Fond Memories of Papa and Mama
I remember Papa standing in front of the bathroom mirror in the mornings singing at the top of his voice. Figaro! Figaro! Figaro, he would sing to the background of the record playing on the gramophone. In front of him was his chased silver shaving bowl, filled with warm water. In his hand he had his matching silver handled shaving brush, laden with thick white foam. He covered his face with this rich lather as l, his five-year-old daughter, stood patiently on a stool beside him, waiting for him to notice me and share the shaving experience with my expectant self.
He twisted his face this way and that looking into the mirror as he shaved. He noticed my wistful reflection in the mirror and smiled. He turned around and dabbed my nose, my chin, and my cheeks with his shaving brush. I can still remember my delight as he did so. He continued to shave and sing. When he was done, he patted his face with a warm damp towel and lightly beat his cheeks till they tingled. Then he splashed himself with his favorite eau de cologne, 4711. He used that as long as l can remember. I once bought Peter the same cologne. The empty bottle still sits on the perfume tray on our dressing table.
Papa looked at himself critically in the mirror. He now brushed his sparse pate, smoothing some pomade to keep his hair neat, then turned his attention to me. He leaned down with a smile and said, “Ready for your shave now?” I eagerly nodded my head. He gently used his thumb as a razor blade and carefully shaved away at my nose, chin, and cheeks, wiping the foam on his towel. I was delighted! We shared this ritual each morning until l realized at some time that young ladies do not shave! Papa missed having a son for many years. He had three daughters but no son! Only when l was ten did he finally get his son!
Our house was always filled with classical music and operatic arias when Papa was about. Mama loved popular music. With her we listened to Begin the Beguine, Coco Polka! Polka! Siboney, Johnny Guitar, and other popular hits of the day. Sometimes we danced and frolicked around with her. Mostly she drummed it into us that we were ladies.
We took up ballet, learned to walk with a heavy dictionary balanced on our young heads and a yardstick threaded through our back and arms. We walked, sat, and stood in that manner until we became aware of our deportment. Sit up straight! Don’t slouch! You’re not a stuffed doll, keep your elbows at your sides, not on the table! Remember your pleases and thank you’s. Never take the last piece of food on a serving plate. Be considerate.
Offer it to others first, if they do not want it, help yourself. Never sit with your legs wide apart. Cross your legs neatly at the ankles! The rules of good manners seemed to be never-ending. She did a good job instilling the proprieties in us.
Papa, on the other hand, drummed it into our heads that knowledge was important. One of my favorite pieces of advice from him was, “Money comes and money goes, that is part of life and circumstances, but no one can take knowledge away from you. Once you have that, you have it for life.” Another lesson my parents drummed into us is, “It’s only by the grace of God that you are where you are in life. Never look down upon those less fortunate than you. It could have just as easily been you in their place.”
When we sat down to our meals around the dining table, my father did not waste time instilling ingots of knowledge. It could be about anything, books, music, history, current events, thoughts, ideas, politics… We listened to world news, classical music. He quizzed us about anything and everything. He would ask, ‘Who can tell me…’ and off we would go! I was six years old when I read the unabridged version of Great Expectation. Papa expected me to, therefore I painstakingly plowed through it. I felt elated that I did. It made me a voracious reader.
On weekends, he sometimes took me to the library. There would be an interesting lecture each time we went. He taught us to think. He sent us to an American missionary school in Tehran and when we talked about God, he would question us, “Where is God? Can you see Him? Can you touch Him? Can you feel Him?” He made us question. He made us think. When my sister Nora and I went to boarding school in England, instead of going home for the holidays, we spent our summers in Salzburg, Austria living at the house of a professor and his wife familiarizing ourselves with the culture, language, and music of Mozart’s beautiful city.
He was right, the experiences he gifted to us could never be taken away from us. They are intact in our memories. Perhaps the biggest gift our parents imparted to us was the great love and caring they took in raising us. As a young child, I took all that for granted. I did not comprehend the effort it took to make us the people we became. As I grew up, I realized the precious gifts we were given and am very grateful to have had the parents I did.