Who Am I, Anyway?

This photo was taken during a family trip to Israel in the early 1970s. I was slightly younger than my daughter is now. The photo is interesting to me for a number of reasons. First, I remember that maroon shirt with the outside yellow stitching like I had it on this morning. I can remember exactly how it felt against my skin. I also remember those shorts. (Or should I call them hot pants? Oy.) I cut them down myself from some old worn out bell bottoms I had. I’m surprised my mother let me pack those for a trip to the Holy Land but I’m sure I wore them every day. I see my dearly departed long hair for which I also have a strong sense memory, like those war veterans who can still feel pain in a leg that was amputated years earlier. But I’m most interested in my expression, my seemingly happy, carefree demeanor. And the fact that while I vividly remember the shirt, the shorts, the hair, even the rings on my fingers, I don’t feel the slightest bond of recognition with that kid in the picture.

My grandparents had ferreted us away to Israel that summer over three decades ago to get away from an ugly situation at home. My parents were already divorced but had attempted a reconciliation that was a disaster. Now they were at each other’s throats and could not be in the same room without a scene. It would take years for the healing in our family to begin. We were living with our dad and that created even more drama and angst. As I’ve written before, my parents did come back together in the end, and were very close when my mom died ten years ago. My father spoke at her funeral. 

But I’m fascinated by these 1973 snapshots from a Jerusalem hotel room because they were taken during the time when I believe I was completely checked out. My emotional Ground Zero. Something keeps bringing me back to those years. No matter what I write about, I always seem to circle back to the early 70s. I’ve been thinking a lot this week about memory. My recollections of that time are real to me, but I’m learning that memories are fluid, always changing. What I remember of myself as a kid is colored by my perception of my inner life, which often diverges from the factual reality of my outer experience.

In the past few days, I’ve reconnected with a bunch of people from my past through that ubiquitous online networking tool called Facebook. I first joined Facebook last year to monitor my daughter’s online activities. I didn’t really get it and couldn’t understand why anyone would spend time there making so-called “friends” and communicating in such a staccato fashion. But now I love it. I was trying to explain Facebook to my dad yesterday and it wasn’t easy. Totally different from a blog, a tool that helps you get a quick overview of people from wildly different parts of your life. The entry points on Facebook are very flexible. You can be a part of a community that you simply observe from afar, you can drop in quick comments about something very specific, or you can communicate with people in a very in-depth way. The beauty of Facebook is that there’s no pressure to respond. It’s not like an email or phone call where you feel some sense of obligation (or guilt) to reply.

Have you noticed that Facebook has reached some kind of tipping point lately? Suddenly everyone I ever knew seems to be joining and furiously linking to each other, including people I haven’t spoken to in 30 to 40 years. This week it was my old friends from Peterson School in Chicago, a place where I spent much of my time between the years of 1964 to 1972. A bunch of my classmates went on to Von Steuben High School with me but in some cases I have less memories of those years than I do of that earlier time at Peterson. Several years ago I wrote about Peterson School and included some of my old class photos. Here’s another one I found and just uploaded to Facebook: 

This was my first grade class in the 1965-66 school year. Can you spot me? I’m third from the right in the first row, looking a bit shell shocked in my suit. You wouldn’t believe how many of the kids in this photo I suddenly find myself “friends” with on Facebook. It’s fascinating to me to resume conversations with people I last spoke to when Lyndon Johnson was in the White House. There’s a strange kind of healing that takes place when I talk to some of these folks—like the one that occurred between my parents years after their ugly divorce.

Barbara Wittert, the cute-as-a-button girl on the far left in the first row now lives in London with her husband. She joined Facebook a week ago and is making friends as fast as she did at Peterson School. Behind her to the right is William Tong, whose family owned Tong’s Tea Garden, our neighborhood Chinese restaurant. Bill has been posting many photos of the old days on his Facebook page. In addition to being a geologist for the EPA, he is in three bands and is a natural born archivist. The blond girl sitting down in front of me is Hilary Kaye. Her family moved away after grammar school and we completely lost touch. It was great to reconnect this week after so many years. She works at a college in Illinois, has three children, and teaches people how to play the mountain dulcimer. Who knew?

