A Very Belated Valentine

I am not certain when the word "Feminist" came into vogue.  I suppose I could google it and find the exact date, but it isn't really that important.

I come from a long line of feminists, although they never used the word.  Both Grandmothers certainly were.  One was the Matriarch, who not only ruled with an iron rod (not hand) during her life but seemingly controlled the clan long after her demise.

The other, my Paternal Grandmother, worked until she was 72, standing tall and straight in her Nurse's Aide uniform and reporting daily to Roosevelt Hospital.  She literally died on the job, suffering a stroke during her shift and never returning home.

Also, in a time when divorce was merely whispered about, she and my Grandfather had not just separated, but legally divorced.  I never knew the circumstances because by the time I joined the family,. they had reunited and lived together until her death.  I have always presumed happily since I never knew otherwise.

However, since Valentine's Day is rapidly approaching, I believe it is time for me to declare loud and clear that despite my feminist DNA, I absolutely love men especially those who have touched my life.

And please, women in my world, don't take offense.  You know, each and everyone of you, that you are my backbone, my lifeline and my total joy.

It just seems appropriate now, possibly because of being snowbound for what seems an eternity and remembering the homemade Valentine cards of yesteryears, to pay homage to some of those male souls who have touched my life.  Mostly because there were some whose impact was never acknowledged; others whose memory never died

From the very beginning, it was Dad (aka THE MAGICIAN) who made me believe life could be good and also fun.  Something his little girl had difficulty learning.  His hand was always there until the day I learned there were other male beings interested in holding it.

Lurking in the background, however, were the Uncles.  There were five of them; John, Joe, Bill, Dan and Frank.  All veterans of The War To End Wars.  Most of them lived upstairs during my growing up years, literally closer to our household than the second floor of my home today.

Two had married, one disastrously, and the other quite late in life.  The brothers were a constant presence in our household, if not always physically, but hovering in the shadows of our daily activities.

John had left the household, but visited Mom periodically.  He could have been her twin, dark haired and courteous  I was always happy to see him, and I think she was too.  He paid a dear price for being the family's Black Sheep.  Supposedly, he had broken his Mother's heart, but then there are always two sides to a story, and I never learned his.

Joe was less charismatic, at least to the family.  He lived with his brothers most of his life.  We probably exchanged less than 50 words in that time, but religiously every Friday night he gave me two one dollar bills.  He bought the flowers for my wedding bouquet, and each Christmas sent a check for my children.  Joe was a bit of a mystery to the family, but years later I heard he had another life during the weekends when he "visited friends."  I would like to believe the rumor was true, and I honestly hope he had found love away from the family demands.

Bill was my favorite.  Eccentric, reclusive and kind beyond words, always caring in his unique way.  He attended Mass every morning, and took nightly walks with his cousin along "The Avenue" stopping at the bakery to bring home wonderful crusty rolls for our family's breakfast.  When he began to forget the rolls, none of us realized what was really happening until it was too late.  Dear Soul, I wish I had been more throughtful.  The day I was married he told me with regret he had always hoped to take me back to "The Old Country" for a visit.

And dear, dear Uncle Dan.  Not many remember you, but I do.  You would smile and tease me as you sat in your chair doing some menial work for your Sister.  Mom once said there had been an accident that left you "not well," but no specifics were ever given.  You worked every day of your life until someone not so kind found you a vulnerable victim as you walked down the dark street one winter's night  While stealing your money, they also ended your life  It was unnecessary because you would gladly have given them every cent you possessed.

Uncle Frank, you were probably the most mysterious.  I remember so well going to your wedding.  You were forty-five years old, the youngest of "The boys," and your Mother wept because of your "foolish" choice of brides.  Every Saturday morning you would visit our home precisely at 8 a.m. and have a quiet almost whispered conversation with Mom.  Neither my sister nor I knew what it was about, but it was almost religious in its regularity, the secrets of siblings.

And so it was, despite having no brothers, my world was full of men.  And bless them all.   I wonder if they knew none of them would ever be forgotten.

Years later the young man I met and loved led me away from the household the families shared.

The Uncles and I lost close contact then, a long, long time ago, and it has taken me far too long to deliver this Valentine.  I hope I am wrong, but I doubt if they ever received one during their lifetime.  If not, I am sorry because they were the ones who taught me early in life, the importance and pleasure of the male presence in a woman's life.

Even a Feminist.