52 Ancestors - #47- Thankful for The Sixth Family

On the occasion of our father’s funeral service, my sister Alexandra wrote,

“This is the sixth family: the family joined now by our common loss as well as by our common love.  From Jessica in his first family to Sandra in his fifth family, and including all of us kids in between -- we are all one family. We may not look like the family that comes with a dollhouse, or on TV, but that awkwardness, the complicated storyline, is part of the truth of what our family is really like.”

Our father married four times. His first two marriages, each which ended in divorce, produced five children—all girls! Over the course of his third marriage, Dad and Valerie (who already had a son) adopted three children. His fourth marriage didn’t introduce any new children into the family, but instead, thanks to his wife Sandra, provided Dad the support and strength needed to gather his progeny together in an attempt to begin healing the wounds so deeply felt by many of his children.

After my parents divorced, my mother met and subsequently married a man who already had three children. Apparently, Alfie had the “y” gene missing in my father’s DNA. Mom finally got her son—my brother Dean!

My side of The Sixth Family

During my childhood, there were some difficult times resulting from the various divorces in the family. For many years there was little contact with my “Canadian sibs.” In July 2007, Dad held a 75^th birthday party. All but one of his children attended. One year later he was dead.

Valerie passed in 2001 and Alfie left us in 2004. My mom died on December 2, 2011.

My husband Scott’s family is no less complicated. His mother died in 1954, leaving his father to raise five children. Bill married a woman who was divorced with two children. Their blended family remained close following the deaths of both Bill and Dorothy and five of their seven children.

Scott's side of The Sixth Family

Often, when parents pass away, the family begins to fracture. Grandchildren pull the adult siblings in different directions and it becomes harder to maintain family traditions.

Not our family. Perhaps because there was always a physical distance between most of us, our relationships haven’t changed that much over the years. But instead of our communications becoming more infrequent, they’ve pretty much remained static, in some cases, even increasing!

That, folks, is what I am thankful for this holiday. Despite the distances, despite the wounds, despite the differences in DNA—we are family. We might not call often, but we are always thinking of each other. And we know that no matter what, we are family. The Sixth Family.

Thanks to Amy Johnson Crow for the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks blog challenge for week #47 - Thankful. (In case you're counting - don't worry - you didn't miss anything. I skipped over a few weeks so I could post this for Thanksgiving week!)

52 Ancestors - #42 - Conflict - What Has Happened to the UNITED States?

Once again, I am skipping around the weekly prompts for Amy Johnson Crow's 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks blog challenge to respond to the Week 42 topic - Conflict. It's not exactly typical genealogy, but consistent with my goal of documenting my generation's story.

I was searching for a way to connect to this topic when one sadly presented itself. On October 27, 2018, 11 people lost their lives simply because they were Jewish.  I am not a political person. I rarely post anything on FB other than genealogy, family life, or food. I generally steer clear of anything incendiary or demeaning. But, I am Jewish. I feel the need to at least express my concern for this country and the world in general.  My grandfather survived two years in a concentration camp before emigrating to the United States to join his family. Their lives were never the same. (Yet, I always feel the need to apologize for the fact they survived.) This past summer, I, together with my husband, my sister, and her partner, visited the site of Hitler’s parade grounds. It was easy to imagine the crowd listening, desperate for better lives for their families.

When I was teaching full-time, I created a unit on Mob Mentality. It was the early 2000s. Many of my students were (or wanted to be) gang-involved.   Almost all struggled with a variety of issues that resulted in poor decision-making. The majority were “followers” or otherwise disenfranchised, searching desperately for a group and a feeling of belonging.

 9/11 was a fresh wound at that time. Understandably, there was a lot of confusion and fear. The “us” against “them” mentality was becoming noticeable. I decided to take my class on a “journey”- exploring why good people can sometimes do really bad stuff. (Something almost all of them had experienced, either as the victim or the victimizer.)

  

We read about the Salem witch trials.

We read. “The Lottery”, by Shirley Jackson, one of the only stories to have stuck with me from my high school years, almost 50 years ago. In the story, the residents of a small town observed an honored tradition.  Every year, all the townspeople would gather in the square for the annual lottery. The winner's
prize? Getting stoned to death by your neighbors and loved ones. 

We read “The Wave”, by Todd Strasser. This book, based on a real event, tells the story of a teacher who attempted to help his students understand why so many people stood by, silently, while the Nazis murdered millions of people, just because those folks didn't meet a certain standard. The teacher created a scenario within his classroom that quickly spread throughout the school, creating a culture of “us” and “them.” (The book was made into an ABC After-school special in 1981)

I have no idea if my lessons had any impact but it was important to me to share the repercussions of intolerance and mob mentality with these teens who faced an uncertain future. 

