I answered the phone at my desk.

“Hello?”

“This is the last time I’m going to read this to you.”  I immediately recognized my father’s voice, who offered no salutation.

“I had to read this to you over and over and over again,” he continued.  “’I will not eat it in a box, I will not eat it with a fox. I will not eat green eggs and ham.  I will not eat it, Sam I Am.’”

“Oka-a-y,” I responded, somewhat hesitantly, wondering where this was going.  I glanced around the busy law office, processing this surreal moment of having my father read a childhood book to me.

“Dr. Seuss recently died,” he said, “and I’m reading a column in today’s San Francisco Chronicle paying tribute to him.  I was thinking about how many times I had to read his books to you over and over again.  So, I’m just letting you know, that this is the last time I’m reading this to you.” 

Laughing, I thought, “That’s my dad.”

“Pick out any record you want,” my father said, gesturing toward a wall of 45 rpm singles.   He loved music, and had even spent some time as a DJ in the early 50’s. Still, he was quite the spendthrift, so I was rather surprised at this magnanimous gesture.  But, even at the tender age of 12, I understood this was his attempt at bonding. 

So, I made my selection and he made his, and on the way home he happily discussed his new Hi-Fi purchase and how the records would sound.  Once at home, he put the yellow adapter disc into the 45, and dropped it onto the turntable. 

Smiling, he turned to me and said, “Okay, here you go!” 

His happy countenance quickly segued into horror as Steppenwolf blared out his new stereo speakers, “Born to Be Wild!”  Jaw dropping, he turned and stared at me.  I could almost hear his stunned thought, “Wasn’t she just listening to Woody Woodpecker?!”

This and other memories came flooding back as I recently read an article about vinyl records making a comeback:

The record player had options for 33, 45 and 78 rpms. 

My slumber party in the backyard with Land of the Thousand Dances playing on the record player, as my friends and I danced our little hearts away was so much fun.

Blowing dust off the needle for a clearer sound.

The “proofs” of Paul McCartney’s demise on The Beatles recordings and album cover (Abby Road).

Taping a song meant holding the tape recorder up to the speakers.

Cutting out the red colored record out of a cereal box – The Archies’, “Sugar Sugar.”  (I still can’t believe it could actually play.)

What memories do you have regarding the days of vinyl?

That I couldn’t get away with much, because she had already done it.

Laugh much.

Sew my own clothes when on a tight budget.

Be adventurous.

Don’t let the sales clerk sell you something you don’t need.

Attend all family events.

Washing the dishes includes wiping down the sinks and countertops.

Love unconditionally.

Too much sun causes melanoma.

What did you learn from your mother?

“Let’s the follow the deer trail,” my father suggested, always ready to introduce his family to new adventures.  We walked along single file, one brother in the lead, followed by my other brother, myself, my mother and my father at the end.

Screams suddenly pierced the quiet, grassy woods, emanating from my young brother in the lead.  My second brother began screaming as well, batting his head and running around in circles.  I stopped to see what was going on, and my eyes grew large at the sight of several rather large, thick bees furiously flying around my poor brothers’ heads. 

My father, annoyed, asked, “What’s wrong with everyone?” 

My mother angrily replied, “Eric stepped onto a bee’s nest.  They’re all getting stung!” 

My father didn’t get stung and, thankfully, neither did I.  It scared the hell out of me, though.

To this day, my brothers and I will exchange serio-comic looks when we go hiking.  “Beware of deer trails …”

But, we had learned a valuable lesson that day – watch where you’re walking.

I went on a hike this past weekend up to Zim Zim Falls in Napa County.  I was looking up at the falls, and not where I was walking – down a steep hill, with slippery, flattened grasses.  Visually, I must’ve looked like I had slipped on a banana peel the way my foot easily slid out from under me and my leg flew up in the air.  I now have a large gash (with a somewhat flair to it) on my leg outlined with a greenish-grayish-purplish tint.

If it had been a deer trail, I would’ve paid more attention.

******

Do you have any family hiking memories? 

Fred Astaire and Judy Garland sang “Easter Parade” on TV, while my Mom and I dyed Easter eggs, and I thought of the Easter basket that would be waiting for me in the morning when I woke up, filled with candy.

