My Mother, Arlene's Birth

   

  The year my mother was conceived, 1933, marked a particularly trying time as it was "the worst point in the depression as more than 15 million Americans, one-quarter of the nation’s workforce were unemployed." (source:Encarta: http://encarta.msn.com/encyclopedia_761584403/great_depression_in_the_united_states.html)    

My Grandma Alyce was in her early 20's, slim, fashionable and doted on by her parents.  Only a few years earlier, she was given a car as a birthday present. Her mother, my great-grandmother Ida, would deny her daughter nothing after having been denied so much herself as a young woman growing up on the Lower East Side.  

Add to the mix, my Grandpa Bernie, the son of recent immigrants, a dutiful son, who was told to go into medicine despite his burning desire to become an architect. He despised the daily grind of dentistry, the endless rotting teeth and complaints, the uncomfortable arch of the back required to reach and peer deeply into countless mouths. His skin would break out in raging pustules as his nervous condition worsened in response to the stress.

 If a patient couldn't pay, Bernie would nod his head sympathetically, and let it go. 

My grandmother suddenly found herself  scrambling as there was never enough money. She offered to find work as a hygienist, but Grandpa refused to allow his wife to work. It would have looked to others as though he were not a good enough provider.

Regret is born of clawing circumstances and suddenly the lighting guy, her former beau, was beginning to look less "plain" in retrospect. In time, he'd be painted in a golden glow as Grandma imagined the palatial homes she might've owned or the cruises to Europe she might've taken.  

My mother, Arlene, was born in early September of 1934.  According to the baby record Grandma kept, she had peaches and cream skin, blue eyes (which would later turn hazel) and light brown hair.  

Alyce had prayed for a girl, as she was certain boys meant trouble. She would watch her nephews run around the house hollering. She called them vildechayas (meaning wild animals in Yiddush) and she wanted no part of them or their gender. 

 Alyce and Great Grandma Ida adored  my mother during those early years.  They would sing her lullabies like Oyfen Pripichik, Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey? and Billy Boy as she was rocked in her cradle.