.  I still have that machine and it still works.  It has outlasted any other machine I have ever had.

Funny, I have never sewn for my mother since that time.  Maybe I should have.  Maybe it would have changed things between us.