lgmwriting

The Miracle Worker 1

While I was learning how to adjust to my new job and fighting off ghosts, life still went on in Media. It was Michael’s last year of high school. Peter was running his business while taking over the sale of the house.

Michael had become interested in theater beginning in 9th grade. At first, when he joined the drama society at school, he was not interested in getting onto the stage and acting. However, he was interested in doing everything else. He collected props, acted as a “prompter,” taught himself how to use the lighting. He loved the excitement that led up to opening night; after the final production he joined his friends for a big cast party. I wrote elsewhere that he was able to experience the natural “highs” and “lows” that his contemporaries sought with drugs; a parent’s dream come true.

When he got older he joined a drama society outside of school called Barnstormers. This was a 100% volunteer effort–all the members, the actors, stage managers, everybody participated at Barnstormers for the love of the theater. Michael was the youngest person involved there.

Here comes the bragging part. My son is very, very smart, very clever, can make or fix anything. So from the beginning everybody loved him at Barnstormers. He could hold his own with the adults. I was the disciplinarian parent so I monitored bedtimes, homework, etc. But I relaxed the rules while Michael was involved in rehearsals. An inner voice warned me that, at 16, with all the adults in adoration of him, he could somehow not hold it together at school. But he was OK.

There was a woman named Pat Bradford who ran the whole place. She looked just like a robin; she was little, rounded, and spoke almost musically. And she absolutely loved Michael. It was really touching to see how people came to admire Michael so much. Pat kept urging him to try acting; finally, Michael decided to do what Pat suggested and took on the relatively small role of James Keller, Helen Keller’s older brother. The play they were doing was The Miracle Worker.

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Of course I drove downstate to see the play!! And it was a remarkable experience. There was Michael, not flubbing his lines, being part of one of the few humorous scenes in the play, and getting laughs. God, he’s so handsome.

So back up north for work on Sunday. But the following weekend the play was scheduled for its final time and I HAD to see it again while I had the chance. So back down I went and saw the final staging of The Miracle Worker. One thing I learned early in my career as a mother; time with your child is never, ever, wasted. Here was a chance and believe me, it was worth the three hours and any fuel I used up, driving down again.

After the play there was a quite emotional scene. The little girl who played Helen Keller was somewhat fragile but did an outstanding job in the role. Pat Bradford had decided to play Annie, Helen’s teacher. So there were tears and hugs. Nobody wanted to let go of each other; obviously the emotional quality of the play bonded them together. The man who played Helen Keller’s father gave Michael a gift of a strawberry plant; there’s a scene in the play where, I think, the father is angry at the son for not doing enough and makes him plant strawberry plants.

However, I had an encounter with Pat I’ll never forget. She came up to me, grabbed my arms and said: “Oh, isn’t Michael wonderful?! He was so perfect, he’s so handsome and personable. He should go into acting eventually…” She had tears in her eyes, by the way. There was such a force coming out of her. From working closely with Michael for all those hours, she knew him as he really was and she loved him; it was plain to see. As Michael grew up and attained all kinds of mind-blowing goals he set for himself, I would be the recipient of many of these heart-felt comments from people I had never met but who loved and respected my son. I try to keep an even state of mind regarding the role I was selected to play in the drama of my own life. As Michael’s pediatrician used to say: “Mrs. Mastroianni, you have a tiger by the tail. All you can do is feed him, clothe him, and hang on for the ride.”

Ghosts

The house I stayed in that summer was very big and very old. It had been given a new coat of paint and things looked “ship-shape.” At one point we thought of buying it but a closer examination of the structure revealed major flaws. So we stuck with our plans.

I’ve always been a little behind the times when it comes to new technological advances. But here I was, in this big old house every night with only a radio to listen to. It got a little boring. I read a lot. But one day I went to the Sears here and found a combination television/VCR player for $100, so I bought it. But I didn’t have any tapes; all the tapes were packed away in boxes downstate. So I bought a few; Flashdance, one of my favorite movies. and several others.

