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My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 26: The Tony Show

Teri's Novelog — My Stolen Diaries,

CHAPTER 26

 THE TONY SHOW

 March 20, 1966

Well, I met Roberto’s family today, and let’s just say that the Tony show was full of drama.

His older sister refused to attend the Tony reveal, so as soon as we arrived, Roberto made a huge stink about Babs not showing up—loudly yelling at his mother and father and making quite a scene.

Mom was trying to calm him down, and I was awkwardly standing in the hallway with Mem and Mere Germaine, not knowing what to do. Mem had her hand on my shoulder, and Mere Germaine held me tightly at my waist so I felt safe and protected.

Roberto’s mom was nothing like I had imagined. Bella was a tiny little thing, her mouth perfectly lined with bright red lipstick, wearing way too much caked-on makeup, overly high heels, and white hair dramatically piled high on her head in an elaborate braided updo.

Between her hair and her sky-high shoes, she added at least four to five inches to her height. I was still way taller than her, although I made sure to pull my shoulders back and stand as straight as possible to loom over her even higher. I wanted her to have to look up at me.

After Roberto’s hysterical fit, Bella walked over to us and, without introducing herself, went into an uncomfortable speech about how the Russo family was against divorce, which is why Babs would not be coming.

Then, to make matters worse—while still in the hallway—Bella went on to say that the Russo family never knew any other Catholic whom the church excommunicated and that it would take quite some time for them to come to terms with all the associated issues.

I assumed that one of the “associated issues” was me.  I also assumed Roberto told Bella that Mom was excommunicated but not Mem—another lie.

Once Bella finally led us away from the front door, things got better—for Mem and Mere Germaine, anyway. The three of them had cooking in common, so, thank God, they had something to talk about besides me, divorce, and Mom’s excommunication.

I also met Roberto’s sister, Gia, who lives next door to Bella. She was loud and boisterous but hilarious and went out of her way to make me feel comfortable and accepted. Her daughter Patrice, who was incredibly beautiful, with her long, silky, straight chestnut brown hair and tiny nose, helped to relieve some of my anxiety with her kindness.

While Patrice and Gia helped to reduce my uneasiness, I couldn’t help but feel highly self-conscious because everyone kept staring at me.

Roberto’s father, Carlo, who was short and fat, barely spoke English, so he didn’t have much to say, although I thought his leering at me was creepy and uncalled for. When I mentioned it to Patrice, she told me not to take it personally, that “Poppy” leers at all the family girls. Ew.

At the end of the dinner, I was feeling a lot better about the Tony Show until Bella walked up to me and told me that whatever happens between Mom and her “only son,” I was to call her “Aunt Bella” and not Nonna like her grandchildren because our relationship would not be like that.

I’m not going to lie; even though I have no intention of calling her anything at this point, her words stung.

Before dessert, Patrice took me to the house next door to show me her room. She opened her bedroom window, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and offered me one.

I shook my head no, but she convinced me to take a few drags. The first two times I inhaled, I choked like crazy, but then I got used to it.

As we shared our second Marlboro, Patrice told me not to be bothered by anything Nonna had to say because “She’s always sticking her spiked-heel foot into her big red lipstick mouth.”

The two of us laughed, but I was thinking that in a million years, I would never say anything mean like that about Mem.

Then Patrice gave me some mouthwash to gargle with, followed by a long hug. I got a little misty-eyed and broke the awkward silence by saying, “I hope we can be good friends. I need someone in this family to like me.”

Patrice tenderly wiped the tear slipping down my left cheek. “Friends? Oh, Tony, we will be so much more than that, you’ll see.”

Then she lovingly wrapped her arm through my arm, laid her head on my shoulder, and together we walked back to “Aunt Bella’s” house.

Click here for Chapter 27: A Gift From Heaven

My Delta Wings

Poetry

The sunset was before me, the airport runway to the left.

The wind blew through my tightly coiffed bun as I drove with the top down in my electric blue Karmann Ghia.

