My childhood was punctuated by long periods of illness during which I spent many days in bed. During my longest illness, late-September to mid-March of first grade, the school system sent a tutor to my home several times a week to try and keep me from falling too far behind in my studies. She was kindly lady, and I am sure she was not sure how to deal with me. Because I spent lots of time alone and confined to my bed, I quickly was able to read several grades above the reading level that she was trying to teach me. I simply breezed along reading whatever she brought for me.
Math was a horse of another color. While I was confined to my bed, I had an AM radio within arm’s reach for instant companionship. I loved listening to the radio and still do. As a sick child I particularly enjoyed the horse races that were broadcast in the afternoons from the horse tracks in New York and New Jersey. As a result of my fascination with horse racing, I wanted to learn what the announcers meant when they described the odds on each horse. I am sure it scandalized my very staid tutor. She had me focus on completing boring math problems in the math workbooks that were used by the schools, not on how to handicap horse races. I did not enjoy the workbooks and did the tasks joylessly. I relied on my father to help me understand how the odds were figured at the racetracks. My father also improved my math skills by teaching me to play cribbage. I cherished the times when he would spend some time with me playing hand after hand of cribbage.
My social studies learning was also informed by my radio listening. In the 1950s, the radio still carried radio dramas. My favorites were: The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin, Sgt. Preston of the Yukon, and The Lone Ranger. These brought adventure into my sick room. They also excited my imagination and interest in geography and history. My education was not neglected while I sat in bed ill.
My days had a rhythm to them. I ate my breakfast as my brother and sisters left for school. It was the lowest point of my day, for I desperately wanted to go with them. After breakfast I washed up, brushed my teeth and hair. As my mother called it – “I made myself presentable.” My tutor did not come every day. Even on days when my tutor did not come my mornings were usually spent learning either reading or working on the dreaded math workbooks.
My in-bed school day ended with lunch. After lunch I napped, for my mornings exertion often left me worn out. When I woke from my afternoon nap, I would listen to the radio and do activities. I was an avid jigsaw puzzler with several puzzles that I worked repeatedly. They were 200-500 pieces, remarkably complex for a 6-year-old. I also had several cut out and paste picture books and connect the dots activity books. I rationed these, limiting myself to only doing one page a day. Connect the dot pictures were enhanced with crayons so that each was both a puzzle and a coloring book page. This made them last longer.
When my brother and sisters came home from school, my day would shift. Most days my brother would bring me a beverage, a Canada Dry Ginger Ale in a green bottle with a straw, and a snack. He would sit by my doorway and tell me about his day. It was a special time. My younger sisters did not make routine visits to my room. My brother was my pal and confidant.
Late afternoon slid into supper and bedtime followed soon after. I would often quietly read until I would fall asleep. Sleep was not a friend, for I mostly slept half sitting up so that I could breathe better. My temperature would often rise as the day went on so I was often feverish and feeling ill by evening. I knew that I was getting better when I was less tired at the end of my day and eager to join the family. My first forays were to come down the stairs, pausing to count to 10 on each step and then moving to rest in the living room in the late afternoon. To my joy, I would eat dinner with the family, then one of my parents would carry me upstairs to bed. At first these trips were tiring, but over time I was allowed to lengthen my time downstairs and could go upstairs step-by-step on my own.
Doctor visits were a major interruption to my school from bed routine. My doctor was in New York – a pediatric pulmonary specialist. Trips to the city were quite elaborate events. When I was six my parents would bundle me up, put me in the car and drive to the city. As I grew older, I also saw an allergist in New York who treated my asthma. I would see both doctors the same day. How we parked and got to the doctor’s office has not been retained in my memory. What I do remember is how tiring and stressful the trips were. I am sure they were exhausting for my mother.
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