Chapter 3 - Tent Sticks
I spent two frigid days of winter 1970 enjoying the thrill of finding my way around the completely unknown maze of Lower Manhattan. I was fifteen, had just completed 8th grade in my hometown in Brazil, and was spending my summer vacations in the US. It was summer in Brazil and winter in the US. My Uncle John and his family were living in East Texas and had invited me to spend a couple of months with them. Uncle John arranged for me to take this trip along the East Coast by Greyhound stopping along the way at friends’ homes. Mr. Lodwick was one of these long time friends of the family who had spent a number of years in Brazil as a missionary. He had returned from the mission field and was now working at the United Presbyterian Church USA national headquarters at Riverside Dr. in New York City. Mr. Lodwick was kind enough to take me to a hockey game and Radio City in the evenings. During the day he went to work and I went to town. Thousands of miles away from the comfort and security of my home in Brazil, the thrill of discovery of the unknown seemed like a pleasant dream rolling on in slow motion. Whether it was back home or on the streets of Manhattan, my world was devoid of perceived evil. I had seen no evil. All was good and all was fun. I cherished the rich heritage passed on to us and was taking full advantage of my parents support. My great grandfather had been left alone on these very streets one hundred years earlier when he was brought over from Ireland. Purportedly, a priest in Ireland who coveted his inheritance shipped him off to America. An adult travel companion is said to have abandoned him upon arrival on the shores of New York. The eight year old orphan was interned at Ward’s Island the immigration facility that housed unaccompanied children. He was later adopted by a family of brick manufacturers from Stony Point, New York. Many years later he became a minister and traveled to Brazil as a Presbyterian missionary. My dad spoke kindly of him and always dreamed of gathering enough information about his origin in Dublin, Ireland.
My dad carried on the legacy of his ancestors and passed it on to us by reaffirming values based on character, hard work, discipline and mercy to others. Fundamental values taught by our parents became an integral part of who we were as individuals. My father’s unselfish and stable leadership and deep respect for my mother set the tone for the family and gave us self-confidence and a clear sense of our own identities. The quiet but resolute cadence of his leadership found most frequent expression during meal times. We were not allowed to eat until prayer was said and my mother was served. Contravention was punishable by time out in the room without entertainment. We were not allowed to get up from the table until the meal was completely finished. Raising our voices, talking back or being disrespectful to my mother was severely punishable.
Another significant part of what my father transmitted to us was that material things had only relative importance. We learned from early age not to covet each other’s possessions. We learned to wait for the things we desired. We couldn’t have the candy the minute we desired it, the new toy car the minute we thought of it or the new bike when we wanted it. My parents however gave the example, shopping was not big on their list of priorities. Big houses, new cars, and expensive vacations were never part of their conversation. The amount of money that people made or the amount of money that different jobs paid was even more absent from any family conversations. My family was interested in world events, people, church and subjects that nurtured in us a sense of discovery, exploration, forethought and spiritual perspective.
As we approached adolescence another prominent part of their lives was service to others. My father’s job was a service based job. My mother however was also active in various ways of serving others, frequently volunteering her children to drive some older lady home, move a chair and table for someone who did not have any means of transportation or delivering countless Christmas baskets to underprivileged homes.
The first time I realized what my Dad really did I was about five years old. My Dad was an Obstetrician and Gynecologist. He was also the only doctor in a small private hospital in a small town in the interior of Brazil. Our family lived in the hospital. The family quarters were on the second floor just above the surgery room. My mother, who during those years was often pregnant with one of her eventually eight children, often drove the ambulance across town transporting patients to the hospital
My father frequently went on house calls. Sometimes he took us along. It was a real treat to us children. There was one particular farm we used to go to occasionally. It was an old elegant home owned by the local power company. It had a swimming pool and lavish gardens that resembled English gardens. Servants tended the grounds, maids came out serving water and coffee in demitasses. The older couple who lived there had become good friends of my parents. Many times they invited us for an afternoon by the only swimming pool in town enjoying fresh lemonade and cookies.
