1st birthday
I often get comments about the treasure vault of old photos I provide in these stories. My father was the family record-keeper, both in still and moving pictures. When my parents divorced in 1981, my brother and I insured in the divorce decree that he got custody of those precious home movies (on real 8mm film, dating back to 1949 when my brother wasn’t yet 2 years old). Rick then transferred them to Beta format, I transferred them to VHS and later to DVD. With each transfer, the quality diminished, but I can still watch them, as I did up to my second birthday in 1954, the morning I began to write this story. At one point, I burst into tears. So many of my loved ones are deceased. And sometime between the divorce in 1981 and the move to be close to me, at the end of 1995, my mother threw away many of my early childhood photos. Much of what I have, I had already cribbed for my own albums.
With that in mind, it is difficult for me to tease apart true memory from what I’ve formed by watching those movies, or discussed with my brother over the years. We are almost five years apart. He was the youngest in the family and did not appreciate being eclipsed by this new, squalling creature who took up time, space, energy and affection from all the adults who used to be devoted to him. You can look at the Featured photo and see me in my “tenda” (I believe it was called). I seem pretty happy. Rick looks stiff beside me. I think I have a vague memory of him peeking into my crib and poking at me, deliberately making me cry. He had been robbed of his supremacy and for a few years did things to undermine me.
In the movie I watched today, I am on a blanket in the backyard at 7 months old, able to sit up, but wobbly. He appears to be looking out for me (our parents had just returned from vacation while our beloved nurse “Jean-Jean” and a maid stayed with us; they were not far from me). Rick watches as I topple over. He tugs at my dress to pull me up, then pushes me over again. He runs around a bit, then comes back and gives me one more shove, just for good measure. I don’t remember those events, but they seem indicative of the relationship at that point in time.
Rick, 6; me, 18 months
As I began to walk, I know he tripped me one day. I went sprawling into the leg of a chair, opening a cut above my eyebrow. I still bear that scar. Do I actually remember that, or have I just heard that story repeated many times? I am not sure.
2nd birthday (still shot from an old home movie, transferred to DVD)
For my second birthday, I received a little red plaid purse. I was delighted with it. I was always a girly-girl. The family met for my birthday dinner at my Aunt Do and Uncle Art’s (my dad’s oldest brother) who lived a few blocks away. Lots of family members were there and I was the guest of honor, sitting on everyone’s lap, a big birthday cake brought out in my honor.
Yet the most famous moment of that day took place before the party, in our living room. It became the stuff of family legend. My dad took a movie of me dancing a fandango. I even did a little umbrella spin. Then the camera pans over to reveal my mother, dressed in a form-fitting red knit dress, doing all the dance steps. I am merely following along, aping what she did. Classic. Do I remember that? Probably not, but I have watched that moment so often and it is so utterly charming that it is ingrained in my psyche. I am able to provide a little clip from the home movie below. Remember, the original was film, not video, so no sound.
Where my brother was passive, I was much more rambunctious. As I grew, I did not like being subtly harassed by him (once I became a companion for him, we became the best of friends and remain so; I just had to grow up a bit).
A strong memory that is absolutely mine, not family legend, happened when I was three and he was eight; he was still significantly larger than me (of course, he always will be). We were playing, independent of one another, in our wood-paneled den. It had a deep window seat at the front of the room, a perfect desk or performance platform. I had my paper dolls set up there and played make-believe with them. Rick sat on the sofa, pad of paper in his lap, drawing Disney advertisements for whatever was the current movie at that moment. He didn’t like working on his lap and decided, again, to declare his superior position in the family over me. He arose and swept me and my dolls away with one swoosh. I was IRATE! I tried, unsuccessfully, to push back. He was much bigger than me.
So I walked behind him and bit him where I could reach him…in the BUTT! Hard! HA! That would teach him! He yowled. Our mother came running in. I was sent to my room for a while, though I protested mightily. It wasn’t fair. I was playing nicely. He had pushed me aside! He got a lecture too. We both cried a lot. Mother didn’t like chaos. We both had to apologize, swear we wouldn’t pull stuff like that again and would take turns with the window seat. I don’t remember that we ever had a problem again.
With Rick in 2018 on his 70th birthday.
