True Love

Sisters Sandy and Ellie, Babsie (me, 10 yrs old) with Grandma Becky

The first time I fell in love, it was with two boys at the same time. I loved their chubby hands, the way they bounced on my back, stuck their fingers in my ears and blew raspberries in my face. Sixteen-month old twins Todd and Larry Klein were irresistible to me. At the age of ten I was the older woman in their lives. I remember running home after school, throwing my books into my room and tearing into my jeans with such speed that by the time I knocked on Mrs. Klein’s door, beads of sweat covered my forehead. She answered the door looking like a cross between Beulah witch and Gretel, wide-eyed and sleepy. I could hear Todd and Larry banging on the wall and knew they were chomping the wooden slats of their cribs between shrieks. It wasn’t long before I was spending every afternoon in the Klein’s apartment.

In 1952 no one needed locked gates at the entrance to anything and parking spaces were plentiful. We lived across the hall from the Kleins at the rear of a six-entry courtyard building in Hyde Park on the south side of Chicago. The hallways smelled of garlic and tomato soup and looked like my grandmother’s living room with its faded floral walls and worn burgundy carpet. Outside, my friends and I used to jump along the tops of the cement stoops to make the mothers crazy and impress the four year-olds. At dinnertime, I would appear with scabby knees and a scowl, perturbed that bike riding was over and homework ahead. Except for an old teddy bear that I slept with every night, no doll had ever entered my bedroom, which is why everyone was surprised when I chose the twins over bike riding with my best friend Sylvia.

The moment I entered the twin’s front door, Mrs. Klein would drop into a bulbous armchair and doze. I was oblivious to their mother’s disheveled, burgeoning appearance, the dirty laundry or baby detritus on every flat surface. I changed diapers and played peek a boo until my mother called me home for dinner. While Mrs. Klein treated me like an expensive gift, I failed to notice she was swelling up like a balloon.

I dragged the boys from their cribs, changed diapers, read stories, stuffed their mouths with crackers, cuddled them as they drank their bottles of milk, sang songs and pretended to be the mommy. I played horsy, turned my fingers into puppets, and made train noises through my thumbs. Sometimes I’d take them for a walk in their buggy, but my mother would hear us banging around in the hallway and invite herself along even though I told her I didn’t need any help. Some days I had the feeling Mrs. Klein wanted me to get lost with the boys for a couple of days so she could just merge with her chair and snore in peace.

This afternoon ritual had been going on for several weeks before I asked my mother if it was possible for a person to explode and how far could a stomach stretch.

“You’re a skinny thing. Do you think you’re getting fat?”

“Not me. But Mrs. Klein is so big she can’t get out of her chair. Yesterday I had to pull her up.”

We had a little bedroom chat then, about vaginas, penises, uterus’s and babies and when we finished I had more information than I wanted but understood that Mrs. Klein was pregnant with triplets and that a woman in Canada managed to deliver five babies all at once. My worries about how far skin could stretch were replaced with disgust about what a person had to do to get her own baby into the world.

None of that stopped me, however, from being consumed with the Klein family throughout my entire spring vacation. Even my best friend Sylvia stopped calling. But I was not deterred. Besides squealing every time they saw me, Larry and Todd had fascinating body parts I’d never seen before. They gave me sloppy kisses, wrapped their arms around my neck and performed some new trick all the time. They called me ‘Baba’ and would toddle into the kitchen and say ‘cuku’ for cookie. I was in love.

Then one muggy May day, the apartment was messier than usual. Large cartons of books and linens littered the living room. The next day the dining room drapes were gone and dishes filled kitchen counters.

“What’re you doing?” I asked. “Cleaning stuff?”

“Didn’t your mother tell you? We’ve gotta move. This place is too small for us with these babies coming.” Her words came out breathy, between pauses, as if each syllable required thought. Mrs. Klein leaned against the wall and the outline of her body looked like another person had managed to levitate straight out from under her breast. I wanted to fling myself right into her mid-section. 

