Where am I from?
When I started these digital postcards last year, my intention was to connect on a deeper, more personal level with all of my friends around the world, old and new. So when I was brainstorming for a topic for this month’s postcard, I realized that not all of you know where I came from.
Of course, I grew up with many of you in our humble and gritty hometown, or maybe we went to college together, or ran in the same circles in California. But for the majority of people receiving this postcard, we’ve met somewhere along the way, probably briefly. And for a large number of my friends here, we’ve never even met, as you’ve been kind enough to read one of my books or blogs and we connected that way, but never in person. A lot of you have never been to America, and haven’t heard of a little place called “Connecticut.”
So I decided to sit down to write a little bit about my family, childhood and upbringing so we can become better acquainted. I’ll share the beginning with you now, and the rest from high school, college and beyond (and trust me, it get’s entertaining!) in later postcards.
I hope you feel like you know me a little better after reading it. I also hope that you keep saying hello and sharing your life with me, too.
***
When I started these digital postcards last year, my intention was to connect on a deeper, more personal level with all of my friends around the world, old and new. So when I was brainstorming for a topic for this month’s postcard, I realized that not all of you know where I came from.
Of course, I grew up with many of you in our humble and gritty hometown, or maybe we went to college together, or ran in the same circles in California. But for the majority of people receiving this postcard, we’ve met somewhere along the way, probably briefly. And for a large number of my friends here, we’ve never even met, as you’ve been kind enough to read one of my books or blogs and we connected that way, but never in person. A lot of you have never been to America, and haven’t heard of a little place called “Connecticut.”
So I decided to sit down to write a little bit about my family, childhood and upbringing so we can become better acquainted. I’ll share the beginning with you now, and the rest from high school, college and beyond (and trust me, it get’s entertaining!) in later postcards.
I hope you feel like you know me a little better after reading it. I also hope that you keep saying hello and sharing your life with me, too.
***
Both sides of my family are from Germany. On my mother’s side, my great grandfather came from a line of stonemasons. My grandfather, born in 1890, in a village in Germany, was quite a dynamic man for the times. Aside from being Post Master of the village they lived in, he was a lover of the opera, an avid mountain climber and outdoorsman, spoke four languages after teaching himself Middle High German and Latin, and even wrote a book documenting the village’s history, for which he won a medal from the government for that important cultural contribution.
Thankfully, my family had nothing at all to do with the war effort. In fact, my grandfather even rescued his Jewish best friend from certain death at Auschwitz.
Thankfully, my family had nothing at all to do with the war effort. In fact, my grandfather even rescued his Jewish best friend from certain death at Auschwitz.
My mother was born in 1945, the year WWII ended. While still pregnant, my grandmother had to run into the woods to hide when Allied planes strafed the town, and a few buildings down the street were bombed into rubble. South Germany was occupied by the French Allied Forces after WWII, and everyone had to house an officer. Those who ended up in Russian occupied territory weren’t so lucky.
I don’t know much about my father’s side of the family, except that he grew up in the eastern part of Germany, which became the Communist Eastern Bloc after WWII. His family actually escaped to the West when he was just a boy, leaving everything behind, including a factory they owned. He was an engineer, artist, musicians, and pilot.
My mother and father both emigrated to the U.S. to work for Polymer, a company, in Connecticut (a small state sandwiched between New York City and Boston, for my foreign friends who aren’t familiar with it).
My mother, Angelika, was a secretary and translator who spoke three languages fluently, Moving to a far off foreign country at only 20 years old was a huge and brave accomplishment for a woman in those days.
I don’t know much about my father’s side of the family, except that he grew up in the eastern part of Germany, which became the Communist Eastern Bloc after WWII. His family actually escaped to the West when he was just a boy, leaving everything behind, including a factory they owned. He was an engineer, artist, musicians, and pilot.
My mother and father both emigrated to the U.S. to work for Polymer, a company, in Connecticut (a small state sandwiched between New York City and Boston, for my foreign friends who aren’t familiar with it).
My mother, Angelika, was a secretary and translator who spoke three languages fluently, Moving to a far off foreign country at only 20 years old was a huge and brave accomplishment for a woman in those days.
The owners of that company, Nancy and Jack, and all of their kin, became our family here in the United States, including my spunky Aunt Lily and my beloved Uncle Joe.
I was born in Bridgeport, a rough city in southern Connecticut, but my family lived in nearby Monroe, a rural and quiet area not far away. My parents bought their house for $19,900 in 1968. It was a split-level ranch home with 3 acres of forest around and a series of big rocks in the front yard.
As a clumsy toddler, I’d run out the front door and trip and fall in the same place every time, busting my lip open on the same rock. (I still think that’s why I have big lips.)
I was born in Bridgeport, a rough city in southern Connecticut, but my family lived in nearby Monroe, a rural and quiet area not far away. My parents bought their house for $19,900 in 1968. It was a split-level ranch home with 3 acres of forest around and a series of big rocks in the front yard.
As a clumsy toddler, I’d run out the front door and trip and fall in the same place every time, busting my lip open on the same rock. (I still think that’s why I have big lips.)
