I'm Not High Read Online Free
Author: Jim Breuer
a midnight escape, driving from Florida to Long Island in one straight shot with her young brood.
So life hadn’t worked out the greatest for Mom. But she found a way to get through it and even had some fun along the way. She was usually the life of the party, and she loved to flirt and carouse. I figure that if she had been born a decade or two earlier she would have been a burlesque dancer. She still likes to kick up her heels, belt out tunes, dance around, and laugh from the bottom of her belly. Even into her golden years now, sometimes I’ll catch her batting her eyes at a strange man after she’s had a few martinis, and I’ll have to tell her to knock it off. That’s just who she is—and I inherited a lot of that from her. But I also think that some of her partying was an attempt to take the edge off a rough life.
Mom was born in the mid-1920s, grew up on Long Island, and as a teenager fell in love with a man named Edwin “Lefty” Troy. He was her first love, and he was great to her. He’d take her dancing and was always a gentleman, doing all of the chivalrous stuff that made Mom believe that love was a wonderful thing. She and Edwin had big plans to build a life together. There were only a couple of small problems.
The first was that Edwin’s family hated her. The Troys were Catholics and Mom was Lutheran. To me that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but to them, in that era, it was bitter like a race war. It crushed my mom that they couldn’t get married in Edwin’s church. And his family certainly wouldn’t attend a wedding in her Lutheran church. So they ended up having a simple civil service at city hall. And Edwin’s family still wouldn’t attend. It was completely out of the question. So she doesn’t have a wedding day memory of smiling in-laws looking on as their son placed a ring on her finger. Instead she remembers that in the days leading up to the wedding, Edwin’s father told her father, “I’d rather my son be dead than married to a Lutheran.”
And there was the second problem: Edwin’s father soon got his wish. Edwin was sent off to fight the Nazis in World War II under General Patton. Two months before he was to be discharged, he was killed in action.
Mom tells me of knowing it was coming. Of feeling it for a few days. She was pregnant when Edwin left, and losing the father of her child was what she dreaded most. And sure enough, one sunny afternoon, she was looking out the window of their little Long Island home—their baby, Eddie, who would never meet his father, cooing in a basinet behind her—and saw two soldiers walking somberly and purposefully up the sidewalk. They knocked on the door and Mom could barely open it. She dropped to her knees, sick with the knowledge of what they were about to tell her. She knew that as soon as she let them in, her life would change forever.
“Mrs. Troy?” the taller one inquired. To her he didn’t look much older than her Lefty. “We’re here today to regretfully inform you ...”
They handed her the official documents and left. She was the first person they told. Mom pulled it together enough to call her father, who then placed a call to Edwin’s father. When he answered, Mom’s father simply told him, “Well, you got your wish. Your boy is dead.”
There was a service for Eddie at his parents’ beloved Catholic church, and the priest would not acknowledge Mom or baby Eddie. The whole ceremony was about a great Catholic man who left behind his parents. There was no mention of Mom or their son, who were, of course, seated in a pew right in front of the guy.
My grandfather was there, too, and he grew angrier and angrier at the callousness of the priest. Eventually he squeezed Mom’s arm and said, “Get up!” through gritted teeth. Mom was mortified. She was there to mourn, not to draw attention to herself. It took her a second to gather up the baby and shuffle sideways out of the pew after her father. The priest had just
So life hadn’t worked out the greatest for Mom. But she found a way to get through it and even had some fun along the way. She was usually the life of the party, and she loved to flirt and carouse. I figure that if she had been born a decade or two earlier she would have been a burlesque dancer. She still likes to kick up her heels, belt out tunes, dance around, and laugh from the bottom of her belly. Even into her golden years now, sometimes I’ll catch her batting her eyes at a strange man after she’s had a few martinis, and I’ll have to tell her to knock it off. That’s just who she is—and I inherited a lot of that from her. But I also think that some of her partying was an attempt to take the edge off a rough life.
Mom was born in the mid-1920s, grew up on Long Island, and as a teenager fell in love with a man named Edwin “Lefty” Troy. He was her first love, and he was great to her. He’d take her dancing and was always a gentleman, doing all of the chivalrous stuff that made Mom believe that love was a wonderful thing. She and Edwin had big plans to build a life together. There were only a couple of small problems.
The first was that Edwin’s family hated her. The Troys were Catholics and Mom was Lutheran. To me that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but to them, in that era, it was bitter like a race war. It crushed my mom that they couldn’t get married in Edwin’s church. And his family certainly wouldn’t attend a wedding in her Lutheran church. So they ended up having a simple civil service at city hall. And Edwin’s family still wouldn’t attend. It was completely out of the question. So she doesn’t have a wedding day memory of smiling in-laws looking on as their son placed a ring on her finger. Instead she remembers that in the days leading up to the wedding, Edwin’s father told her father, “I’d rather my son be dead than married to a Lutheran.”
And there was the second problem: Edwin’s father soon got his wish. Edwin was sent off to fight the Nazis in World War II under General Patton. Two months before he was to be discharged, he was killed in action.
Mom tells me of knowing it was coming. Of feeling it for a few days. She was pregnant when Edwin left, and losing the father of her child was what she dreaded most. And sure enough, one sunny afternoon, she was looking out the window of their little Long Island home—their baby, Eddie, who would never meet his father, cooing in a basinet behind her—and saw two soldiers walking somberly and purposefully up the sidewalk. They knocked on the door and Mom could barely open it. She dropped to her knees, sick with the knowledge of what they were about to tell her. She knew that as soon as she let them in, her life would change forever.
“Mrs. Troy?” the taller one inquired. To her he didn’t look much older than her Lefty. “We’re here today to regretfully inform you ...”
They handed her the official documents and left. She was the first person they told. Mom pulled it together enough to call her father, who then placed a call to Edwin’s father. When he answered, Mom’s father simply told him, “Well, you got your wish. Your boy is dead.”
There was a service for Eddie at his parents’ beloved Catholic church, and the priest would not acknowledge Mom or baby Eddie. The whole ceremony was about a great Catholic man who left behind his parents. There was no mention of Mom or their son, who were, of course, seated in a pew right in front of the guy.
My grandfather was there, too, and he grew angrier and angrier at the callousness of the priest. Eventually he squeezed Mom’s arm and said, “Get up!” through gritted teeth. Mom was mortified. She was there to mourn, not to draw attention to herself. It took her a second to gather up the baby and shuffle sideways out of the pew after her father. The priest had just
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