One sunny afternoon when my Dad asked if I would like to come along with him to the farm, I didn’t think twice and gladly accepted thinking that we were going out on another swimming opportunity. We arrived and he walked up the steps leading up to the wide and lavish veranda. My Dad motioned to my brother and I to sit at the table while he went inside. A maid came out and brought us some lemonade and cookies. We waited and waited and waited. After what seemed like an hour, my Dad came out from the house carrying his medical case and shook hands good bye with the house lady and off we went back into the car. Having had no swimming pool but only endless waiting I became rather cranky and started complaining as soon as we got in the car. My Dad became very stern and straightened out my emotions by explaining that he had come out there because the gentleman was ill and needed medical care. We had not come there for fun but my dad had come there on a medical house call. That said I sobered up, with not a small tinge of guilt. That event made me understand my a bit about what Dad’s job was.
My parents were also always united. If they had any disagreements, the disagreements were not evident to the children. They were not perfect by all means. Their faults would become more and more evident as I grew up. Their individual characters coupled with respect for each other and unity however however, set the groundwork for a cohesive and functional family. During our formative years they also instilled in us a sense of responsibility. Camping trips were a family project. We planned and assigned tasks to each one. We often even did some of the grocery shopping. Camping trips always had a great deal of expectation on the part of us kids as the time approached. Certain things however had to take place in order for the camping trip to happen. On one occasion my Dad glued together some wood sticks shaping up the profile of a tent on a sheet of paper. He hung it up on the wall during the eight days preceding the trip. For every quarrel we had he would pull one stick off the paper. The implication was that if the profile of the tent was not visible by the time of the trip, then there would be no trip. We had lists of assignments, menus and agendas for activities. Once we arrived at the spot, implementation would begin immediately. After many occasions and a lot of practice, we had gotten it down to a science. My parents did not have to do any of the work by the time I was in my teens. The kids took care of everything. It became a challenge to have the kitchen set up and a cup of hot tea served by the time the tent was up. This we managed to accomplish several times on a trip we took throughout Europe.
The balanced household in which I grew up and in which values preceded possessions, principles prevailed over self-interest and responsibility kept dysfunction at bay was most likely responsible for instilling in me some level of self-confidence and independence. This self-confidence and independence did not come without its own share of dangers though. At different times in my life there were occasions where I pushed the edge too far, albeit thankfully not causing irreparable damage. A resolute discontent with convention and a burning desire to lean over and turn the next corner set the emotional and personal stage for tackling certain challenges that came my way. It was no different now. I was treading the unknown it was fun.
I snapped out of my philosophical moment, turned my gaze away from Madison Avenue and focused on a more immediate challenge: to look for a bus stop for the bus heading to lower Manhattan. It was right where Mr. Lodwick had indicated. I walked past a group of people who were obviously waiting for a bus. Then I looked around for the sign listing all the buses stop there. Sure enough, his instructions were right on. Before too long the bus came, I got on and made a short trip to lower Manhattan. I got off at the United Nations. The sight of the imposing United Nations building against the backdrop of the East River sent chills up my spine, exacerbated only by the sight of the flag of my country amongst others. I took the mandatory tour and listened to all the usual explanations which I didn’t retain.
I didn’t expect to bump into a Brazilian, but in retrospect where else should I bump into one but at the United Nations building. Her mellow voice struck a cord of familiarity. Her accent was from northern Brazil and as Brazilian do when they meet each other in different parts of the world, we talked as if we were long time friends. I did not learn much about what the United Nations does around the world. But, having my home country (I consider Brazil my home country and the US my heart country) represented by the flag at the poll at by a person at the gift shop did give me a boost of sentiments for the day. Nations united or not, the friendly encounter was encouraging.
Many years I would return to a very different Manhattan as an adult and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would have the same courage as my Dad had to send my own 16 year old to explore the streets of this city. My Uncle John was in no small part an accomplice in planning that journey as well as many other journeys in my life. The trip was successful not only as geographic exploration but it also helped me push into uncharted personal realm with ambition to seek further. Later on as life began to present its problems and challenges what became interesting and rewarding was to be able to blaze through unknown territory and bring functionality out of a dysfunctional environment. Such predisposition would come in handy when I was faced with the scenario of starting out married life with a ready made family.