Betsy PfauRetired from software sales long ago, two grown children. Theater major in college. Singer still, arts lover, involved in art museums locally (Greater Boston area). Originally from Detroit area.
With your trove of photos, Betsy, I should have guessed that a big issue for you would be trying to discern what you remembered at the time vs. what you have seen many times in a photo. And, of course, you have confirmed that dilemma. Still, as you make clear, both sorts of memories are genuine and I am glad that you are able to treasure so many of them.
But it is particularly amusing that you remember the event itself when you bit your brother’s butt. (By the way, did he have to get a tetanus shot? My father, who was a doctor, insisted that I have one after a little girl bit me in the shoulder after she thought I had splashed her in a community swimming pool.)
And it is particularly cool that you have the movie clip of you and your mother dancing — and I am most impressed that you were able to link it to your story so we could all see it. Charming! You were clearly born to dance!
Thank you, John. No tetanus shot required. I didn’t break the skin (not through thick pants and underwear) and I’m sure we were up-to-date on our shots. I spoke with Rick on Tuesday night (we lost a cousin on Tuesday, so checked in with each other and had a long talk; I brought this story up). He remembers being held by one of our maids. I remember several of them, but not the chronology, so not sure how old I was when one in particular was with us. She vastly preferred me to my brother, which really angered him. But I think I was already 3 by that time.
I am glad that I was able to get the video link to work, even if the shot is short and not great quality. It is SO famous in our family and so indicative of family dynamics; sort of sums it all up.
Great minds, Betsy. Loved the film clip! One question: You mention that the movies were shot with 35mm film. Really? That was Hollywood-grade stuff. Didn’t realize it was produced for home use.
Great story all around.
Thank you for pointing this out, Tom. I’m sure you are correct. I just did some research. It was more likely 8mm film, but I would have to check with my brother to know for certain. I know my dad sent it off to a lab to be developed, but he would edit and splice everything together himself. He stopped taking home movies when I was about 12 or 13, when he discovered Polaroids! Those he would also send off to get reproductions to send to family members. He kept up taking snapshots his whole life (not just Polaroids, but from good cameras too, as did his oldest brother – who hosted my second birthday). Sorting through his albums was among the most difficult tasks after he died because we didn’t know many of the people in the photos. It’s hard to throw away memories.
Betsy, I love your approach to this story. Like you, I have most of the family photos (from my husband’s side, as well). I transferred those old movies to DVD format, which is antiquated as well, although we do still have a DVD player attached to our television set. Your story makes me want to take another look at those. The movie is a precious memory.
Go for it Laurie. I had to watch twice before I could grab that video of me dancing on my second birthday. But oh my, how my heart aches, seeing how young and lovely everyone looks, a mere 66 years ago! It is both wonderful and bittersweet to be able to look at those moving images and know what happened to so many of those sweet youngsters (both cousins and neighborhood friends), not to mention my aunts, uncles, grandparents and their brothers and sisters who are all gone. Yes, the movie provides a precious memory.
Old pix are priceless. My family took hundreds but most are gone. Many were lost in a basement flood some time in the 70s.
It was interesting that you mention how it can be difficult to tell original memories from those planted later by pictures or stories. The memory is a slippery beast!
Sorry about your lost pictures, Dave. I would be beside myself if that happened to me. My husband talked about that just last week. He said in an emergency that I’d grab my photo albums (I have about 25, not including my mother’s, so that’s a lot to grab). I told him I’d grab important documents like passports first.
You are right, memory is slippery. I heard a lecture about it once. The woman said every time we access the memory, it changes it slightly, and we remember it slightly differently. Isn’t that interesting?
Betsy, I loved watching your little film clip, how clever of you to figure out how to share it with us! I can see a reflection of grown-up you holding your phone, so I know how you did it. You are lucky to have such a treasure trove of photos and movies from your childhood. My parents took movies when my sisters were young, but I don’t think there were any of me (classic 3rd child syndrome). Lots of great memories here!
I’m glad you liked my little movie clip, Suzy. It did take me a while to figure out how to share it (the quality is greatly diminished but you got the idea…I’m very impressed that you could see my reflection). Somehow, just describing it wasn’t enough; I really needed to share that image, even if the memory was made by the movie.
I also liked the movie clip–you had some good moves, as did your glamorous mother! I hope you still like to dance.