Welcome to my world. I had this idea set up in my head that it was a point of honor for me to face this period of time with only books and my own resources–as much as I could stand. So it got dark and quiet and all I could hear was the creek that made its way across the path leading to this house. One night, sitting quietly, I heard a distinct whistle and I jumped. Whistling in the dark? Oh my God. I forced myself to turn on all the lights, get my super-mega-flashlight and patrol the area outside. I was beyond fear. I had taken on this task and I had to face whatever was out there.
And there was nothing. I’m amazed that I slept that night.

Not long after this I was sitting in bed, reading, and I heard a voice cry out “Mama!!” Oh Lord. Was I having hallucinations? Michael? Did Peter and Michael decide to visit me unexpectedly? But Michael never called me “Mama.” I forced myself to think of the people from whom we were renting the house. Any daughters in the family? I had no idea.

I had had enough. With all the lights turned on, my heavy duty flashlight turned up to “high,” I stood in the living room and I shouted: “All of you freaks and ghosts!!Show yourselves immediately!! Because if you think you can play these games with me, you’re wrong. Come out now.”

There was nothing. I went into the basement and looked in every corner, I went into each room, opened every closet door. Not a sound was heard. And after that I wasn’t bothered again. If anybody thinks I went mad that summer, you’re wrong. This really happened.

Making Arrangements

We were camping near where our home is now. Peter drove our pickup truck,hauling the camper while I sat with Michael in our other car. Time alone with Michael is one of my most favorite things in the universe.

Anyway, still retaining a somewhat shocked expression on their faces, Michael and Peter quickly and efficiently set up the camper and unpacked all the food and cooking things they brought. They did this as if they were one person; in fact, they had done it many times before. As usual, they did all the work while I sat and relaxed. They treat me like a queen and they also call me a witch, but the best kind of witch because I make good things happen. This was the ultimate white-witch moment. I put my blessing on the move upstate and everything was different.

All the things I was afraid of regarding camping didn’t happen. I slept deeply at night, took walks, met new people, all the while discussing questions about how we were going to manage this move. It was very, very easy to plan which made me even more sure that the time was right.

Michael had one more year of high school; we wouldn’t leave Media until he graduated. I had my counseling degree so during the coming year I would investigate the job market. While my assignment was to find a job–Peter had his business–he would take over selling our house.

It turned out like a ballet or maybe–closer to home–a well-rehearsed square dance!

I found my job in March of 2001, went upstate by myself with my cat on March 31st. We were renting a house nearby because our house hadn’t been sold yet; we also knew what house we were going to buy–the one we live in now. So I had some lonely weeks, knowing absolutely nobody here and my poor cat was traumatized by this. When I returned from work she would just sit there and cry. Weird things happened, stress-related; I locked myself out of my car at work one day. It was the first time I’d done that. I hurt my thumb and it became red and infected. Small things but keep in mind that I was doing something pretty difficult, on my own. However I was happy to be away from money-choked Media. When people use bulldozers here it’s to help a neighbor pull a truck out of a swamp.

I was proud of myself; my cousin Maxine (the first piece of mail I received here was a letter from her. It arrived the day I moved in.) couldn’t take it in. The solitary part amazed her but as I always say, I like my own company. But there was one bad thing that will always be there; I don’t think I should have brought Nina, my cat, with me. She lived in terror. I was crying one day on Michael’s shoulder, saying that I was going to burn in hell because of what I did to her. Michael, never a one to make me feel stupid or dumb, reassured me that Nina had a good life and I had done the best with her that was possible.

Who Are You And What Have You Done With My Mother?

This is the question Michael asked when we made our way to our camp site. This is because the minute we got there I said: We’re moving here. Peter and Michael were–not quite by almost–in shock.

They looked at each other and this was just so funny. It was like a Bugs Bunny cartoon or something like that.

“But you always say when we come back home that it’s only nice because it’s a vacation.” This was from Peter. I brushed that aside.