My sister, Barbara, is two years older than me. She taught me how to ride a tricycle around our living room before I could even walk. I don’t remember too much about that house or our life then – I can’t tell if my memories are real or just from the faded and yellowed photographs of the time.
But I do have a few distinct memories of those first years of my life.
The first thing I can ever really remember is sitting in a high chair in the kitchen in that house in Monroe. I was facing the kitchen window and the sunlight was streaming through. At that moment, suddenly, I was conscious of my life. The sunlight made everything glow and it was so beautiful.
But I do have a few distinct memories of those first years of my life.
The first thing I can ever really remember is sitting in a high chair in the kitchen in that house in Monroe. I was facing the kitchen window and the sunlight was streaming through. At that moment, suddenly, I was conscious of my life. The sunlight made everything glow and it was so beautiful.
I also remember that every evening before dinner, my mother would tell everyone to wash up. I don’t remember her saying this, but my father would grab me and put me on his shoulders and carry me down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, bouncing playfully like a roller coaster ride.
My father, Ferdinand, was also a recreational pilot and owned a couple of small aircraft. While other families packed up their station wagon and went on a road trip, he’d have us pile into his Cessna and fly to a remote island on the Bahamas. I don’t remember anything about those trips – even about being there – except that I’d play with plastic toy safari animals on the back window ledge of the plane as we flew.
My father, Ferdinand, was also a recreational pilot and owned a couple of small aircraft. While other families packed up their station wagon and went on a road trip, he’d have us pile into his Cessna and fly to a remote island on the Bahamas. I don’t remember anything about those trips – even about being there – except that I’d play with plastic toy safari animals on the back window ledge of the plane as we flew.
Tragically, my father died in a plane crash when I was only two and a half years old. He was piloting a single-seat plane one clear October day when the engine failed.
My mother, not even 30 years old at the time, was left alone in a foreign country far from any family. I’m sure she thought long and hard about returning to Germany. But instead, she decided to stay in the U.S. and Connecticut and restart our new life. We moved to Hamden in Connecticut, right outside of the small city of New Haven where she worked at prestigious Yale University.
I realize that most of what she did from that point on was with her young children in mind, trying to give them as good of a life as she could, and I respect the hell out of her for that. Eventually, she even put herself through nursing school, graduating magna cum laude, and went back to get her graduate degree later on.
My mother, not even 30 years old at the time, was left alone in a foreign country far from any family. I’m sure she thought long and hard about returning to Germany. But instead, she decided to stay in the U.S. and Connecticut and restart our new life. We moved to Hamden in Connecticut, right outside of the small city of New Haven where she worked at prestigious Yale University.
I realize that most of what she did from that point on was with her young children in mind, trying to give them as good of a life as she could, and I respect the hell out of her for that. Eventually, she even put herself through nursing school, graduating magna cum laude, and went back to get her graduate degree later on.
I grew up right there in Hamden, in a colonial brick house at 34 Pickwick Road. It had a big apple tree in the front yard that shed hundreds of small apples half of the year, and we’d spend hours picking them up. A little creek that ran through the back of the property, which felt like a raging river when I was little.
When we first arrived in Hamden, I was enrolled at Sunshine and Lollipops Preschool, a name that permanently ruined any chance of having street cred.
The next year, I started school at Ridge Hill School, which was not far from our house. I walked to school every day. (Yup, uphill. Both ways. Even when it snowed. Which was every day.)
I went through a phase where I was pretty damn cute, complete with pimped-out little 1970s outfits. Then, I went through a phase where I wasn’t so cute. In fact, my ultra-dorky, buck-toothed “Schriever Beaver” phase lasted right up until high school. (Some would argue that it’s never ended!)
When we first arrived in Hamden, I was enrolled at Sunshine and Lollipops Preschool, a name that permanently ruined any chance of having street cred.
The next year, I started school at Ridge Hill School, which was not far from our house. I walked to school every day. (Yup, uphill. Both ways. Even when it snowed. Which was every day.)
I went through a phase where I was pretty damn cute, complete with pimped-out little 1970s outfits. Then, I went through a phase where I wasn’t so cute. In fact, my ultra-dorky, buck-toothed “Schriever Beaver” phase lasted right up until high school. (Some would argue that it’s never ended!)
 Cute. |  Still cute. |  Not so cute. |
Ridge Hill was designed in a space-aged theme, with homogenous red brick walls, ramps instead of staircases, open units instead of closed-door classrooms, and few windows When it was built in the 1960s, the race to the moon between the U.S. and The Soviet Union was in full swing.
Throughout grade school, the dark cloud of the Cold War hung over all of us. We really thought that any day, the Soviet Union could push the button to launch their missiles and the world would escalate into nuclear war, causing all of our demise. It was very real to all of us, and permeated not only newspaper headlines, but also in movies, songs, video games and other popular culture.
We even had emergency drills where we had to hide under our desks in case of a nuclear war. (I don’t know how the hell being under a desk would help if someone dropped a nuke on us.)
Throughout grade school, the dark cloud of the Cold War hung over all of us. We really thought that any day, the Soviet Union could push the button to launch their missiles and the world would escalate into nuclear war, causing all of our demise. It was very real to all of us, and permeated not only newspaper headlines, but also in movies, songs, video games and other popular culture.