The year after the above photo was taken, Hilary and I were part of what she now calls a “social experiment.” Instead of going on to third grade, we were moved from second into fourth. That is a big jump at that age. I was already one of the youngest kids in my class so the switch made me almost two years younger than my new classmates. I was fascinated to hear Hilary’s thoughts today on the subject—that, like me, she now questions the wisdom of such a move. And the reasons for it. Looking at the class picture, I know it wasn’t because we were “smarter” than the other kids and we certainly weren’t more mature. I asked my father if he remembers having any misgivings about that decision and he said they talked about it, but immediately decided that it was better to be way younger than the other kids than to be bored in school. Bored? I don’t think I would have been. I don’t remember feeling at all upset that I’d be leaving my friends from that grade. It took a few years for the complete social paralysis caused by being so much younger than everyone else to set in.

Here I am with my seventh grade class. This was the first year that Peterson School had color photos and I wrote on the back of the print: “This picture cost $2.00—outrageous!!” Notice what a shrimp I am in the photo. I’m the geek on the far left of the first row wearing a double-breasted brown suit with dark brown piping. Standing next to me is Steve Wagner, one of the coolest kids at Peterson School, looking like he just finished rehearsals for “Godspell.” I’ve recently been in touch with 13 of these kids, even though I have very few memories of speaking to any of them when I was actually their classmate.

Here’s my point: I am consistently shocked by the memories these people have of me from back then. When I look back at those years, I think of a sad, quiet boy. One who had few friends, was a real loner, and just didn’t want to be noticed. That’s my current version of my childhood. But here are a few of the comments I’ve received recently: “Remember all the phony phone calls we constantly made?” “I thought you and your siblings were such cool kids.” “Remember when you would imitate the teachers and make fun of them in front of the class?” “I loved those great parties you had at your house.” “You were such a happy, outgoing kid.” “Remember the time you came to school and pretended you were Bob Fosse?” Huh? Who are they talking about? That can’t possibly be me. Bob Fosse? Seriously?

Taking a new look at those photos I realize how skewed so many of my memories are. But are my perceptions less “true” than the ones others have of me? Not necessarily. Some people I know don’t understand why anyone would want to connect with people from the past via Facebook or any other medium. These are the people who have no interest in looking back. They would never attend a class reunion, they throw out old letters and photos without a moment’s hesitation, and they are very turned off by personal blogs. They accuse people like me of living in the past. There may be unhealthy elements to my obsession with the past, I admit it. But I also believe that revisiting those fluctuating biorhythms of memory can truly help me understand who I am today.

Comments

[Les]

Danny, Facebook is like revisiting the old neighborhood without having to actually go there. There is a level of comfort, being "around" people you grew up with, even if you weren't necessarily good friends at the time.
We all knew the same people, hung out at the same park, same McDonalds, saw movies and shopped at Lincoln Village, etc.

It's also a window to a more carefree time, where all we had to worry about was staying out of trouble!

If I find myself feeling too giddy about reconnecting with people from the past, I can always go back to today's stress-filled life!

In the meantime, save me a spot on the park bench....

[Gordon]

Dear Danny,
First of all, do I win a prize ? LOL. I correctly picked you out in both class photos.
On one of those "What year did you graduate?" web sites, I reconnected with some of my classmates after a space of about 35 years. We didn't have a lot to talk about. And, one of them sent a spam email to me entitled, "Can a Muslim be a Good American ?" Of course, it was aimed at Barack Obama during the campaign. My response was an "F" word filled tirade. So, I guess I'm one of those guys who has no interest in staying connected to those people in my distant past.

I really do miss the growing up years when I had no responsibilities. That's what I see in your first two photos above.

I wish I could write like you do. You're writing is always so intelligent and filled with all the details that make a story interesting and fun.

Thanks for yet another great post. My favorites are when you talk about your childhood experiences, growing up.

