98.6º F?

When I was growing up in the 50s, a normal family was
Bob, the breadwinner and Jane, the homemaker. Bob and
Jane stayed married forever. They had two children–
Bob Jr. and Polly–and lived in a house in the country
with a white picket fence and an apple tree. They had a
dog named Buddy and drove a Ford station wagon.

They were a White family.

In those days, I lived with my grandparents who silently
hated each other. Our Manhattan apartment was over
their stationery store. No white picket fence outside,
only concrete sidewalks. No apple trees, only Madison
Avenue buses. No dog, only cockroaches.

Even though I was White, how could I be normal?

When Bill Cosby’s show “The Huxtables” was on the air,
they were just like a normal family—a White family!

What brilliant person thought you had to live like a White
family to be normal?

“What you think is normal can make you blind to other
people’s real lives.” I read that. Wish I said it.

I was thinking about the word normal one day when I
decided to think.

My temperature is normal, my blood pressure is normal
(if I stay away from certain family members), and a
therapist once told me I was normal—at least I was at
that time. But I don’t understand what normal means
anymore outside of medical stuff.

It’s a good thing Bob and Jane and their kids have been
replaced by TV’s “Modern Family”—straight, gay, multicultural, same sex parents, 2nd marriage, older husband/younger wife, etc. Seems a little like my family.  Now even I can feel normal.
A lot of other people can, too.

Coo coo isn’t the alternative to normal.

Words that I once normally used, are gone: falsies,
sanitary belt, necking. New words appeared: tumblr,
flickr, yelp, snapfish. Not only can’t I spell them, I have
no idea what they mean.

Kid used to be called Mary, Linda, and Patricia. Or James,
Michael, and Robert. That was normal.

Nobody’s going to name their kid Corona. But Apple,
Blue Ivy, Moon Unit, North West, Fuchsia are normal
names now?

Flappers flat chests didn’t flap around but were once
considered normal. Then Lana Turner walked into
Schwab’s drug store wearing a sweater.

I still remember being 14 and reciting

“I must.

I must.

I must increase my bust”


as I tried to touch my elbows in back. Now as a 42 C,
I wish I hadn’t tried so hard.

 

The idea that “Father Knows Best” was once normal.
But everybody knows who knows best in the family today.

What’s normal?
Twiggy’s figure?
Mae West’s?
Mine?
Yours?
Do I really care?
Do you?

Being normal can be very limiting.

Nobody’s normal like anybody else. Everybody’s
different and has secrets in their heads, their hearts,
and in their closets.

If you ever think you’re not normal because you’re a little
different, a little odd, a little quirky—stop right now and
shout HOORAY!

And start enjoying every different and weird thing about
yourself. Who wants to be just like everybody else anyway?

After all, everything in 2020 is post normal.

Okay, Beckerman, enough lecturing—
we’re not your grandkids!

You’re just a button click away and I’d love
to hear from you.

About your world, your family, your joys and frustrations, growing up, growing older, even recipes– even though I stopped cooking–by request–years ago.

Goodbye until next time…

Hope your day turns outas well as I hope
(but doubt) mine will,

Gingy (Ilene)