1954 • San Francisco ~ “Sprouse as in house, Reitz as in right” was the slogan used by the company my dad worked for. Nobody said Reitz right; they rhymed it with Pete’s. I always corrected them.
Sprouse Reitz, 1644 Haight Street
Sometimes Dad drove to San Jose and picked me up to spend the holidays with him, and other times Mom put me on a Greyhound bus. He’d take me to work, and while he manned the register at the front, I stayed in his office in the back. Sitting in his big oak swivel chair, I played with his ten-key adding machine and made houses from the rolls of white adding machine tape. He checked on me during his break, and then at noon we ate our lunch at his desk. Every day he sipped a half-sized can of room-temperature beer with his sandwich. It settled his stomach, balancing the rolls of Tums he chewed to counteract the Empirin Compound he took for headaches.
On the days we didn’t pack bologna or salami sandwiches, we ate at the Glen Ellen Diner across the street. I loved going there. We’d slip into a booth and while Dad went over the menu, I flipped through the cards on the silver jukebox, reading off the latest hits. I always requested my favorites, “Hernando’s Hideaway” or “Mr. Sandman.” He stuck with “That’s Amore” or “Oh My Pa-Pa.” It was a dime for one song, a quarter for three. We usually played just one, and I got to put the coin in the slot and push the buttons. I nodded my head in tune and hummed along while we waited for the gingham uniformed waitress to bring us the lunch special: half a tuna on toast with a cup of clam chowder.
Above the back office of the store was a huge, dimly lit attic, stacked to the ceiling with Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas stock. Climbing the stairs, testing my courage, going one step further each time, I sat down on each step until my heart stopped pounding in my ears, wiped my sweaty palms on my peddle-pushers, and caught my breath before I braved another until I finally made it into the attic. Surrounded by giant brown cardboard boxes big enough to hold dead bodies, I managed to get myself into a complete dither. I was convinced someone was hiding up there. What if they were dead, killed by the creature from the Black Lagoon? WHAT IF IT WAS THE CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON? What if it reached out and grabbed my leg? What if it tried to kill me? I was terrified being up there alone. Brimming with anxiety, I crept up anyway.
Because I was bored sitting at his desk all day, Dad let me stay home by myself for a couple of hours one morning. I was used to it, and told him it was okay; besides, the store was less than a half a block away. With my six-year-old know-how about drying dishes, folding clothes and straightening covers, I tidied his house. I wanted to make it perfect, to have Dad see how good I was, to have him see that I wouldn’t be a problem and wouldn’t be in the way, to see that maybe it would work out and I could stay and live with him.
Dad, Nov 25, 1954
Finished, I waited impatiently at the bottom of the staircase for him to come through the front door at lunchtime, so pleased with myself.
“Daddy,” I bubbled, “I cleaned your whole house!”
He took off his felt hat, glanced around and swiped his right index finger along the railing. “You missed dusting the banister.”
Fighting back disappointment and tears, the voice in my head said: “You should have known better. You didn’t do it right. Now you can’t stay.”
I couldn’t. I was always sent back to Mom. But you can bet I never missed dusting a damn banister again.
to be continued…
© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.
Gail says
“You missed dusting the banister.” I wonder if U wouldn’t have become a perfectionist (per Queen Bee) had this not happened.
Catherine Sevenau says
I’m quite sure it is part and parcel of my perfectionism. I’m also a “One” on the Enneagram. Type One in Brief…
Ones are conscientious and ethical, with a strong sense of right and wrong. They are teachers, crusaders, and advocates for change: always striving to improve things, but afraid of making a mistake. Well-organized, orderly, and fastidious, they try to maintain high standards, but can slip into being critical and perfectionistic. They typically have problems with resentment and impatience. At their Best: wise, discerning, realistic, and noble.
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Basic Fear: Of being corrupt/evil, defective
Basic Desire: To be good, to have integrity, to be balanced
Enneagram One with a Nine-Wing: “The Idealist”
Enneagram One with a Two-Wing: “The Advocate”
Key Motivations: Want to be right, to strive higher and improve everything, to be consistent with their ideals, to justify themselves, to be beyond criticism so as not to be condemned by anyone.
Barbara Jacobsen says
Reminds me of how I too wasn’t SEEN for who I was but expected to be “more grown-up”, neater, whatever…it still makes me angry that they blew it and caused harm even though they thought they were doing it for our own good. The pattern probably went back for hundreds of generations! Hopefully, we’re learning to break some of those patterns.
Catherine Sevenau says
We wouldn’t have turned out to be the women we are without our screwed up childhoods. And yes, it is our job to break those patterns; you do it through your art and who you be, and I do it through my work and writing.
Barbara Jacobsen says
Of course I totally agree and thank you dear friend, for your reminder. I’ve been making collages about these family patterns and they are so healing… and funny! Gotta see the humor in it all.
Linda Troolin says
So hard for a child to be going between parents.
Patricia says
How did we survive? Now your father did something that my mother would have done. It is impossible for some kids to get that gold star or A+ from their parents.
Larry Clemens says
Dad was only 49 years old in 1954. It seemed like he was old, old, old. Today I think 49 is young, young, young. Did you actually have half a tuna on toast? If so it probably was a small tuna. The times I visited dad at Christmas Vacation in SF I enjoyed working in the store. My job was working the register and cleaning the store.
Catherine Sevenau says
I imagine we worked there at the same time, but I only remember you there once time. I was probably busy straightening stockings, stocking bins, or stalking shoplifters. It was a small tuna, from a small can…
Juliette Andrews says
Make a movie.. it’s calling, calling.