IMMIGRANT DAUGHTER #7

I need to tell you about a dog we had that loved my mother. Now I know, we all have pets that love us but I am talking unconditional love that was put to the test.

When my mother was in her down spiral Tippy was by her side constantly.

I don’t know how long we had Tippy but I do remember Tippy was mom’s dog and just tolerated the rest of us.  My father was not fond of pets. Oh, he put up with them because of mom. Someone brought mom a little kitten and Tippy welcomed the company to curl up with while sleeping.  Tippy learned quickly who was boss in our household and  he followed my dad everywhere and I mean everywhere. When dad went to the Town Council, V.F.W., Board of Education and political meetings Tippy would follow him in and wait under his chair being extremely quiet. He never barked or growled so he wouldn’t be thrown out.

It was easy for Tippy to follow because we walked everywhere. The only one he would wait for was dad. When he followed us to school as soon as the bell rang to go in Tippy would leave.

On Sunday when we walked to church he would follow us, but not be allowed to go in.  He would patiently wait until someone else came and as soon as they opened the door, scooted in crawling under the pews until he found where we were sitting. He sat quietly until church was over,

When mom was in bed for that year Tippy stayed by her side except to go out when he needed. The day mom died and the undertaker was called and carried mom’s body out  to the hearse, the dog seemed to know she wasn’t coming back and that afternoon Tippy ran in front of a car and died on the spot. I will never forget July 18.1942 . I lost both my mother and her dog who loved her so much.  I am, IMMIGRANT DAUGHTER.

Immigrant Daughter #3

 Continuing on with the story...  The whole family worked in the restaurant. I, being the youngest, had a job peeling a pot of potatoes every day. Needless to say I do not particularly like potatoes to this day. We all had different jobs at different ages. You can see I was the lowest rung on the ladder and got the least popular job.  One thing funny about peeling potatoes: in the back room I would sing crazy ding a ling songs and one day my father couldn't stand to hear such nonsense. He came yelling at me in Greek that if I can't sing anything but garbage to shut up.  At that moment I started to sing "Onward Christian Solders" and I thought, "Now I did it" and that I would get spanked. He got so mad that I heard things in Greek that I can not repeat.

Growing up in the restaurant allowed us to meet many different people making it easy to talk to strangers. My sister Electra and I worked more in the restaurant than any of the others. I will just tell you some of the stories that I can remember. It was so long ago from 4 year old to 79 that is a long span to remember things in order. But I am game to tell it,  if you are to hear it.

Dad and mom moved the restaurant across the main street to the corner across the street from the train station. The commuter trains from Atlantic City to Philadelphia stopped in Hammonton several times a day taking the people to and from work out of town. The restaurant was larger and we were busier. Mom and Dad did all the cooking, we were all older and our life changed.                

We were in the new place about 8 months when mom slipped in the kitchen on a piece of fat and broke her hip.  Now our back yard neighbor doctor was out of town and mom went to a doctor covering for him.  Well he did not agree with her about her hip and said she just bruised it. It kept hurting and when doctor Elliott returned he suggested she go the the hospital in Philadelphia. She had been there many times, I didn't know it then, but she had both breasts removed because of cancer. She rode the train or bus to go to the hospital. With a broken hip it must have been very painful. We did not have a car. I can relate to that as I am recovering from a broken right hip and I went to the emergency room in a very comfortable Honda Accord. The doctors and nurses couldn't imagine why I didn't call 911 for a more comfortable ambulance ride. 

I was 11 years old when this happened and as I said my life changed and not for the better. My mother was brought home with a body cast that started under her breast area to the end of her right foot. With the house being three stories mom's bed was moved down into the living room that had a square bay window so she could look outside. She enjoyed watching the kids passing by going to the Roman Catholic School that was just around the corner from our house. She laid in that bed for one whole year . Electra had the loving nurse instinct and had her bed brought down to the living where mom's bed was to take care of her needs. She had it doubly hard because my dad took that bed and called up to Electra to come down when mom needed anything. She had accepted the responsibility without a whimper.

I must interject here that my mother was so well loved that when the Roman Catholics had their  holiday  parades walking the religious statues from the church down to main street and back again, they made a special detour going back to the church passing our house and letting mom see them. We were not Roman Catholic but the priests knew mom was a believer and very devout and they would come in and pray for her.

The restaurant still required the same amount of time, but now we had mom at home who needed meals and going to the bathroom, which required the bed pan duty.  The three of us younger children still had to go to school and we had to adjust getting up time  and working at the restaurant but loved sitting by the bed listening to mom's stories. I can't remember anything but loving words from mom' I never heard "why me Lord".  She just accepted whatever happened as her lot. I had the job of running home with her lunch during lunch time from school and helping during rush hour and gulping down my lunch.

This hung on for one full year and then mom died. She was 45 years old. I was 12 years old. I will never forget the Greek custom of the family sitting up all night with the body and kissing it before they closed the coffin. Believe me that is a custom that is changed in my belief. Until next time I am Immigrant Daughter.