Instead I said, “Forgot something. Gotta go,” and went home to be miserable and yell at my mother.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I flopped myself onto our scratchy sofa and flung my shoes into the corner.

“I did. Remember when I told you that Mrs. Klein was having 3 babies and they needed more space?”

“I thought that meant they would move someday, not now.”

“I bet Daddy will drive you over to their new house on a Saturday afternoon.”

Big deal, I thought. He’ll do it once and then never again. I’m losing my loves and she thinks of a quick fix to keep me smiling. By the time my Dad got home for dinner, I had ripped the curled wallpaper in the bathroom, refused to set the table and then turned the radio on full blast while my sister was talking to her new boyfriend.

“Sure, I’ll drive you over there. Where’s there?” My Dad had his arm around my shoulder and was listening to the news. He didn’t seem to care that I’d turned rotten.

“I don’t know. No one tells me anything.” A place called Korea was having some sort of struggle, but it didn’t concern me.

“Near the Frolic Theater.” My mother called from the kitchen.

“Not too far. We’ll get you there.” I blew my nose, tied my shoes and decided the fried chicken smelled too good to miss for a two minute task. While I pulled dishes from the shelves, my mother told me Mrs. Klein had called wanting me to come over after dinner.

Mr. Klein was home when I got there, looking all fidgety. He was sitting in the sleeping chair, bouncing a baby on each knee, trying to keep them from pulling his ears and sticking their fingers up his nose. Mrs. Klein rolled back into the couch so she could sit next to me. They reminded me of Jack Sprat who could eat no fat and his wife who could eat no lean. To keep myself from laughing and embarrassing myself I picked up Todd and stuck my finger in his stomach so we could both giggle.

“I want you to have this,” Mrs. Klein sputtered as she handed me a smooth red fabric box. Inside, two tiny pearls roamed on a thin silver chain. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’d ever seen.

“I’m going to miss you. And so will the boys.” I thought she was going to cry but then it was Mr. Klein who turned away.

“When are you going to move?”

“In a few weeks. We still have some time together. Todd and Larry love your playtime. Me too.”

I tried not to go there every day after that, just to get out of the rhythm, but I only missed two days. My bike had gotten a little rusty and I had to oil the chain until it dripped. Sylvia was glad they moved away. She never told me that but I could just tell.

Few memories from my childhood linger with the intensity of that experience. Mrs. Klein, heaped across her over-stuffed chair, hair matted to her forehead, breathing heavily. The twins, wrapping their arms around my neck, giggling when I tickled them. For months, Todd and Larry visited my dreams. By the time I graduated from high school, the boys had become a dim memory like a favorite toy or a great birthday gift. But the experience framed my life, the choices I made, and the path I took.

 

Our children have been launched into the world for many years and have families of their own, but I still remember some of those chaotic crazy years of their young lives and beyond.  The disappointments and anguish that strike with abandon, the world that unfolds in ways we never expect. I never learned the rest of the Klein family story, how they managed five babies under age three, what happened to Todd and Larry.  I only know my story.

During the early 1940’s, women were encouraged to work for the war effort, then pressured to retire when the veterans returned home. Out of this milieu emerged leaders like Gloria Steinem and Marilyn French who captured the angst and frustration women suffered and transformed it into a movement in the early seventies, long after I’d married and had given birth to three of our five children. And while I support every woman’s right to choose, to explore her destiny, to have access to a career, to compete on an equal field with any man, my choice had been made years earlier.

My fascination with babies, children and motherhood has not diminished. In fact, after our youngest left for college, I pursued a master’s degree in early childhood development, specializing in infancy and served for several years as the director of a family resource center.

I love to write stories about the pitfalls, challenges, humor and angst of family life from the perspective of a mom, child development specialist, teacher and grandmother. Some will make you laugh, others might make you cry. I think of them as snapshots from my life that hopefully offer insight, appreciation, truth, angst, and most of all, love.