We even had emergency drills where we had to hide under our desks in case of a nuclear war. (I don’t know how the hell being under a desk would help if someone dropped a nuke on us.)
At that time, there were no cell phones, no social media, and no computers in our lives. Hell, we didn’t even have a microwave oven until my middle school years. The daily newspaper and evening television news were the only source of information for most people. For us kids, if we wanted to know something we had to thumb through the 26-volume Encyclopedia Britannica that was sold door to door, or, better yet, just asked someone’s Pops. So your neighborhood friends were your whole life after school.
I played football and baseball with Tyson and Greg a few streets over, or hung out and rode bikes with Bruce and Ed down the street. It seems unimaginable these days (at least in the U.S.), but our parents would send us outside to play and tell us not to come home by dinnertime. The world sure has changed.
I played football and baseball with Tyson and Greg a few streets over, or hung out and rode bikes with Bruce and Ed down the street. It seems unimaginable these days (at least in the U.S.), but our parents would send us outside to play and tell us not to come home by dinnertime. The world sure has changed.
Our little BMX bike gang rode around all day, causing as much trouble as possible – which really wasn’t much. I do remember going through a kleptomaniac phase where I’d go to the nearby Hamden Plaza and steal everything that wasn’t bolted down, which lasted until my shopping bag filled with stolen books ripped apart and I got busted.
We even had the requisite neighborhood bully, Fat Pete, who tormented me. Hell, I don’t blame him, as I was an easy target. I tried watching as many ninja movies as I could to mount a defense, but for some reason, it didn’t help.
When it was time to name our new family puppy, I preferred something like “Killer” or “Kujo,” but my mom and sister outvoted me and named the dog “Sunny.”
We even had the requisite neighborhood bully, Fat Pete, who tormented me. Hell, I don’t blame him, as I was an easy target. I tried watching as many ninja movies as I could to mount a defense, but for some reason, it didn’t help.
When it was time to name our new family puppy, I preferred something like “Killer” or “Kujo,” but my mom and sister outvoted me and named the dog “Sunny.”
There was a pond back behind our neighborhood parochial school so in the summer, we’d go fishing, and in the winter, ice skate and play hockey. A few times a year, we’d go watch the New Haven Nighthawks play hockey. Held in grimy stadium in New Haven, the games were secondary to the real fun: the fights. There were plenty of fights between the players on the ice, and when those calmed down, there were brawls in the stands between the drunken fans, at least half of whom looked like they just got back from the Vietnam War.
There was little league baseball (which I sucked at) and soccer, but my true love was art. I’d draw for endless hours and really had a natural gift for it, even getting accepted into an adult art class as a kid. I used so much expensive paper that my mom started buying industrial rolls of newsprint for me to sketch on. It was definitely my way to escape into another world, and I was introverted to a fault but never short on imagination – something that hasn’t totally left me.
There was little league baseball (which I sucked at) and soccer, but my true love was art. I’d draw for endless hours and really had a natural gift for it, even getting accepted into an adult art class as a kid. I used so much expensive paper that my mom started buying industrial rolls of newsprint for me to sketch on. It was definitely my way to escape into another world, and I was introverted to a fault but never short on imagination – something that hasn’t totally left me.
I saw my first real fight at the Basset Field parking lot, when Chris B. and some kid from another neighborhood ran at each other, jumping in the air and colliding in a fury of fists and kicks like something out of a kung-fu movie.
I even had my first real kiss right there in the neighborhood, when an older girl with braces named Cynthia planted one on me. It was both a terrifying and exhilarating experience, sort of like doing something very French with barbed wire.
I remember being sent home from school early when President Ronald Regan was shot in 1981. We all watched in on TV again and again, as that’s all that was played on 13 channels. But by the next year, Michael Jackson’s new groundbreaking video, Thriller, on the newly-released cable channel, MTV, was a much bigger deal.
The PacMan video game was taking over, everyone was wearing Nike Cortez, Nelson Mandela was still locked up in a South African jail, and Live Aid brought the famine in Ethiopia to our conscience.
The times were a-changing, and soon, sixth grade was over. But while my elementary school had been decidedly suburban, my middle school was in the rough inner city, which created its own problems for me…
-Norm :-)
I even had my first real kiss right there in the neighborhood, when an older girl with braces named Cynthia planted one on me. It was both a terrifying and exhilarating experience, sort of like doing something very French with barbed wire.
I remember being sent home from school early when President Ronald Regan was shot in 1981. We all watched in on TV again and again, as that’s all that was played on 13 channels. But by the next year, Michael Jackson’s new groundbreaking video, Thriller, on the newly-released cable channel, MTV, was a much bigger deal.
The PacMan video game was taking over, everyone was wearing Nike Cortez, Nelson Mandela was still locked up in a South African jail, and Live Aid brought the famine in Ethiopia to our conscience.
The times were a-changing, and soon, sixth grade was over. But while my elementary school had been decidedly suburban, my middle school was in the rough inner city, which created its own problems for me…
-Norm :-)
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