I have to make sure I don’t get carried away. There are so many stories here, I’m sure I could keep writing about Michael forever.
Before I move on I need to tell this story.
Those three awful years with Michael in day care weren’t 100% awful. I had been working for Wyeth Laboratories and less said about that, the better. I had to leave–I was physically ill from the stress–and fortunately I have several “skill sets.” I’m a good, fast typist and I know medical terminology. So I got hired at Bryn Mawr Rehabilitation Hospital on Philadelphia’s Main Line. Wonderful! All I had to do all day was listen to tapes made by doctors and transcribe them. It was the perfect job for me; I can think my own thoughts and still type accurately. The problem, as I saw it, was the group of women there. Having been bullied and back-stabbed at Wyeth, I had been burned; so I was traumatized. I was constantly on the alert for more signs of bullying, gossiping, etc.
There were four other medical transcribers there and I was sure they were talking about me. But God bless them–one of them approached me and asked me something. I can’t remember what it was but it basically addressed my being so standoffish. As it turned out these women were warm, funny (really funny !) and rebels besides. The small hospital was run with total efficiency. One half hour for lunch–and they meant A HALF HOUR–and a 15-minute break in the morning. The ladies who transcribed all day were always plotting to get away with something. Our boss was a young woman–about 25 years old–who had just graduated from some school for medical records. Her style of management? She watched us like a hawk.
So my new friends were always trying to get away with something naughty. After all the bullying, fear, and back-stabbing I’d known for a year at Wyeth I could not help but join in these escapades. Childish? Of course! But I wasn’t there for a career; I just had to work to make money. It was like putting a bandage on a wound. My lady friends had a radio and they kept it on all day, tuned to Philly’s oldies station. They soon found out that yes, I loved rock music but I hated the Rolling Stone’s song Under My Thumb. So I’d be at my desk, furiously typing away and one of them would say: “Psst! Hey Leslie! We need some help with spelling a medical term right!” So into their office I went and guess what song was playing on the radio??!!
After this happened twice it became a ritual. When I heard “Psst!” I knew old Mick Jagger was hissing and snarling about having some dumb stupid girl under his thumb.
Back to the anchor in my life. Michael wasn’t injured in any way during those three years. He had a good time in day care. The pediatrician Berry Brazelton wrote books about raising kids and other than Mr. Rogers–who wrote a wonderful book about being a parent–he was my guru. He wrote that probably young children, as a rule, were not particularly injured in full time day care. But how about the mothers and fathers? They were the ones who felt pain on being separated from their babies and toddlers for all that time. He turned his discontent towards our government that doesn’t support the needs of families with children.
I remember when I was home all day with Michael, the day came when he refused to be fed with a spoon. If you offered him a spoonful of food he’d push it away–at only three months old. Of course I got upset about this and I talked to our pediatrician. Included in the “God Bless” category was this young doctor, Raymond Fabius. He said: “Mrs. Mastroianni. Michael has reached the age when he wants to feed himself. So just take whatever foods he might like, cut them up into tiny little pieces, and put these pieces on the tray of his high chair. Remember, he won’t starve to death.” So for a pretty long time Michael lived on dry Cheerios, little chunks of bagels and cream cheese, and those snack crackers that come in cellophane wrapping, broken up into tiny pieces. But Dr. Fabius–who we called “Dr. Fabulous”–said something else that came to be the central truth about Michael. Peter and I still talk about this.
Raymond Fabius must have sensed, even at that young age, Michael’s incredibly high IQ and what comes along with it. His advice–YOU’VE GOT A TIGER BY THE TAIL. ALL YOU CAN DO IS FEED HIM, CLOTHE HIM, AND DON’T LET GO OF THE TAIL. When Michael grew to young manhood and wanted to save the world (and almost got killed, over and over, in the process) Peter and I reminded each other of that. It was the truth about Michael.
lgmwriting 