“That was then but I never drove through the Lehigh Tunnel before. Now I know.”

Yes, there is a humorous side to this memoir but underneath there is dead seriousness. My inner self, the one of which I’m not always conscious, registered the fact of death I’d been living with during the second half of our 25 years spent in a suburb of Philadelphia.

I wasn’t a nature fan. I didn’t watch birds, I didn’t go on hikes, I never enjoyed the leaves of our huge oak trees making their way down in the autumn. The only nature-related activity I liked was planting impatiens in our flower beds. Impatiens can only grow in shade and the oak trees provided a perfect environment for them. They bloomed thickly and didn’t need much attention. The three of us always participated in planting them.

But then there is what was happening underneath. Every day for at least ten years and probably more I drove to work and back, looking at bulldozers scraping away what was put in fields and meadows naturally, and it was all gone forever. That was the worst part and lots of times I would forcefully shove that particular fact down deep into my subconscious, as deep as I could go.

It sprang to the surface, once I made the first trip “upstate” after having gone through the tunnel. I had to own up to the fact that I loved the earth, that “weeds” weren’t what people said they were, that along with my neighbors at the end of our street I noticed with a sinking heart the overabundance of songbirds. Why did the birds break my heart? At the other end of our street there were no more trees left to shelter them.

I’ve written about this over and over and I know now that I’ll never stop thinking and writing about it. When your soul is touched that deeply you don’t forget.

Family Vacations

When Peter graduated from art school he did what he’d promised himself; take the money given to him from his family and use it for a cross-country tour of the United States. He loaded up his VW Beetle and went west.

Years later, when we were married and I was expecting Michael, I knew that who ever this child would turn out to be, he or she would be taken by Peter, one summer, repeating this trip.

In the years that led up to Michael’s 16th birthday, Michael and Peter would take the third week of July, come here to camp in Ricketts Glen State Park, and attend the Benton, PA rodeo. It’s a real rodeo and people come from many places to watch the young men and women trying to stay on the wild horses.

During that week I would happily stay at home. I need some solitude to function well so this was like a retreat week for me. That week became a tradition. Part of this tradition was when the two came home, they moaned and pleaded to move here permanently. I always said the same thing:

“Well, you’re there for a vacation. Of course it seems like a wonderful place to live.” End of discussion until the next July. Michael was only five when Peter first took him “upstate” for a camping vacation. Michael seemed like a baby to me and I thought he was too young for camping. (Where that thought came from I cannot say. I was never a “helicopter mother” and I wanted, very much, for my husband and son to be important to each other.)

However, the pair were away for either six or seven weeks when they took the cross-country trip and I stayed at home, working as a counselor and NOT feeling sorry for myself. Lovely solitude with time to think and read. However, when they got back I was struck by this thought: I am tired of these separate vacations. Why can’t I learn to go camping and then we could have fun together, all three of us? I said this and P and M looked straight at me with their pairs of blue eyes. They have a funny childlike look in their eyes when I speak like this. Innocent you might say.

“Well, where should we go?” P asked.

“Next summer, I want to go camping with you two and see the place you love.”

This is how, while riding with my darling son Michael, I entered and exited the Lehigh Tunnel and my life was changed forever.

For those not familiar with the mountains and the tunnels that go through them in Pennsylvania, let me explain. Going north from Philadelphia on the “Blue Route–Route 476” one encounters Blue Mountain. To reach the rural areas surrounding Bloomsburg PA, one has to drive through the Lehigh Tunnel. The word “Lehigh” comes from the Delaware Native American term meaning “where there are forks.”

Why am I describing this–this particular tunnel–to introduce my new series on my blog? It’s because as you drive from Philadelphia to here, you notice a difference in the terrain and the buildings after you exit the tunnel. Before you enter the tunnel everything looks like a faraway suburb of Philadelphia. But just wait until you exit!! Any nature lover–any earth lover–will be knocked breathless with awe. Mountains, green, rolling against the sky–and yes–even the sky looks different. That’s because there are no houses or trees to obscure your view. All you see is green and blue.

