I’ve had three terrific mothers (I guess ol’ dad, kept trying for perfection) and, along the way, an amazing mother-in-law. During my youth the time spent with them was an adventure of learning (sometimes survival) and most remembered, loving.
Number three, Gloria, was originally a Busca. I’m not quite sure how this dark-haired Italian beauty and my father met. Possibly dad, being German, had thought another European alliance was in order. However, through the years of their marriage they sometimes fought like two countries trying to see who would rule my world.
That didn’t bother me. But, having been an only child into my teens, my independence was shattered when, POOF, there suddenly appeared, along with my new mom, two step-sisters; Lynnda, my own age, and Debbie, slightly younger. I shuddered to think I could be hauling this pair to and from high school every day in my ’58 Ford convertible.
This mom, as the one before, could really cook. She had undoubtedly learned her culinary skills from her own mother, Tillie, who had owned a deli and restaurant downtown. I had to stay active to keep from gaining weight from her fine food, so on weekends I would take off for the coast to risk body and surfboard in the waters of the Pacific — and to escape my siblings...