[La Framéricaine]

Danny,

I love this post.

I am a supremely preoccupied individual regarding the past. Just this week I bought a copy of "You Can Go Home Again" by Monica McGoldrick because I have the soul of an archivist and the docs, from my own family of origin story, to go with it and she is very interested in genealogy and psychology.

I have very few real human beings from the past with whom I can connect. I had moved 55 times by the time I was 35, so leaving has always been easier than staying and I most certainly pissed off a lot of people with whom I would now like to talk. But, what can you do?

Your writing brings tears to my eyes frequently, and not just when I'm flying on Kir Royales.

Are you going to go see "Must Read After My Death" up at the Laemmle Sunset 5? I'm thinking of going tomorrow at 1pm.

Amitiés,

[the communicatrix]

I love that the title of this post comes from a showtune.

I love that this is the clearest explanation of "Why Facebook?" I've read yet (esp. since I just spoke to 100 actors about that very question today).

Mostly, I love this as a shining example of the value of "personal" blogs. The best ones use our own lives as a lens through which we can see bigger truths. This is one of those rare blogs, and this post stands out among so many fine ones.

Well done, Danny Miller. Maybe because I feel the same way about the happy girl I see in my own pictures. Or maybe because you articulated it so I *could* feel it more precisely.

[Sam W]

I think that we nolonger can remember all the accurate details of our lives as we get older. We have memories that are clouded by the actions that we have taken, good or bad. I know that I had friends in grade school and that we hung out. I can remember what we did.... A few special memories stand out, I want to hear about what others remember of those same times to compare and fill in the gaps. That's why all the intrest connecting with people from the past. Facebook is a great conduit. I know that we have all tried to find someone we knew but could not locate them. These networks are like a directory to our past lives.

[jason]

I'm embarrassed: I just sent you a friend invite on Facebook. I feel so common, so predictable... (*)

That said, what a marvelous trip to the past. These photos look all too familiar--albeit not of me, yet they easily could be as much as they are of you. Something about this post smells of familiar things, bittersweet insights into my own past.

Thank you!

* And because Typepad kicked out my first and second (and third and fourth) attempts to post this comment with something as tedious as "We can't accept this post," I see I'm adding this comment long after Facebook updates and comment updates and yadda yadda yadda...

[Jeryl Chico]

Danny, I too, originally got on Facebook to "spy" on my daughter. She was not happy AT ALL about the pressure from her sisters to "friend me" but she ultimately gave in. And here I am, a year + later, finding such joy in reconnecting with old faces from the past. It's so interesting to me that many of the people I have friended on FB were mere acquaintances in grade school (I was a Solomon girl) and at Von, and yet now there is true excitement in reconnecting. I think you are so right ~ our memories of the past are skewed. And I think Les is also right, that going back "there" brings such comfort ~ a connection that we all share ~ and there is joy in that.

[Shari]

I remember that maroon t-shirt very well. Thanks for the Facebook lesson this morning.

[Wendi Goodman]

I was 17 when I left Chicago. I lost touch with so many of our classmates. This Facebook adventure has really been great. I am enjoying reconnecting with everyone. It's much easier than going back to Chicago and trying to call everyone to say hello. Besides, I have no desire to return to Chicago. I have no home there anymore. My home is in Florida now. Chicago is merely the place where I grew up.

[Esther]

Was it really all that care free? Nice post.

[margalit]

Danny, the interesting thing about you and your Facebook and your past is that we grew up around the same time, and I'm absolutely gobsmacked when you post about your past. I love the photos, I love reading about your friends and your schools. But honestly, I have NO interest in going back to my own past. None. It wasn't happy, I didn't have a lot of friends, I was miserable most of the time, and lord knows WHY I'd want to return to that. No thanks.

But I'm happy to live vicariously thru you.

[Arlene (Silverman)]

Danny, Now I am going to have to join facebook even thou my boys told me it would embarrass them! Oh well I'm doing it anyway! Love the pictures that you posted and I can just about name everyone in them too! See you over there!