My husband Peter along with our son Michael had been making this trip many times; the first time I did was in the summer of 2000. Is it possible to emerge from a tunnel and feel your whole life changing? Oh yes.

School

In 6th grade a sort of eruption took place, a rearranging of priorities. This was the beginning of boy-girl parties, school dances, girls whispering and giggling about the boys.

I have written, at this point, volumes on this subject, about how much I hated the coming of age requirements, the emphasis on clothes, and not being “serious.” Serious?! Books, my piano, classical music. and politics made up a big part of my life. I loved art, I was creative in a number of fields, and I loved so much being a child on our street. I just didn’t want to go along with this program but I didn’t have the strength to stand up for myself. I remember one time, I was at a party at a boy’s house and had a minor anxiety attack; I had to call my parents to come and get me. I think I would have been relieved to completely give up these efforts at sociability and plunge back into my books and my piano.

And of course, through the grades at Taylor Allderdice, the social pressure increased. We did have marvelous teachers–teachers I’ll never forget. They molded my life. Our English and art teachers were superlative and supportive of individual efforts.

We were told, in Allderdice, that we had to get our minds ready for when we went to college. This was stressed; of course, I was scared by this. But by this time–my junior year–I was so deeply in love with my first real boyfriend that school was ephemeral. It was a place where I could see my boyfriend, that was all.

I need to add something here about individual sex drives. My grandmother and mother each had a strong libido and I inherited this. At times it has been glorious, at other times, a curse. If I’m writing about high school I’m committed to remark that a strong libido combined with studying in school doesn’t always produce good results.

College was a disappointment mostly. I know that I worked harder in high school than I ever did at the University of Pittsburgh. The teachers at Allderdice had high standards. However, in my junior year at Pitt I took a two-semester course in Russian History along with courses on Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. This was what I wanted to get out of college; I was caught up in Russian history and culture; it was the only time I made Dean’s List. Also–with regards to the mix of sex and studying–by this time, 1970, the sexual revolution had begun, I got birth control pills, and my boyfriend and I were living together. This settled my anxieties and sex drive.

School

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When we moved to Shady Ave. Ext. from an apartment on Alderson Street, I was still not old enough for kindergarten. The closest school was on Murray Avenue; it was called Roosevelt School. That’s where I went to kindergarten. I was terrified of this place. It was a huge, tall, old school that housed K-6 grade levels, and inside it seemed as if everyone was bigger than I was (and they were) and everybody was always rushing around. That was when there was morning kindergarten only. The walk from our home to this school included a long walk down the Lilac Street hill. In the winter I was terrified by that too.

During the summer of 1955 a new school was built, called John Minadeo School. That was much closer to home and did not require an icy walk down Lilac Street. Starting first grade in a new-smelling school was something to look forward to; also I had matured and I wasn’t afraid all the time. My new friends on Shady Ave. Ext. also walked there every day so the whole situation was different from having to make my way to Roosevelt School.

I believe that I received an excellent education within the Pittsburgh Public School system. The teachers were bright, somewhat creative, and caring. It was there, also in first grade, that I first learned to play the piano. The itinerant music teacher came once a week and showed me–using a fold-up cardboard keyboard–the keys of the piano. No pianos available at that time but, and this amazes me now, I did learn to play the piano in this way. I couldn’t hear what I was playing, but I learned the octaves, keys, sharps and flats, many other signs and symbols used in writing music.

I loved books and learning. As I made my way through the grades I grew really passionate about the world around me, classical music, art, even politics, and I was encouraged by my teachers. I made a sculpture of a horse in art class which everyone admired.

It wasn’t until I entered sixth grade that the dumbing down process began to unfold.

Obsessions

An odd title for an essay, this I know. However, when I think about Pittsburgh and the experiences I had there while growing up, I have to be honest and admit that I always had an obsessive mind. There are other words for it and I’d rather use them instead of “obsessive,” which sounds clinical and kind of miserable.