One year, someone gave me a little chick for Easter.  It was cute and fluffy, and would chirp back to me when I spoke to it.

And, then, it grew up …

With rising unemployment often leading the news each evening, I was thinking about my first job. 

In high school (mid-1970s), as part of the ROTC program, I worked at Hallmark.  Back then, cashiers actually had to figure out the change; cash registers didn’t do it for them.  Unfortunately, math was never a strong point for me.  One day, the assistant manager told me the manager wanted to send me to another, slower retail store.  Age 16 is a tough age generally, but to be rejected, told I was a failure, was really, really hard to take.

The assistant manager felt sorry for me, and taught me how to count change backwards and in increments.  She explained it in such a way that I was able to pick it up immediately.  I was soon counting change faster than anyone in the store, including the manager.  When the holidays came around, the manager hired me as paid employee.

I’ll never forget the kindness and generosity of the assistant manager who took the time for a struggling teenager.  I’ve made a point of paying that forward with young people throughout my life, including a stint as a volunteer youth crisis counselor.

I still suck at math, though.

What was your first job?

When I was a child, my family was on a strict budget, which meant watching movies at the local drive-in theater.  Mom made popcorn, which we weren’t allowed to eat until a quarter of the way into the picture.  Sometimes, as a treat, we would get a soda from the snack bar.

Each parking space had its own speaker which hung on a pole and was attached with a cable.  The speaker would hang over the partially opened car window.  Sometimes, the speakers actually worked.  When they didn’t, we’d have to drive forward or backward to another parking spot.  It got to the point where my dad would just have my brothers get out of the car to run from speaker to speaker finding one that worked, so he wouldn’t have to continually move the car.  In the winter, because of the required partially opened window, we would freeze.

A recent local news item caught my attention – an all-girl Catholic high school is on the verge of closing down due to low enrollment numbers. 

A memory from 1974 suddenly popped up, when streaking was all the rage; on Oscar night, someone had streaked across the stage and Ray Stevens had a hit single. 

That year, a bunch of  jocks from my high school decided they would streak this particular all-girl Catholic high school.  Since my boyfriend was joining the prank, I went along for the ride.  As luck would have it, there was an assembly, so the entire student body was in the gymnasium. The guys stripped, and began running around the room, and up-and-down the aisles. 

My high school was predominantly comprised of a blindingly white student body.  So, when one of our fellow students – a dark-skinned Hispanic fellow – put on a ski mask to hide his identity, the irony was not lost on me.  He ran back-and-forth across the stage, intermittently slipping into various dance routines, while a nun frantically spread her habit trying to block him from view.

The next day, my boyfriend told me that a girl had stolen his wallet, and wouldn’t return his license to him unless he went out with her.  He wasn’t interested, so he asked me to accompany him to the DMV and forge his mother’s signature so he could apply for a new license.  Yes, I did.  The curse of the teenage crush.

What are your streaking memories?

Gene Autry only kissed his horse.  Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers danced their way to romance.  Bogie showed Ingrid Bergman how much he loved her by sending her away.

I was fascinated by the movies of the 1930’s and 1940’s.  I frequently battled with my brothers over the color television set, because the ballgames were in color, and my movies were in black-and-white. 

Watching musicals and romantic comedies over and over again, I learned how to kiss by watching love scenes with Cary Grant, Gary Cooper and Gene Kelly. 

After the kiss, the camera would pan to the moon …

What is your favorite romantic movie classic to watch this Valentine’s Day?

As we move into the digital television era, I’ve been thinking about the old black-and-white TV my family had.  It had to warm up for a few minutes before coming on.  When you turned it off, the screen would slowly fade, getting smaller and smaller, until it became a tiny white dot, and then completely disappeared.  There were several glass tubes in the back that would periodically blow and would have to be replaced.

I had a skateboard which I absolutely loved, and was very adept at riding, including down our very steep driveway.  One birthday, I was given a wood burning set, which I immediately used to write my name on the skateboard, and anything else I could think of.  When I ran out of space, I looked around the yard and the street, for pieces of wood to release my creativity. Having run out of places, I realized the back of the television set was wooden and I could write something on it.  Since it was on the back, no one would know.

Until a tube burned out. 

My dad took one look at my creative drawing, and good-bye wood burning set.

What do you remember about the old television sets?