Autobiography: Incident

by Kerry DiMaggio

Leslie Ann Herman was a name that not many people know. She was a daughter and a sister. She had a family of her own– a husband, a son, and a daughter. She was a lover of music and song. She was my mother. She was.

My family consisted of my mom, my dad and my brother. My parents were married and were unable to have children. I was adopted at three-days old. My brother was next - two years later. He was placed with my family because he looked like me. We both had the dark skin.

Growing up I always knew I was adopted. I don’t remember how my parents told me, but I have always known. And I was very proud of it. I would let anyone know that I was adopted. I wrote it in the books I owned. I was proud. One day my mother and I were shopping in a book store. I saw a book called “How it feels to be Adopted”. I begged my mother to get this book for me. She said no. I threw a fit. She said no. I continued to raise a commotion. Eventually she gave in. I don’t think I really read that book until I was much older, but I would look at the pictures. I used to tell my mom she was not my real mom. I did this when I didn’t get my way. I know this must have hurt her, but at the time I didn’t know how much.

My mother taught me to love music. I would sing. Sing around the house. Listening to my mom’s 8-track tapes of Grease I would sing and act. I loved putting on a handkerchief on my head and singing to Fiddler on the Roof. I loved Annie. My parents took me to see the play. I loved the music. I performed the song “Maybe” at a church talent show. It did not go off as planned. I got scared and ran off the stage. My grandpa walked me back out and stood by me on that stage while I performed the song dressed as an orphan with a broom in my hand.

At seven-years-old I took piano lessons. I loved playing piano. I did not like practicing what was given to me. I just wanted to play. One of my early memories is listening to my mother playing the piano. My father bought her a baby grand piano. One day my mother caught me tap dancing on top of that baby grand. She was not very happy with me.

That last night, I was playing board games with my brother in his room. We were eight and six. My mother was on the cub-scout committee and there was a meeting in the front room. I remember the room was set up with the chairs in a semi-circle in the front room around the baby grand piano. The people came in the house and sat down. I vaguely remember saying hi to some of the familiar faces from church. My brother and I returned to our games.

I saw things that were happening in our hallway from where I sat on the floor in my brother’s bedroom. I remember my mom going into her room not feeling well. I think I heard her ask my dad to call her mom to come to the house. I remember there was a lot of commotion going on in the house. Two of the woman that attended the meeting came in with my brother and I. They played Monopoly with us, to keep us out of the way, to distract us. I think I remember flashing lights. I did not see them take my mother away. That is the last night I saw her.

My father told me later she was taken to one hospital, but because of her condition she was moved to one where children were not allowed to visit. She died in that hospital. I remember the funeral. I remember my brother acting up. He didn’t know what was going on. He could not understand that our mother was gone.
Because of this tragedy so early in my life, my childhood memories have holes and empty patches. I have blocked a lot of things out. I still have a hard time remembering things that have happened in my life.

I was only allowed my mother for a short period of my life. She led me to the path of music. She helped me grow a talent I am proud of. I wish I could have had her in my life just a bit longer, but as I write these words I realize that I can pass some of the things she brought me onto my children. Let them know what my mother did for their mother. Let them know that she was.

The Family Trip

by Kerry DiMaggio
dedicated to my brother, Brandon.

A trip like this always started out the same. My parents would put me to bed early in my pink-canopied bed. I would be too excited to sleep. They would shut the lights off in my room and in the hallway and then proceed to relax in the family room to watch some television. I would then sneak to the hallway and turn the light back on; the brightness shining just enough so I could look at a book to pass the time. I wouldn’t become drowsy right away. Eventually, I would feel my eyelids start to droop.

I felt arms lift me up out of my bed. My doll Susie, with the red and white gingham body and the red yarn hair that I pulled out of her head if I needed a string, clutched in my arms. I would open my eyes slightly and see the moon beams dancing in the blackened sky. The loving arms placed me gently into the back seat of our car, next to my sleeping brother. I snuggled into the gray upholstery of our silver vehicle.

I heard the starting up of the car through the sleepy haze that enveloped me. Lulled into slumber by the movement of the car; my head soon filled with colorful dreams of things to come. I would not see the moon disappear into the sky nor see the sunrise that followed. I would sleep the whole way there.

I felt the car come to a stop in a long line of cars. I wiped my sleepy eyes and shielded them from the brightness of the sun. I slowly raised my head and sat up in my seat. I looked out the window and saw it: the sign that led to “The Happiest Place on Earth.” My dad slowly inched in the line towards the booth to pay for parking. I strained to look through the window and catch a glimpse of the magical kingdom approaching. He paid the girl in the booth, and she handed him a ticket and a map. He handed these to my mom and followed the line of cars towards the parking lot.

I looked at the parking lot and viewed the pictures of characters on the posts that indicated areas to park in. Thumper, Bambi, Winnie the Pooh flashed by until we reached the section marked Goofy. The parking attendants pointed to a space for my father to park in and he slid our car into the space. As he turned off the car, I stretched and felt my excitement grow. I looked at my little brother and grinned. This would be his first trip, and he did not know what to expect.

We got out of the car, and even though the sun was out, it was a little chilly in the morning sunshine. My mom carried my brother, and I held on tight to my dad’s hand. We walked through the jungle of cars until we reached an area made for waiting. We stopped and waited. I held onto my dad’s hand and walked around him in a circle, like he was a pole to spin around. My ears perked up as I heard the familiar sound of the tram. They drove past us and turned around, stopping with one of its sections directly in front of us. My mother and brother stepped up into the cart. I followed and my dad climbed in behind me. Sitting sandwiched between my mother and father, I felt anticipation swelling up inside of me.

The tram slowly drove to the front entrance. I looked around and spied the gate that held the attractions in. We skimmed the parking lot, and I saw more signs on poles: Alice, White Rabbit, and Tigger. And then I saw it. The entrance to the world of my imagination: Disneyland!

We got out of the tram and walked toward the ticket booths. My father stood in line, and we lined up behind him. I thought we’d never get through. Every minute in this place was worth a thousand lifetimes and we were wasting precious minutes just inching forward. At last, my dad paid for and received the tickets. We headed toward the stalls that would let us in. As I passed through the turn-stall it was almost as if I heard the angels in the skies singing and the sun seemed to shine even brighter. I was where I belonged.

I looked around and viewed my surroundings. I heard the whistle blow, and I whipped my head around to take in the train-station on top of the hill where Mickey Mouse’s face, made entirely out of flowers and plants, smiled down at me. We walked over to the building on the right near the tunnel that led to Main Street, USA to rent a stroller for my brother and me. That was when I saw him.

I could not forget those black ears, the yellow bow tie he wore on his tuxedoed shirt. I jumped up and down when my eyes laid on him. Mickey Mouse. I could not wait to share my love for him with my brother. My mother could barely contain my jumping up and down as I dragged her towards him.
I waited as patiently as I could for my turn. I smiled at my brother and took his hand as I walked toward the big mouse himself. Mickey looked at me and then at my brother. I turned towards my mom and waited for her to take the picture. Mickey reached his hands out and placed them on my brother’s shoulder and turned towards the camera.

That’s when it happened. It was like a transformation had taken over my brother. The once smiling face now scrunched up in a frown and his little eyes began to fill with tears. My smile slowly started to fade as my brother’s smile disappeared. My mother snapped the picture before the wailing and crying began.

My brother’s first encounter with Mickey Mouse did not go as smoothly as I thought it would, but he did not become scarred from his encounter. I would not have to defend my brother’s honor and give up my love for the mouse. He would conquer his terror and would ultimately be able to stand next to the friendly rodent in our future trips. He would even be able to do it without me.