Whether we are in the Adirondack Mountains, the Gulf Coast, or at "M"s home in lower New England, there is one topic that is always forefront in our discussions. And although "M" and I come from entirely different socio-economic and cultural backgrounds, it is something that evokes much melancholy for both of us.
That subject is Snobs. People who are "stuck up" and have a sense of superiority. Snooty folks.
In fact, one of the first questions "M" ever asked me was, "Do you think there are still snobs in the world today?" It was just after our initial meeting, and "M"s daughter had retreated to the kitchen so that her Mom and I could spend some time together. Over tea, of course. Definitely over tea.
I remember very clearly how "M" looked me straight in the eyes, a solemn expression on her face, which was unusual because the conversation thus far had been light and cheerful. Then she asked the question that has since led to many meaningful and sometimes painful conversations. I think that something about my presence reminded "M" of an old friend from school, and she perceived that we were getting reacquainted after a period of absence. She didn't say as much, but the way she spoke about her academic and other life experiences made me feel as though I was there with her. Based on the snob question alone, I definitely could have been one of her peers.
"Yes I do," I answered her without hesitation. "I think that snobs have always been around, and that they will continue to be around." I added that, in my opinion, most people who act snobby are generally insecure about themselves, and thus feel the need to act superior to others as a means of trying to booster their low self-esteem.
"Generalization!" "M" exclaimed with exuberance, much to my surprise. "That's what the teachers were always accusing me of!" Now there's another topic that has led to much discussion between us, but I will save that for a later date.
"Generalization!" "M" exclaimed with exuberance, much to my surprise. "That's what the teachers were always accusing me of!" Now there's another topic that has led to much discussion between us, but I will save that for a later date.
Then, "M" nodded thoughtfully to the non-generalization part of my response, the part about snobs being ever-present, as though she was slowly soaking in every single word. She looked at me knowingly, then began to smile. That was the very instant when I realized that "M" and I were to become friends. Very good friends. Friends who shared similar feelings and ideas about people and life. In general.
After her daughter returned from the kitchen, the conversation shifted gears. We discussed what my role would be in caring for "M", and as I recall, her daughter initially introduced me as a "new friend," which was a wonderful way to start off our relationship. "M" had lived independently for quite some time up until her then age of eighty-eight. It wasn't until recently, her daughter explained, that she had stopped driving. In fact, she had still been flying a decade ago! But her memory had begun to slip in recent months, especially in the area of short term recollection, and I was brought on board to stay with "M" for five full days and nights while her daughter was overseas at a conference. We would be staying in the daughter's home, rather than "M"s, as it was better-equipped for our needs at the time. This was a different environment for "M", who was having a hard time accepting the fact that she needed assistance at all! Apparently, the family had gone through a series of caregivers, all of whom "M" did not get along with.
"My Mom can be a little difficult at times," I remember her daughter telling me on the phone when we first spoke. "That's no problem," I replied. "I've worked with all kinds of people!"
Little did I know then that my relationship with "M" was to become a "one of a kind" experience, a friendship where my name, age, physical appearance, financial status (poor), educational experience (good), social network (fair), and genealogical pedigree (largely unknown) would not matter in the least. The type of friendship that is indeed rare, and highly valued, if you are lucky enough to find it.
In the early days of caregiving with "M", we spent a great deal of time alone in her daughter's lovely country home. We developed a daily routine that began with breakfast, precluded by coffee, which was an absolute MUST. Our breakfast were slow and casual, filled with pleasant conversation often triggered by the pastoral setting that lay serenely just outside the kitchen window. After that, we would attend to hygiene matters, all the while chatting as we went along. Mid-morning would bring our first cup of tea for the day, which we would share in the sunroom that overlooked the backyard and garden of the home. The room was filled with light and was alive with a variety of flora. A perfect place for a friendship to be sown and to thrive!
That was the time of day when "M" and I generally had our "deepest" conversations. I believe that her mind was clearer in the late morning, which resulted in some very intense discussions. Topics would include spiritualism, humanitarianism, and sometimes even border on existentialism. It was a terrific treat to talk with "M", as her perspectives and life experiences had been, and still were, extremely unique.
Often, quite often as a matter of fact, "M" would bring up the 1930's and World War II. She had been a young girl when the Great Depression hit, and her formative years were shaped by a country desperately trying to restore its greatness while Europe was once again on the verge of complete breakdown. She would always bring up "that bad man," which was her way of referring to Adolf Hitler, and I would always assure her that he had been defeated and was long gone. I also told her that, "Nothing like that could ever happen again in modern society," but after the words came out, I would wonder about their truth.
