THE BIG TOMATO or FAMILY LORE PART 1

When I was about three or four years old, we went to the beach with Baba and Great-Grandpa Sam (they were my Grandma and Grandpa Gudeon). I was wearing an adorable strawberry bathing suit with a matching hat and I was so proud of that hat. It had a wide straw brim with a strawberry on it, and I felt like a big girl in it.

After we'd been there a while, Baba took me for a walk. We left my little brother (your Uncle Mark) back at the cabana with Myna, and I felt very special getting to be by myself with Baba. I was practically strutting in my fabulous new hat.

We started on the boardwalk and she took me to meet all her friends. She was very proud of her first grandchild and she loved showing me off - and I loved showing off my hat. We had a wonderful time together and when it was time to return, we decided to come back by walking along the beach to be sure we hadn't missed our chance to show off to any of Baba's friends we might have missed.

While we were making our way along the sandy waterfront, a huge wind came and blew my beloved hat into the ocean! There was no saving it. Baba thought I'd be inconsolable but instead I was full of excitement.

"Mommy, Mommy!" I yelled as we neared the cabana. "Guess what happened!"

"What," she asked, a little taken aback by my enthusiasm.

"We were walking on the beach," I regaled her, "and a big tomato came and blew my hat away!"

I couldn't understand why everyone was laughing when it was a truly dramatic story of love and loss.

Who knows? Maybe that was my first experience with the power of language to create comedy out of tragedy.

LET'S START AT THE VERY BEGINNING

I guess I should start this journey of remembrance with my very first memory.

I was about four or five years old, which is pretty amazing because I have so few memories from before I was eight or so.

Anyway, I was about four or five years old and I was playing with my friend Melinda Hedges. She lived in the house right behind ours in the little potato patch development our first house sat in.

This afternoon Melinda and I were in the street right outside my house; and our moms were sitting on the front steps talking. Another little girl, who I can't even picture much less recall her name, came over and wanted to play with us; but I told her she couldn't. I don't remember why. Maybe I wanted Melinda all to myself, maybe I didn't like her, maybe I just didn't want to change what we were doing to accommodate another person.

The little girl told her mother, who was sitting with the other moms. Myna called me over and asked if I'd told the girl she couldn't play with us. I immediately sensed that I'd done something bad so in the spirit of self-preservation I did what any self respecting four or five year old would do. I lied.

"No," I stated in no uncertain terms.

So Myna punished me (in those days we got spanked) and told the other girl she could go play with Melinda while I had to sit on the steps by myself.

After a while she asked me if I knew why she was punishing me. I knew it was because I'd told the other girl she couldn't play with us and said as much. To this day I have a vivid picture in my mind of her answer.

"No," she said, "I'm not punishing you because you wouldn't play with her." She leaned over so I'd be sure to get it. "I'm punishing you because you lied to me."

It worked. The lesson was indelible. That small incident made such a huge impression on me that it became my very first memory to be carried my whole life.

But what's funny is that Myna doesn't remember it at all. It was just one of the myriad times she had to discipline and teach her kids right from wrong; but for me it was so strong that forty-seven years later I can still see the sunshine on the grass and feel the rough concrete on the back of my legs as I watched Melinda and the other little girl play happily together without me.