[Ellen Bloom]

I recently got together with friends from an art and music camp I attended during Jr. and Sr. Hi. Yes, there were photos of me that I'd never seen! Wow...I was kinda' cute back then, but didn't realize it. It was fun to see everyone and visit, but we haven't really kept up since our get-together. Maybe we too need Facebook instead of just e-mail. Thanks for the tip.

[Frances]

I love when you write about Peterson School. The experience of growing up in our neighborhood still mystifies me. When I see the black and white photo you posted, which looks exactly like all my classroom photos even though I was in a different year, I think they must have been taken much earlier, like the 50s, not the mid 60s. When I mention to some people where/when I grew up, they ask, "were there still Jews in Chicago in the sixties?" because they're under the impression everyone decamped for the burbs. It also amazes me how much your experience and mine have in common even though we were a few years apart. Each class year felt so uniquely our own. One of my favoritest places was the Hollywood Bowl, across the street from school. Was that still around when you were in school? It was a penny candy store with a grill in back though I never ate there.

[david]

You are verrrry reminiscent of Spencer in that 7th-grade photo.

Great reminiscences. Like you, I had a rupture in my life in the early 70's (will the similarities never end?!!) -- although a far less traumatic one -- and I find myself constantly seeing myself in that time or through that lens. Maybe it's because I'm spending so much time back in my old neighborhood these days -- and with people half my age.

And like you, I've just recently reconnected with dozens of friends from that era -- on Facebook.

[Elaine Gold D'Ippolito]

OMG, you always bring me back. I remember that shirt on you too! My memory is not so sharp, but you always give it a shake and I am back there. I remember you as happy, fun and helpful with a dry and zany sense of humor and very seldom unhappy, so I am sad for you that these emotions and internals prevail. My parents did not divorce but they should have, home life for me was also unhappy so I really get it. Maybe that is why my memory is not so sharp... there goes the psych major in me. See you on facebook!

[Julie R.]

Danny, I agree with a previous commenter--you look like Spencer in your 7th-grade picture. Another great post!

[Ana]

Memory is a funny thing. You should listen to a show on New York Public Radio called Radiolab. They did a whole show on memory, very interesting. I seriously love this show, its so good!!!
http://www.wnyc.org/shows/radiolab/episodes/2007/06/08

[churlita]

FAcebook is such a strange too. Some days I can get weirdly obsessed with it, and others, I find it overwhelming and stay away from it.

It's been great for me, because I'm horrible at staying in touch with people and FB makes it so easy.

I found a guy who lived down the street from me in Alsip from 1975 - 79. He was so shy he hardly ever spoke to me, even when I was in his basement playing Barbies with his sister. Now that we're older, we have such similar tastes in everything and he's super "chatty". It's great He still lives in the Chicago area, so hopefully soon I'll get to go meet him and his girlfriend there.

[Laurie]

I joined Facebook for a little while and tried to get involved but heart wasn't in it. Then one day I abruptly closed the site and left. I am not sure why. One reason might be that I have enough going on in my life and I didn't want to deal with one more thing.

But, it does keep calling to me. Maybe when I get my degree in May and am finished with school, I will have more time.

I have been thinking alot about memory lately because of my father's dementia. I went to visit him a couple of weeks ago and he remembered me, but it was hard to talk to him. He had moments of lucidity, but they were sporadic.

Memory is precious. I didn't realize how precious until I saw the evidence that it can be taken away.

[V-Grrrl]

I spent a good part of the last 18 months picking through my past--old letters, diaries, etc. It was a form of therapy, I think, a way of looking back one more time and letting go of the past.

I have four friends who have been with me since I was about 14 and they anchor me and connect me to my teen years more than my family does. I have carried friends forward from all phases of my life and left some behind too.

Lots of old classmates have turned up on Facebook but I generally don't friend everyone who messages me. I'll touch base with old classmates via e-mail but don't necessarily want them "observing" my life too closely. I consider my Facebook page the more private of my online spaces.