"M"s father had been a dealer of antique furniture, and his business often took him to Europe. As a young girl, "M", along with her two older sisters, had gone to Europe with him, and the undercurrents of another war were just beginning to stir. This had a tremendous impact on "M", who often recalled stories of her time in Europe with an air of anxiety.
There is one particular story that left quite an impression on "M"s young mind, and she loved to tell it. Often. She had witnessed a Frenchman who was walking around barefoot, carrying his shoes in his hands. This struck her as odd, but then she learned the reason for his action. Times were very hard in early 1930's Europe, and the man chose to carry his shoes rather than wear them so that they would not get worn out. Most likely, it was the only pair he owned. The tale left quite an impression on me as well, which is why I am sharing it with you now.
Perhaps the reason it had such an impact on "M" is that she had grown up in a family of what could be called "privilege." The family was from old NYC wealth, and the children did not want for anything when they were growing up. "M", being the youngest by seven years, was doted upon as "the baby" of the family, and she was tended to by a French speaking (and singing) Nurse in her early years. Occasionally during our time together, "M" would begin to sing the words of a French song that she had learned over eighty years ago. But she always stopped after the first chorus, saying she could not remember the rest. From what I could gather, the song, which was sung to her by her Nurse, was about people celebrating on the dock, perhaps because the war had ended. It was the only song that "M" ever sang any lyrics to, as my entire acquaintance with her was comprised of humming. Lots and lots of humming. (Don't worry... I'll get to that in a later entry, as well!)
During her school years, "M" was sent to a series of boarding schools which she describes as an "absolutely awful" time in her life. You see, "M" never felt like she fit in with the other girls at any of the schools. She would often talk about how she was snubbed by her peers, maybe because they thought she was too well off, and were jealous of what she had. In addition, "M" stood out physically from the other girls, being a head taller than most of them. She added that although she did not do particularly well at basketball, it was the only sport she was ever chosen for.
Regardless of the reason, however, "M" was clearly hurt by the entire experience, a wound that ran deep and was a frequently triggered memory. When she spoke of her academic years, you could still hear the pain in her voice as she described how the girls ostracized her.
I could empathize completely. I did not come from a family of "privilege" by any means, and was obviously raised in an entirely different era, but I certainly knew what it felt like to be snubbed by the other children, boys included. In my case, it was because I studied a lot, and I was teased as being "the brain." And just like "M", I can still feel the pain when I think back to how I was treated, always feeling like a misfit.
The funny thing is that "M" and I were actually opposites in so many ways. She did not do well academically, and in her words, hated studying. She secretly told me once that her older sister used to do her homework for her. In response, I secretly told her that my younger sister used to "borrow" my papers and present them as her own. Both secrets, we agreed, would remain strictly between us.
I couldn't help but laugh when "M" told me about how her academic career had ended. On the last day of school at a private preparatory academy, "M" boasted about "throwing her books out the window." "You threw them?" I asked in amazement, as she was always the picture of politeness. "Well..." she thought about it some more. "I really just pushed them and they didn't fall very far."
My high school experience ended on a very different note, as I gave the Salutatorian speech (for being second in grade ranking) to about a thousand classmates and family members. Trust me, it's not because I was that smart. It's just that studying was my way of escaping from the chaos going on in my home environment at the time. The crazier things got, the deeper my head was immersed in a pile of books!
Aside from our learning styles, "M" and I were also from dramatically different socio-economic statuses, to say the least. In fact, if we had both been raised at the same time and in the same place, the odds of the two of us meeting and becoming friends at all would have been virtually zero!
And yet he we were. Two women, forty years apart in age and from two very distinct generations, bonding over how badly it feels to be snubbed by one's peers. Clear evidence that although mankind has evolved in almost every way possible over thousands, maybe millions, of years, there are some basic human emotions that nevertheless remain unchanged.
And one of them is feeling like you don't fit in as the result of being snubbed by your peers. Snobbery clearly has no boundaries.
From the first day we met, as "M" and I talked about the existence of snobs, I knew that we were kindred spirits. The type of women who always march to their own drummer, making decisions with their hearts even when it isn't the "acceptable" or "proper" thing to do. "M" took to the skies at a time when women were encouraged to become school teachers or nurses, and I chose my pen at a time when being a techno-geek was more the norm. How wonderful that our paths were destined to cross at this stage in both our lives!
After that first visit, I knew that I was extremely lucky to have made the acquaintance of someone whose formative years, despite the fact that they occurred four decades prior to my own, had been significantly shaped by snobs.
The friendship between "M" and I started off on very solid footing indeed.
