as soon as I felt better, the baby was back on my hip. My physical condition was largely ignored because my parents were too absorbed by their own needs. They conveyed the message that they needed me more than I could need them.
Then, just when I thought matters couldn’t get worse, Daddy lost the business and our new home, and Mother was going to have to go back to work.
My social circle simply couldn’t hang on to me while my life was changing so dramatically. I had two Jewish friends who stayed with me during this period, but the Christian friends were gone. Mother felt her prediction was validated. I was devastated.
We rented a home in a less desirable neighborhood. Mother took tests to become a licensed RN and returned to work on the night shift so she could be home with the baby during some of the day. I took on more responsibilities and basically had the baby most evenings; Daddy did home sales while Mother worked as a nurse. Both my sisters were still away from home. My oldest sister, Sandy was now married and Bobbie was in her freshman year at school.
I picked up my two year old brother from the babysitter every day, took him home, did homework and made dinner. After the baby went to bed, I finally had time for me.
I buried myself in books and romantic love songs. I escaped any way I could.
And then I met the love of my life. There was a real escape!
Barry was a blind date. A friend had fixed Bobbie and me up with two guys from Cleveland who had come to Akron for a party. When the boys walked through the door, even though I’d never set eyes on either boy before, I knew instantly which one was my date. And I heard, “He will be the father of your sons.”
This was the first time I’d heard any kind of voice. But silly as it was in the current context of my life, I quietly responded, “Okay.”
I then allowed myself to be distracted as I examined the young man standing before me. He was breathtakingly handsome. It was the end of summer, and he was deeply tanned. His jet-black hair hung over his forehead and highlighted his startling green eyes framed by thick black lashes. I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. He was charming, adorable, and Jewish!
We went over to our friend’s house for the party. Since Sandy was home visiting, I had the evening off. How luxurious! We danced and talked and then he kissed me. I knew I heard bells ring in my head.
I didn’t care that he’d flunked out of his first year at college or that he was about to join the Navy since he’d been in ROTC and there was no way out. I didn’t care that he already had a girlfriend and that this night was just to be a fling, nothing serious. He was mine. He was mine. He was mine. And he was going to save me from all the unhappiness of my life. I was going to be 17 in less than a month and I was as sure as any young woman could be that I knew the rest of my life’s story, and he was in it.
Chapter 5
Two Fathers, no Mother
I am writing this chapter after I’ve just returned from a visit to my brother and sisters in California. We were celebrating my sister Sandy’s 70th and my brother Howard’s 50th birthdays.
Sandy created a photo album in honor of the occasion. There were many pictures from our childhood. Two pictures in particular caught my attention. We were at an airport awaiting our flight to California where Daddy would start his new business. Sandy is seven, Bobbie is four, and I am fourteen months. The man holding me in his arms is not my father. He is my father’s nephew, Irwin. Since Daddy was the youngest of eleven children, and many of his siblings were much older, his nephews and nieces were his playmates and friends during his childhood. Irwin was very close with my Dad.
When I was a child, Irwin was very fond of me and would often remind me that it was he, and not my father who had taken Mother to the hospital when she went into labor with me. Dad had worked the night shift on the railroad during the war and Irwin drove a cab at night, so that was the rational for Mother summoning Irwin instead of Dad to take her to the hospital. I never liked it when he would hold me on his knee and cuddle me as he repeated this story. I was always glad when I was free to run off again.
As I looked at those pictures of me in Irwin’s arms, I studied my face and saw that my expression was sour while he beamed at the camera that my father was clicking as Dad captured these moments forever.
Then I remembered that shortly after I’d learned that Irwin had died, he had come to me “on the higher planes” and informed me that I was his baby. I didn’t understand his message and sent him away, dismissing the words and the thought.
However, this night in California, Irwin came to me again and told me once more that I was his baby. He showed me visions of the time prior to my birth. Mommy was lonely and miserable and seemed to be questioning her decision to choose Daddy for her husband. While Daddy worked at night, Irwin became a comfort to her as he drove his cab to our home to visit between fares. He was sweet and kind. I knew this. I just never liked him. According to Irwin, Mommy eventually succumbed to his charms, and I was the result of this liaison.
When I awoke the next morning, I shared Irwin’s message with my sisters. They didn’t seem at all alarmed at the news and said it explained a lot of reasons for them why Mother was so depressed and unhappy. We all assumed she must have felt pretty guilty, too. We guessed that Dad’s decision to pull up roots in Pittsburgh and move us far away to L.A. could have been motivated by how close Mommy and Irwin had become.
I was pretty sure Daddy would never have known that Irwin was my real father; if he was my real father. I still wasn’t sold on the idea. But my sisters reminded me that when we moved to Akron, Irwin did not come to visit, nor did we see him on visits to Pittsburgh until he finally married a lovely woman and they adopted two children. Then he was welcome in our home.
Everything made sense to my sisters. But I was in turmoil. Who was my father? I wasn’t willing to trust his story.
That night, Irwin was with me again. He wasn’t giving up easily. He asked me how many times I had looked into the mirror and said that I had inherited his sister, Sarah’s skin or hair? This was true. No one in my family, nor in any other branch of the Felman family, had acne. But Sarah, Irwin, and their younger sister Irene did. And so did I. I had the same large pores and had been plagued by oily skin and acne. Even at the age of 63 I was still using a strong astringent to keep the condition under control.
And as my hair had turned gray, I had the same streaks of white as Sarah. Irwin triumphantly reminded me that both of these attributes came from his father’s side of the family, from the Perlows. This was absolute proof if I needed it (and I did) that he, not Daddy was my real father.
Now, I was really in turmoil. As I relayed this information to my sisters, they had to agree that the evidence was only stronger.
That night, I asked for my Dad to come to me. He agreed that it appeared that I was not his biological daughter, although the Felman blood was still in me, just with a different mix. But he said I was his real daughter because of the energetic bond that we shared.
Would I allow this understanding of an energetic bond to help me understand how I was connected to my adopted children? Could I now see how an energetic bond could be stronger than a bloodline? Yes, yes I could