Thank you, Khati. I cherish those old movies. And my mother, deceased more than 10 years now, would never have believed it if she heard anyone describe her as glamorous, but she sure could dance. I do still love to dance. That was one way in which she had a positive influence on me.
Ah, Betsy…I love that little video clip! It really enriches your story, and you are just as cute as a button with your precious dance moves. And for what it’s worth, I echo Khati in saying your mother looked very glamorous indeed. Thanks for taking the time to figure out how to share it. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a video must be worth…well, a lot more than a thousand.
I love that you know your three-year-old memory of biting Rick is all yours and not the stuff of legend. I wonder if you’ve discovered, as I have, that there’s something else that happens similar to that phenomenon of not knowing if a memory is real or it it’s Memorex, and that is this: Once you’ve taken the time to write a story with all the details you can remember, the exact way you’ve written it becomes the etched memory and everything else falls away. At least that’s what has happened to me; once I’ve committed a story to writing, I can’t remember a single detail other than what I’ve written..
Glad you liked my video clip, Barb. You almost got an SOS, asking for info on how to add it, but I somehow figured it out myself.
You make an interesting point about committing our memories to print. I do find that once I write something down, aspects of it leave my mind (now that I have a record of it). As I wrote in a comment to Dave, I heard someone speak about our memories once. She said each time we retrieve them, they change slightly, so even though we are sure about something, it may not be actually what happened, which is an interesting (but for me) slightly disturbing, observation.
Betsy, dare I say once again your photos and your recall are amazing! It sounds as if you and Rick had a perfectly normal sibling relationship as kids, and now as adults a loving one.
My sister Laurie was 10 years my junior and that age difference meant I had little use for her in those early years! Then as adults, geography and our very different personalities and life styles kept us apart, and sadly as I’ve written before, Laurie died at 61 after a long and painful struggle with MS. Keep close touch to Rick and be grateful!
Dana, with your 10 year age gap, you and Laurie were in different generations. I know it must have been difficult to relate at all and you were off to college while she was still playing with dolls. I can hear the pain in your voice even now as you write these few sentences about her. Rick does not live close by, but when we get on the phone, it is always a long conversation and I’ve tried to go to Cincinnati to celebrate all his big occasions. Ironically, one of the few GOOD things that has come out of COVID is that we HAVE been able to celebrate a few holidays together (Passover for one) via Zoom. You will read more about that in an upcoming story on the year of the pandemic.
Yes Betsy the 10 year gap meant a lot when she was a kid, but then as adults we might have been closer if circumstances had been different. Now that she’s gone I regret so much!
I understand Dana. I wish I’d more time with my father, who lived so far away. There are so many things he missed, and so much I wanted to ask him about himself and his life when I thought about it, after he was gone. But we can’t fill ourselves with those feelings; we must try and move past them as best we can.
Yes, wise advice.
Beautiful deep introspection of early childhood and the formative nature of sibling relationships, Betsy. We can all learn so much from those days. Your big brother did look as if he had it out for you in that first photo, Betsy! Glad to read at the end that you bit him in the ass. I’m not so sure revenge can always taste sweet, but revenge, nonetheless! Much thought here, in your usual clear narrative.
Thanks, Chas. Sweet revenge was mine!
I love this, Betsy, and especially your spectacular, precocious fandango! There is so much of the older you in that clip, it’s almost prophetic. I think we all share the difficulty of distinguishing true memories from stories or home movies, and I was struck by Barbara’s observation that once we write down a memory it becomes reified and stops changing. Is that a feature of Retrospect, I wonder, or a bug?
Meanwhile I think you give Rick too much credit, explaining away his (not actually very) subtle harassment, when you say you just had to grow up a bit. So did he!
I had written the story weeks before I figured out how to add that home movie clip, John. Glad you liked it. I agree, the description just doesn’t do it justice. I understand what Barb means about committing something to writing and that becomes the definitive version of the event. Feature or bug? Who knows?
As for the early relationship with my brother, we actually talked about it last week. He remembers it exactly the same way that I do and also explains it the same way. He was used to being the only child and did not appreciate having this new kid deny him his position in the family and he took it out on me. By the time I was about 5 we became fast friends (I was the pest who followed him around and wanted his attention); we still are.