"M"s father had been a dealer of antique furniture, and his business often took him to Europe. As a young girl, "M", along with her two older sisters, had gone to Europe with him, and the undercurrents of another war were just beginning to stir. This had a tremendous impact on "M", who often recalled stories of her time in Europe with an air of anxiety.
There is one particular story that left quite an impression on "M"s young mind, and she loved to tell it. Often. She had witnessed a Frenchman who was walking around barefoot, carrying his shoes in his hands. This struck her as odd, but then she learned the reason for his action. Times were very hard in early 1930's Europe, and the man chose to carry his shoes rather than wear them so that they would not get worn out. Most likely, it was the only pair he owned. The tale left quite an impression on me as well, which is why I am sharing it with you now.
Perhaps the reason it had such an impact on "M" is that she had grown up in a family of what could be called "privilege." The family was from old NYC wealth, and the children did not want for anything when they were growing up. "M", being the youngest by seven years, was doted upon as "the baby" of the family, and she was tended to by a French speaking (and singing) Nurse in her early years. Occasionally during our time together, "M" would begin to sing the words of a French song that she had learned over eighty years ago. But she always stopped after the first chorus, saying she could not remember the rest. From what I could gather, the song, which was sung to her by her Nurse, was about people celebrating on the dock, perhaps because the war had ended. It was the only song that "M" ever sang any lyrics to, as my entire acquaintance with her was comprised of humming. Lots and lots of humming. (Don't worry... I'll get to that in a later entry, as well!)
During her school years, "M" was sent to a series of boarding schools which she describes as an "absolutely awful" time in her life. You see, "M" never felt like she fit in with the other girls at any of the schools. She would often talk about how she was snubbed by her peers, maybe because they thought she was too well off, and were jealous of what she had. In addition, "M" stood out physically from the other girls, being a head taller than most of them. She added that although she did not do particularly well at basketball, it was the only sport she was ever chosen for.
Regardless of the reason, however, "M" was clearly hurt by the entire experience, a wound that ran deep and was a frequently triggered memory. When she spoke of her academic years, you could still hear the pain in her voice as she described how the girls ostracized her.
I could empathize completely. I did not come from a family of "privilege" by any means, and was obviously raised in an entirely different era, but I certainly knew what it felt like to be snubbed by the other children, boys included. In my case, it was because I studied a lot, and I was teased as being "the brain." And just like "M", I can still feel the pain when I think back to how I was treated, always feeling like a misfit.
The funny thing is that "M" and I were actually opposites in so many ways. She did not do well academically, and in her words, hated studying. She secretly told me once that her older sister used to do her homework for her. In response, I secretly told her that my younger sister used to "borrow" my papers and present them as her own. Both secrets, we agreed, would remain strictly between us.
I couldn't help but laugh when "M" told me about how her academic career had ended. On the last day of school at a private preparatory academy, "M" boasted about "throwing her books out the window." "You threw them?" I asked in amazement, as she was always the picture of politeness. "Well..." she thought about it some more. "I really just pushed them and they didn't fall very far."
My high school experience ended on a very different note, as I gave the Salutatorian speech (for being second in grade ranking) to about a thousand classmates and family members. Trust me, it's not because I was that smart. It's just that studying was my way of escaping from the chaos going on in my home environment at the time. The crazier things got, the deeper my head was immersed in a pile of books!
Aside from our learning styles, "M" and I were also from dramatically different socio-economic statuses, to say the least. In fact, if we had both been raised at the same time and in the same place, the odds of the two of us meeting and becoming friends at all would have been virtually zero!
And yet he we were. Two women, forty years apart in age and from two very distinct generations, bonding over how badly it feels to be snubbed by one's peers. Clear evidence that although mankind has evolved in almost every way possible over thousands, maybe millions, of years, there are some basic human emotions that nevertheless remain unchanged.
And one of them is feeling like you don't fit in as the result of being snubbed by your peers. Snobbery clearly has no boundaries.
From the first day we met, as "M" and I talked about the existence of snobs, I knew that we were kindred spirits. The type of women who always march to their own drummer, making decisions with their hearts even when it isn't the "acceptable" or "proper" thing to do. "M" took to the skies at a time when women were encouraged to become school teachers or nurses, and I chose my pen at a time when being a techno-geek was more the norm. How wonderful that our paths were destined to cross at this stage in both our lives!
After that first visit, I knew that I was extremely lucky to have made the acquaintance of someone whose formative years, despite the fact that they occurred four decades prior to my own, had been significantly shaped by snobs.
The friendship between "M" and I started off on very solid footing indeed.
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