TheBanyanTree: Life Stories 44

[Tobie Shapiro]

October 30, 200000006


Dear Every Last One of You,

	The week of Halloween has dropped down 
upon us.  All the little ghouls and princesses 
and hobos are getting their acts together, and 
those mothers who don't know how to sew have 
their glue guns and staplers out.  For the most 
part, I don't like Halloween.  Oh yes, I'm a 
stick in the mud.  I love the little kids, and 
dealing them out candy is a joy, but for myself, 
I don't like having to put on a costume.  It's 
hard enough being myself.

	Being myself


                                 ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß


It's All Happening at the Zoo

	We invited my friend, Tina Hoeman, to 
come with us to the San Francisco Zoo.  There was 
an Oakland Zoo, but it was a drab and poor cousin 
to the San Francisco Zoo.  Besides, my mother 
grew up in San Francisco and went to the zoo 
there frequently.  I was born in San Francisco, 
as was my older sister, and the early outings 
were all to San Francisco.  It was a major event 
going to the zoo.  We didn't do these things 
often.  A lot of planning must have gone into it.

	This was in the days when consideration 
of the animals' feelings didn't come up as a 
subject.  They were caged for our pleasure and 
amusement in gaping at them.  The big cats paced 
back and forth in their small parcels as if they 
were autistic, and the monkeys exhibited crazy 
behaviour, spitting and throwing things at the 
onlookers.  So much about the true nature of the 
animals could not be told from their behaviour in 
captivity.  We had no concept of that at age nine.

	Tina Hoeman lived in the house behind 
ours when we lived on Hopkins Street.  The 
Hopkins Street house was the first house we 
inhabited after our return to California from 
Maryland.  It was a temporary thing, a rental, 
while my parents hunted for a house to buy.  From 
Hopkins Street, it was a short walk, just to the 
corner and across the street, to the steep 
pathway that took us to the elementary school 
grounds.  And every morning, Tina would walk with 
me.  We both had Mr. Whitenack for fourth grade, 
my first male teacher.  And we got along well. 
There was an extra little building on her 
property that we used as a clubhouse.  Now, 
whoever owns that house probably rents it out for 
thousands of dollars a month.  But in those days 
of plenty and less greed, a clubhouse was a good 
use of extra room.

	I was happy to have Tina with us at the 
zoo.  I especially wanted to see the lions, the 
tigers, the leopards, all the big cats.  I was 
already a dedicated cat person, and the whole 
family of cats fascinated and entranced me.  The 
group of us must have been my parents, my sister 
and a friend of hers, then Tina and I, and my 
baby brother, just two years old.  This meant my 
mother was busy tending to Daniel.  He was as 
active a child as Dana and I were, and watching 
over him, herding him, keeping him within a 
thirty foot radius, was a full time occupation. 
This left my father on the loose.  And he 
wandered around after Tina and me as we walked 
past the big cat cages.

	We stopped in front of a leopard's 
encampment.  The leopard was draped over a branch 
in a tree, looking more than content, her eyes 
closed in bliss, her head resting on her front 
paws.  Tina and I looked longingly at her.  I 
turned to Tina and said, "I wonder if leopards 
purr.  I'd love to pet a leopard and hear it 
purr."

	Then I felt my father come up behind me. 
He put his hands on my shoulders, got a far off 
expression in his voice and the words came out 
laboured.

	"Sometimes I wish you were a leopard," he 
said, drawing closer, "and I could stroke you and 
you'd purr."

	As he said this, he pulled me closer to 
him and I felt something hard rub against my 
back.  I had no idea what this was.  I just knew 
that something was wrong, something was filthy, 
sinister, soiling.  I recoiled and arched my back 
away from him, but he pulled me in closer again 
and rubbed back and forth on my back.  I wrenched 
myself from his grasp and Tina and I walked away. 
I was greatly relieved, but I didn't know what 
had happened.  All I knew was that it felt 
completely wrong, and I felt poisoned, dirtied, 
humiliated.  What had I done wrong?  How had I 
brought this humiliation down upon myself?  How 
had I asked for this?  I said nothing.  I said 
nothing to anyone.  Not until now.  Somehow the 
shame was mine, and that's best kept quiet.

                                 ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß
-- 




Tobie Helene Shapiro
Berkeley, California   USA

tobie at shpilchas.net