Who lives inside of us?
Those we love, for sure.
The ones who supervised us and taught us, and those we trained and took under our wing.
Those we dislike? Some, for a time or for years. It would be best if we could vanquish the fire within ourselves and place the disliked inhabitants in a safer, quieter location.
To do otherwise means to hold anger and burn away the days of our lives. We are distracted and sleepless, and think of how to return the hate in kind.
The old saying goes that if you want revenge, dig two graves. The second will be your own, since the wrath leaves a scorched earth and continual unhappiness. The flames rob us of the world’s beauty, a chance to grow, and the emotional room for fraternity and love.
One other group of those who live inside.
The departed, some living, others not. They include the recalled faces of youth and the years past. Add the corner grocer, the third-grade friend who moved away (Joel Lee), the neighbors who offered kindness, and our favorite teachers.
I am thinking of myself in this and those around me a while ago.
Not least, relatives played a part in my life. The way they hugged, put an arm on my shoulder, and smiled or winked, as if the two of us had a secret.
Include the grandmother who gave me a coin each time she came to our house. Add Steve Henikoff’s mom, too. Mrs. H. introduced me to Toll House Chocolate Chip cookies. They were so delicious, I wouldn’t have traded them for a trip to heaven!
Nor have I forgotten the neighborhood cutie (Susie D.) who always smiled at me, as if waiting for me to wake up and spend time with her.
She died too soon.
A 5th-grade girl named Marilyn lost a parent. Heart disease felled the breadwinners in family after family in those days. So it appeared to me.
Polio terrified parents, too, until Jonas Salk developed a vaccine in the mid-50s. Few recall that Dr. Salk tried the vaccine on himself during his experiments.
Think of it.
In fifth grade, I discovered girls. Female classmates had been masquerading as males, but wearing long hair and dresses, until the day everything changed.
My eyes, on their own, traveled to Sharon’s underpinnings. Limbs, my eyes reported, didn’t just prop you up and help you to walk.
Sharon and I were invited to a boys’ and girls’ party and participated in a game of Spin the Bottle. A minute later, she and I found ourselves in a dark room alone.
“Gerry, do you know that the most beautiful girl in the world is deaf?”
No, I answered.
“What did you say?”
Good legs and funny!
That was many years ago. I wonder if the charmer is still alive. A witty young woman.
I remember Bob Hanel’s father, a tall man with a small dog—chatty and kind. The man, not the dog.
Mrs. Schallmoser emigrated from Germany and babysat for my brothers and me. One day, sometime later, I asked her about Hitler. The family left Germany before he took over, she said. A gentle woman.
Mr. Sharon, no relation to my girlfriend, owned a candy store. The kind man called me “son.” He and I talked about the Chicago Cubs, our favorite, hometown team.
Jerry S. moved into the neighborhood as a seventh grader, a year older than me. Jerry and I attached a long string to two empty cans and kept the string straight across and above the alley separating his house from mine. Of course, we didn’t displace Thomas Edison’s work, but we talked a bit about our creation.
Kenny Shively, another friend who lived nearby, played the accordion. Johnny Costea, a year or two ahead in school, introduced me to swearing instead of Ken’s squeeze boxes.
Johnny was a fan of Batman, the comic book hero who later made it to the movies. To John, Batman’s town wasn’t Gotham City but “Goddamn City.”
Imagine a time when the brazenness of those words packed a whallop.
Much of what I am talking about happened in the alley between Washtenaw and Talman, the 5700 block, in Chicago. The city’s residential blocks are full of those alleys, about 90% of them. Along with empty lots, the alleys were like a second home for boys who lived for softball in the summertime.
These concrete playing fields included garbage cans, telephone poles, and the malodorous deposits left by the dogs their owners walked.
The poet Carl Sandburg called Chicago the “City of the Big Shoulders.” Bruised one’s, too, if you ran into the closed garage doors that governed each side of your alley or lost your balance and said a hard hello to the concrete beneath you.
Please allow me to leave you with this.
Let me start with an old saying about memories and the people we recall. The words take many forms, but the essence is this. We don’t die until the last time someone who remembers us mentions our name.
But here is a sunnier version of the importance of carrying another with us and in us. The punctuation below the YouTube reading is the poet’s:
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
Thank you, Gerry, for carrying us all along your Chicago memories. I love your stories! (Can I borrow young Sharon’s joke?) I recently read a book about brain health and aging. The researcher documented how nostalgia–reminiscing–is both physiologically and emotionally good for us! Who knew? To your heath, Dr. Stein. ❤️
Sharon’s joke is available at no charge, unless, of course, she is prepared to sue us all for violation of her copyright! Yes, while I might be a story or two short of matching Methuselah’s 969 years, I do appreciate the thought Thank you, Evelyn.
I carry many special people inside of me, knowingly and lovingly. I also worked very hard to remove some people from inside of me who didn’t deserve to have any real-estate in my head, best decisions ever. Thanks for sharing this post, it has similarities to a draft post I’ve been working on.
We do seem to think alike on occasion, Tamara. I will look forward to you post on topic similar to my own. Indeed, even at a time when there is insufficient real estate in many cities, you did well to send some people packing because of their corrosive presence inside of you. Be well, Tamara.
By the time you get to be our age, Dr. Stein, there is no shortage of people who have influenced us. Hopefully, we have done the same and made a positive impression on many others. That’s part of the cycle of life. We all have a responsibility.
“O Me! O Life!” by Walt Whitman
Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
Thank you, Pete, especially for introducing me to a Whitman poem I did not know. A Latin phrase comes to mind: sic transit gloria mundi or “so pass away the glories of the earth.” A momento mori, not as full as what Whitman offered, but something that hits a similar target — a reminder of the need for humility “as that powerful play goes on.” Again, many thanks.
How have I missed out on the most spectacular poem from E.E. Cummings until now? A beautiful culminating gift to conclude your lovely post, Dr. Stein. Thank you! 💝
Glad you liked it, Vicki. Yes, a romantic one with the power to sustain romance.
Positively perfect. Thank you! 💝
What beautiful memories, Dr. Stein! I love the way you show us how the people and places that shape us remain inside. Incredibly done!
Thank you, Wynne. They are present in the way your father is, if not so powerful and frequent as the memory of him, I suspect. In our memories and recalling their names, they live on in a different way.
Thanks for sharing the lives of people who live on in you. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how little it takes for someone to touch our hearts and stay with us over the years. I’m relieved that those individuals who once disrupted my peace of mind no longer occupy space within me.
Yes, some people are essential to move from the inner list, often by grieving their unfortunate contact earlier on. I am glad you have been relieved of their time with you. Thanks, Rosaliene.
🙂 <3
Thank you for all of this, Dr. Stein—your reminiscences of those who live inside you and the gorgeous ee cummings poem. I will take some time now to contemplate the many living and gone souls I keep within.
I hope you find the task a warming one rather than an uncovering of too many who harmed you, Lori. Good luck and thanks for your kind appreciation
Nicely done and good timing personally.
xoxo
Thank you, Laura. I’m glad it was right for you in the present moment. All the best.
Thank you for the wonderful trip down memory lane, Dr. Stein. The poem by E.E. Cummings is magnificent.
Thank you, Edward. The poem is romantic and much else, creating an extraordinary mood. I am glad you liked it.