No Language in Common

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No language in common.

At an FA meeting today I read a taped story called “blackout” and this prompted some very intense sharing by Barbara and Diana and Eliz about having whole chunks of their lives lost. No memory.

Sharing with Ken I repeated what I have said often that I feel that I have no memory of my teenage and college years. People remember me and I have no idea who they are.

Spoke of making friends, having friends…or Not.
Why not? What kept me from being present and with memory.

These FA people spoke about being in the food. I wasn’t. But we were all deep in insecurity, doubt and fear. That is where I was. This kept me from friendships and belonging.

Debbie chose me and saved me at Rumson CD School, two lost friends in high school and Paula in college. No one else…anywhere. I remember wondering why I had no women friends. What scared me? Insecurity; no custom of longevity so why bother; and no common language (culture). The culture codes were foreign to me. I did not understand or was afraid of not.

Never a joiner.
SD Women’s Club is a tight-knit group.
French Hill is populated with Camp Ramat-niks.
In Rumson, I was the foreigner who spoke 2 other languages and dressed very differently.
In Israel I was the American
In many places I am the Jew.
Among some Jews I wasn’t Jewish enough…or too Jewish.
In my family I am either the Jew among non-Jews or too Jewish among the Jews.
I am alone and used to it.
In my mother’s house I was the outsider child of Sioma’s.
In my father’s house I was the outsider child of Jane Ellis-Morrow.
I am missing from all family albums.
On the kibbutz I was the American and other things too.
To Lilly I was OK because I was European.
I was always the new child who assumed that the new school culture was unknowable.
To my father I was always inadequate. The perfection goal was always out of my reach. If I got close, it was moved higher. Sarah Lawrence College was no longer a good place after I got in.

In my childhood home I was spoken to in a language that was different and separate from the English that everyone else spoke.

I love Ken

This entry was posted in Musings, Writings.