would result in my having whatever it was I yearned for, like a toy or a ësugar
sandwichí, or even just an acknowledgement that I hadnít gotten lost in the
shuffle of the dicta of my siblings extra curricular activities. Nika Gianni Lorino
A Sense of Belonging
Every now and then something causes me to reflect upon my life as a six-year-old child growing up in a single parent household with three older siblings and suddenly I am overcome with an intense feeling of both, warmth and melancholy. I now realize that the precious time I spent with my family was communalælike a little society neatly tucked away inside of a larger one. And without even realizing it, we instinctively ëhad each otherís backí; one always being mindful of the otherís triumphs or tribulations and whenever necessary, through ones inability to help the other we would pass the situation on in ascending order― like runners passing along a baton in a marathon race when a group effort is required to accomplish a particular feat.
It started with Mom who, as the head of our household and working three jobs, seemingly with little time in between for rest or interaction with us, was somehow still able to find time or ways to fulfill each of our fundamental needs.
Although she probably felt confident that my sister Marian, whom at 16 and the oldest, had tended to our most basic needs in her absence, I guess it was pure instinct that made her know when I, who shouldíve been asleep long before she returned home from work around midnight, exhausted and hungry, would be lying in bed, still awake, sucking my thumb and rocking my body out of longing for her presence and touch.
I remember how the dark, moonlit bedroom that I shared with my sister, would suddenly fill with the bright incandescent glow of the hallway light bulb when Mom would open the door ever so slightly after arriving home to check on us.
ìMama?î
Without a word, sheíd tiptoe over to where I lay, pull back the covers and climb fully clothed into bed with me. Enveloped by the warmth of her body, I would nestle in close to her. That warmth, coupled with the subtle smell of her perfume and the softness of her hand lightly stroking my forehead would intoxicate me like a glass of warm sweet milk at bedtime and I would become drowsy and drift off to sleep.
* * *
When I think of it now, that type of warmth was both, physically and emotionally comforting, like a cocoon. And unlike now, as an adult, supposedly self-reliant and singularly able to handle the rigors of life I felt more secure and protected then, knowing that I could simply pass my troubles, whatever they might be, on to her. Even in her absence, that feeling of security lingered, for little could I have known at only six years of age, and the baby of the family, that she had taught my older siblings by design and example, the importance of cohesiveness.
Maybe it was due to the absence of a father, and of the tragic memories associated with that, and also of her incessant need as the new breadwinner to be away from home for lengthy periods of time, or all of those things, at any rate whatever the ties were that bound us so closely together when we were all under one roof so long ago, still affects me profoundly.
As a single adult with no children of my own, I
periodically long for the simpler times of my childhood, when the other members
of my family were constantly around to see to my needs. Those were times when a
certain expression on my face
would result in my having whatever it was I yearned for, like a toy or a ësugar
sandwichí, or even just an acknowledgement that I hadnít gotten lost in the
shuffle of the dicta of my siblings extra curricular activities.
Marian, was very popular and involved in many school activities such as Pom-Pom, and the Debate Team, and my brother Gianni, (Gianni is Italian for John but we called him Mickey) who was 14, was active in sports and thus it was sometimes easy for me to feel left out of things. Iíd usually be standing there silently amidst them, with my ëblankieí clutched tightly in one hand and the thumb of my other jammed tightly in my mouth, sucking the color out of it while I watched them prepare to go to some activity in which I could not participate. And just before the tears that stung my eyes before threatening my cheeks would appear, I was noticed.
ìWhat about Mike and Nika? ì
ìWhadda ya mean what about them, Iím taking Mike with me to hockey practice, you can take Nika with you, canít you?î
ìCommere Nika! I need to brush your hairÖyou wanna go to Pom-Pom rehearsal with me? If youíre good maybe weíll go to a movie afterwardsÖ
Maaama! Nikaís going with me, okay?î
ìAlways be willing participants in the game of life.î Sheíd admonish.
ìDonít be afraid of challenges because youíll find that life is full of them and you may not win them all but never succumb to failure, overcome it.î
When I think of how resourceful my mother was―had to be in raising four children alone, and working many jobs in order to provide for us in a manner that every parent wants to and to also avoid being on welfare, I canít help but to be proud of her. It could not have been easy; with her wanting to be there with us daily, personally seeing to each of our needs, yet, being forced by her situated ness to spend her time away from home performing the domestic chores of others that furthered (or at least contributed to) the needs of their children, while her own had to help themselves.
Even though I knew that Mama worked for somebody else, ironing some other little girlís dresses, or tidying up her room, I was never resentful because Mama took the time to explain to us why it was that she did what she did. She said it was necessary that she clean their home in order for us to have our home. At the time that explanation worked for me.
My mom was crafty and wise like a prophet in that she taught us the meaning of family and saw to it that we were never defined by our lack. We never wanted for anything. We enjoyed nice clothing, nutritious food, a decent dwelling, and despite our having no Father, a well-rounded life. And as our needs changed, she adapted and fulfilled them. For example, when the stern presence of a father was needed to tame the occasional bickering between my brothers, she became that presence. When one of us needed help with schoolwork that the others couldnít provide, sheíd forget her lack of formal schooling and help us to the best of her ability combat the bookwork.
I remember a particular instance when, early one Saturday morning shortly after I had awakened, someone rung our doorbell. It was a man selling Child Craft Books and Encyclopedias. Excited (I loved to read), I ran upstairs and awakened Mama, begging her to buy me the books that I now know she could hardly afford.
ìItís a whole bunch of books mama, with stories and cookie recipes, and mathÖî
ìWhere are these books Nika?î
ìWith the White Man in the living room, puleeeese Ma―î
ìShhh! What did I tell you about referring to someone by the color of his or her skin! Hand me my robe honey. Did you ask him to have a seat?î
Agreed upon monthly payments got me those books and I spent many mornings spilling cereal and milk between their pages as I read each of them from cover to cover.
She would attack any problems we had head on and after the feat was over sheíd sit us down and have us examine what had taken place.
ìAlways be willing participants in the game of life.î Sheíd admonish.
ìDonít be afraid of challenges because youíll find that life is full of them and you may not win them all but never succumb to failure, overcome it.î
* * *
Yes, my mom was a prophet. Iíve realized that her encouragement and support were invaluable fuels that kept me going during the difficult times of my life and provided me with the perseverance to become one who is interested in life and unafraid of pursuing my dreams. Thank you Mother.