When people become concerned about meeting their basic needs - food, shelter, safety - they can become desperate for a solution.  I get that. 

But this feels different. The divide is growing. I was taught this is the UNITED States. E Pluribus Unum. The melting pot. 

Tomorrow is Election Day. Perhaps the tide will turn.  For my grandchildren’s sake, I hope so. 

NOTE: This post is NOT meant as a political statement, nor in support of a specific person or party. It is simply my hope that we can all become more tolerant, understanding, and accepting. 

52 Ancestors - #41 - It's Hockey for Us!!

“Sports” is the topic for Week 41 of Amy Johnson Crow’s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks blog challenge. There is only one sport I can write about: HOCKEY.

Hockey is the only sport I really know anything about. I can fake my way through baseball – after all, it’s just guys hitting a ball and running. But – nine innings? Really? Football is just too flippin’ long to hold my attention. What the heck is a “down”, anyway? Basketball? Eh. Curling might do it for me – except I’m morally opposed to sweeping. (As well as all other forms of housework…)

Alfie, during a game at the New Haven Coliseum.
Date unknown

The New Haven Arena
Date unknown

 I didn’t even know hockey existed before Al Falcone came into my life. Sundays in the late 1960s and early 70s were all about visiting family in West Haven, eating pasta (yea!), and attending the Blades’ games at the New Haven Arena.

I didn’t go to the games as often as my siblings and step-siblings but often enough to have memories of big-haired women in fur coats and the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. The games were exciting! The Blades were akin to that team profiled in the movie “Slapshot.” Fights were frequent and intense. I’m generally a peaceful person but I found the fights fascinating. Maybe I need therapy around that…

I wrote about Alfie’s life-long love affair with hockey in an earlier post. While he enjoyed many sports, he was quoted as saying, “Nothing beats hockey." And, so it was for us kids. Alfie’s bio kids have hockey in their blood. 

As a kid, Mark played hockey throughout high school and into his college years. Brother Dean played on a youth league. I don’t remember ever going to a single one of his games. I suck. But, in my defense, maybe I was working?

Hamden Youth Hockey. Dean is the first kid on the left, first row. Date unknown.

Alfie adjusting Dean's helmet. 1976

Alfie's daughter, Laura recently asked me if I get a certain sports channel before she committed to visiting me during the playoffs. Son Mark attends multiple live games every year, including the “Frozen Four”, the NCAA Men's Ice Hockey Championship. Sandy, who, as an adult, moved to a rural area, suffered missing games for years until cable television finally came to her rescue.

My youngest sister Betsy was pretty much raised by Alfie since she was only about a year old when he met our mother. So, it stands to reason she is now a HUGE hockey fan. It doesn’t hurt that her husband is also a big sports enthusiast.

My mom and Alfie. Around 2000.

My mother, Doris Lichtenthal Falcone, enjoyed attending the hockey games in the early years. I remember them going away for weekends to attend hockey games as far away as Canada. My mother stopped attending the games after a fan lost an eye after being hit in the face by a flying Russian hockey puck.

My husband’s family also enjoyed hockey. Three of his nephews played the game. I remember one game in particular, in East Haven, CT. Brother-in-law Gerry, usually one of the calmest, quietest, well-mannered men I ever met, became so enraged after a certain play, he almost came to blows with another fan! That’s hockey!!

However, my proudest connection with hockey is our daughter, Caitlin. In high school, Caitlin took up lacrosse. She soon was plagued with shin splints and decided to join the girl’s ice hockey club that was just forming. Her thinking was that hockey was similar in form to lacrosse. Gliding across the ice might be easier on her legs as well. Just one teeny, tiny problem. She didn’t know how to skate. 

Caitlin is not easily put off by a challenge. In fact, that seems to energize her. She most certainly rose to this one. I remember her first goal. Barely able to skate the length of the rink, and apparently forgetting how ice and skates interact, she fell after jumping up and down in her excitement. Being a “hockey family” is a memorable experience – early morning ice times and smelly equipment (Driving home in a freezing cold car because you HAD to keep the windows open!) create serious bonding!

Caitlin proudly sporting her #10!
I keep this picture EXACTLY as it was found in Alfie's wallet after his passing.
He was so immensely proud of her!

I don’t really follow hockey anymore. But, I still feel a connection when a student tells me they play. A friend of ours has a very talented granddaughter who may go far in the world of women’s hockey.  Hockey will always have a place in my heart. (Sorry West Haveners - I can't get over our high school rivalry!)

Our grandchildren are a bit too young right now, (all younger than 4) but perhaps one day they will carry on the legacy!