My Brooklyn Accent

     Having recently celebrated a birthday, memories of past birthdays came to mind. Fortunately for me, as a young child growing up in my Brooklyn home, birthdays were mostly a family affair.  Instead of a party with my friends, I just had a “family party” and that was more than enough for me. Truth is, I wasn’t too crazy about going to my friends’ parties. I always found the games intimidating. Especially when they played two games that caused me a lot of anxiety, Pin the Tail on the Donkey and Musical Chairs.      Pin the Tail on the Donkey was a frightening and embarrassing pursuit. You know the game but let me bring it back to you. Picture a bunch of kids sequestered in a wood paneled basement festooned with crepe paper garlands hanging from the ceiling. An adult blindfolded you and spun you around until you were so dizzy you immediately regretted eating that second piece of birthday cake. They handed you a paper tail with a thumbtack stuck in it, which at this you

     Becoming a new grandmother has me thinking back to my childhood. Growing up, I was fortunate to have both my maternal and paternal grandmothers close by. In our family, they were affectionately referred to as Grandma B and Grandma P, the first initial of their last names.  I was in my twenties when they died and although I was old enough to accept this inevitable fact of life, I was still too young to lose the benefit of their wisdom and their love. I remember them both fondly, and now as a grandmother myself, I think about these two women more than ever.       We called Grandma B, my mother’s mom, Noni.  She was widowed in her fifties and soon after came to live with us. As a kid, I loved having Noni stay in our home. For years, we shared a bedroom and the biggest perk of that was that she made my bed every morning! In turn, I would hand down some of my clothes and she loved to mix teen-style tops with her classic tweed skirts. She had an eye for style and was an exquisite dressm

If you ask any adult who was a chubby kid if they have a memory of being put on their first diet, most will answer yes and many will say it’s a bad memory they would rather forget.  I certainly didn’t forget, but it wasn't all that bad. There are as many diets as there are bathroom scales. Even if you’ve never dieted, never snacked on celery sticks in lieu of potato chips or never called one of those 1-800 numbers looking for a magic pill; I’m sure you’ve heard of Weight Watchers.  Weight Watchers was my first diet. It was 1969. I was in eighth grade. I don’t remember what I weighed or maybe I just erased it from my memory along with my poor conduct grades. I do know that I weighed significantly more than my classmates. When the girls would discuss their weights, I would just lie. But I wasn’t stupid. I assessed where I fell on the weight continuum between the skinny and chubby girls and bent the truth by a few pounds. Truth is, I wasn’t unhappy with how I looked, I just didn’t lik