I adored the car, but I hated that it was his absolution payoff.

A recompense ensuring that I would keep my mouth shut.

At twenty, it was the happiest day of my life.

Free from all that weighed me down.

Emancipated.     Liberated.      Extricated.

Free from him at long last.

Thanksgivings Past

Holidays


[Grammy Nadeau, Mammy, and Terry]

The Wednesday nights
before Thanksgiving
were glorious
and full of some
of the most
memorable and
happy moments
I’ve ever known.

We were always so
frantically but
ecstatically happy
preparing for
our day of thanks.

My grandmother
Mammy would be
baking pies like
mincemeat,
rhubarb, cherry
and pumpkin.

My great grandmother
Grammy Nadeau
would rest quietly
in an old armchair
while I sat next to
her, reading the
newspaper aloud.

Mommy would play
records, and there
was always dancing.

And then came
the day of.

I would wake up
to the smell of
sauteed vegetables
and garlic.

We would roast
chestnuts in the
oven, and eat them
all day.

We cracked walnuts
and filberts with the
lobster cracker.

And no Thanksgiving
was complete without
Mammy’s famous
deviled eggs.

The turkey was
always the
crowned jewel.

Packed to capacity
with the most
heavenly stuffing.

But it was the love.

That big humongous
love that stretched
from Wednesday
through Thursday.

A love that I will
forever cherish
and recall.

Being Barbie

Friends


I flew to Florida last week for a girls-only Barbie Party.

And I’m so happy I did. The camaraderie was infectious, and I hadn’t felt that carefree in years.

We all wore Barbie name tags and enjoyed many “Hi Barbie” moments, just like in the movie. I thought the movie was going to be flimsy and transparent, but oh, no, it wasn’t. The summer blockbuster actually moved me to tears.

In between watching the film, we toasted to sisterhood and hugged each other a little harder than usual. I was also reminded of how huge of a part Barbie played in my younger life.

We playfully bestowed upon each other Barbie nicknames because, bottom line, girls just want to have fun.

There was Black Barbie, Hall Monitor Barbie, Lesbian Barbie, Divorcing Barbie, Hostess with the Mostess Barbie, Rock Star Barbie, Workout Barbie, and Party Hardy Barbie, to name a few.

I was Bat Mitzvah Barbie because the last time I wore my bubble gum pink suit and matching kitten heels was at my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah — in 2001!

We were all glued to the part in the film when America Ferrera’s character Gloria, a Mattel employee and mother, delivered a powerful monologue to Margot Robbie Barbie, who was going through a crisis after the Kens turned Barbie Land into Ken Land.

Every word in that monologue hit me hard and reminded me of my resilience, my inner strength, my courage, my silent triumphs, and the incredible journey that I’ve been on:

“You are so beautiful and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough. It is literally impossible to be a woman. We have to always be extraordinary, but somehow, we’re always doing it wrong.

You have to be thin but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy. But also, you have to be thin.

You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass.

You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas.

You’re supposed to love being a mother but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time.

You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people.

You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining. 

You’re supposed to stay pretty for men but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.

But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged, so find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful.

You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line.

It’s too hard. It’s too contradictory, and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you.

And it turns out, in fact, that not only are we doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us.”

As the mom of a daughter, Ruth Handler, the creator of Barbie (played by Rhea Perlman), said something to Margot Robbie’s Barbie that will stay with me for a long time: “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they’ve come.”

By the night’s end, I felt like 20 instead of my still-trying-to-come-to-terms-with-my-age-of 70.

And I couldn’t wait to call my husband to tell him I love him and that I appreciate and miss him.

And the moral of the Barbie Movie for me?

Women must embrace their empowerment while respecting men’s struggles and never disregarding their feelings. No Barbie or Ken should live in anyone’s shadow; everyone has value — extremes of masculinity and femininity damage everyone.

The real world can be challenging and complicated, so we men and women need each other while never forgetting the power of motherhood and sisterhood.