When I moved to Scarsdale NY I have to admit I was not warmly welcomed by all my classmates. They asked some pretty weird questions – like “Where do you buy your cloths? Lord and Taylors or Saks 5th Avenue?” I had no idea what those were having lived on the west coast. Then came the questions like “What kind of car is your Dad going to buy you when you turn 16?” NONE was probably my answer since my dad did not buy any of us cars, although as the only girl I might have been able to talk him into one.
I figured out pretty quickly that there was something going on. Eventually I figured out the problem was the following – The class of 1962 was made up of 23 boys and 46 girls. See a problem here? Yes, that was it, not enough boys to go around. I did not feel like I was a threat to any of them but little did I know that some of the friendships I was making had put me on a list. The blackball list. In my senior year I learned about this from some of the “other” girls in the class. This small group of girls basically controlled everything that went on in terms of social life in that class. I was on the outside for sure.
Oh well, I had other things on my plate. My cousin lived not far from me and she had great friends who accepted me when I was there. And when I went to Canada on vacation I dated up there so at least I had some social life that made me realize the problem was the classmates, not so much me.
But in addition to all of that I had Phil. She was like another mother to me. I babysat for her kids but then she and I would talk and chat about things. She was a wonderful person to be with and in the summers for a month she took me to Rhode Island with her to their summer place where I babysat the kids sometimes, had my own cottage and when I turned 16 she gave me the car once a week to go exploring. She was wonderful.
The angel on top of our Christmas tree came from her. My first perfume came from her. My silver ash tray came from her. That was probably to let me know she knew I was smoking in their house while babysitting since my parents were not suppose to know I smoked. She still smokes I think. I got a card from her the other day and it turns out she had a heart attack. I think I have to plan a trip east to see her soon.
She was an interesting woman. All four of the children were adopted and she and her husband were wonderful parents. He was a Harvard grad and she had attended high school and college with some of the Kennedys. Her dad had worked in advertising and had been very successful. But you never would have known that she had been raised in privilege. She was kind and patient and helpful to me. I will always be grateful to this woman for taking me under her wing.