KDKA, as every good Pittsburgher knows, was the first radio station. Also, KDKA/TV was the first to have a show for children, and it was called “Around The Children’s Corner.” For Fred Rogers, this was the beginning of his awesome career. This came even before we moved to Shady Ave. Ext., so I was about four years old and watched it on our first television.

Fred Rogers had a character–an owl–called Hoot and this owl lived in a knot hole of a tree. I had never heard of knot holes; I had never seen a real one. So when we moved to Shady Ave. Ext. I examined all the trees, up and down the street, wanting desperately to find a place in which an owl could live. I never found one but other images rushed in to fill my head. I loved lily pads and lotus blossoms–again, I never saw these but they were probably in a book my mother read me. I never lost the child-like wonder in looking at these perfectly beautiful water plants. Now, when I’m 60 years older, I live in the country and right down the road is a large pond, covered with lily pads and lotus blossoms. When I looked at Claude Monet’s astounding series of paintings of water lilies–in a book, of course–I knew that I wasn’t alone.

Now this one is really weird; it sounds weird anyway but I’ve since learned that fascination with fire was appropriate to nine year olds. My two friends on my street were the same. Everywhere we went I looked at houses to see if they had chimneys. Then I would try to figure out if maybe these houses had fireplaces. This was so long ago that it doesn’t matter anymore; but the three of us who played together went through a period of starting fires. We really were irresponsible but we tried to find out how tough we were. Finally, we were caught, and I’m glad we were without creating a disaster.

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What I just wrote may not apply to every child. I’m sensitive and I read a lot of books about nature and I felt an expectancy about the world around me. Objects and places that caught my attention would probably not appeal to everybody.

My grandmother–my mother’s mother–lived in the Morrowfield Apartments, close to her sister and other family members. So I was at the Morrowfield a lot. It turned out that if you rode the elevator to the top floor, you walked down a long, dark hall at the end of which was a door. You open the door and you found yourself on the roof of the Morrowfield. I found this thrilling beyond words. Ladies sat there in the sun, talking and laughing. When my cousin Maxine would come with me we were both in a world of our own up there. Only three or four years old, we were cautioned, over and over, about getting too close to the edge. Very scary indeed. But mysterious like Alice In Wonderland.

There was another mystery at the Morrowfield. At each elevator stop was a small table with flowers and a painting. What a thrill to discover that one of those paintings was done by my Aunt Cecil. It was a still life of flowers in a bowl. When I say it was a thrill, it was actually more than that. Another link in the chain of the Other World, one of unexpected connections that made up Pittsburgh.

Also, where we lived then there was a triangle made up three streets: Shady Ave. Ext., Ludwick Street, and Landview Street. One day, when I was very young–this was before kindergarten–my mother packed up my sister into her carriage and we took a walk. It was there, on Ludwick Street, that my mother showed me the secret lane. It was way too narrow for cars to pass through and was bounded on either side by a wire fence. A flower grew there called Bleeding Heart and my mother showed me the heart-shaped blossom that really did appear to be bleeding. The lane connected Ludwick with Saline Street below. That’s where the black stone church stood with its ancient graveyard.

This was my world–a triangle of streets, the secret lane where Bleeding Hearts grew, the silent, ancient church and tiny cemetery. As I write this I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of conveying the mysterious haze that hung over my early life. Maybe some things can’t be put into words.

I’m going to end this with a very nice and sweet story. When my mother was living at Concordia House, a lady called Rose Field lived there also. Mrs. Field was one of the mothers who lived on Shady Ave. Ext when I was growing up. She told me that her son said the following: I’m not having kids until I find a place like Shady Avenue Ext.

I know this feeling only too well. When we lived in Media, PA and life was NOT like the place I loved, I grieved and cried because I thought Michael wasn’t getting what I got where we lived. But so much for worrying…he was a quiet, solitary child as brilliant children often are. They need time alone to process their thoughts. So even on Shady Ave. Ext. he would have been exactly the same way!!!