Certain dates carry outsized significance, and are remembered as major waystations in the course of history. Often it is because of a particular outrage that occurred at that time: the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 and the destruction of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001 come most readily to mind. Yet others are memorable not because of tragedy but because of triumph: man walked on the moon for the first time on July 20, 1969, and the Wrights' first flight at Kitty Hawk was on December 17, 1903.
Beyond those monumental moments are millions of much smaller milestones that reflect events that occur on a more individual basis. It might be the date you got married or started your business, the date your father died or your kid graduated from high school. No less significant to you than those previously mentioned happenings, their resonance affects a much smaller universe. And yet you can argue that their import is just as meaningful in the sphere you inhabit, and perhaps even more so.
November 20, 1930 is one of those dates for me. Punch it into a search engine and you won't get a whole lot of hits. On that date in Birmingham, Alabama, the Bank of Berry was robbed of $115,000. Tornadoes swept the plains, killing 18 people in Oklahoma. And in Marion, Ohio, the mercury hit 77, the warmest it had been on that date in 27 years. But while those events surely made a mark on some, none lit up my world as did one that took place on this coast. For on this date in Newark, New Jersey, my mom was born, and so this year celebrates her 90th birthday.
Born in the early part of the Great Depression, Nan led a very traditional life for a woman of the time. She and her brother were raised by a mom and dad with a local extended family of aunts and uncles. She went to college where she met my father, and got a degree in education. After graduating they married and she started work as a teacher, eventually having myself and my sister. After a period as a full-time mom, she went back to the classroom, first as a substitute and eventually returning to the work-a-day workforce. As my sister and I departed they moved a bit for my dad's job, eventually returning to settle back in New Jersey. If not the stuff of legend it was certainly the stuff of life.
Through it all she cultivated friends and kept in touch with family, traveled a little and hosted a lot of Thanksgivings. Pets and grandchildren were added to the mix, and she kept teaching, feeling most at home communing with little kids in the second grade, retiring from the classroom only after many decades of nurturing young minds. In fact, her love of little children, whether hers or anyone else's, is immediately apparent and continues unabated whenever she encounters one: she can't pass a toddler or baby without stopping to chat and smile.
Relentlessly sunny, she surely has her moments of gray, though you would be hard pressed to catch her in one. To be sure, there were some health scares and setbacks, and the death of my father a dozen years ago that have tested her resolve. But these days she's game for whatever comes her way, whether it's dancing at her granddaughter's wedding in the center of the circle, having her nails done with glitter, or wearing a blowup crown as we gather to celebrate her 90th a few weeks early in a local park. And she ends most calls with the admonition to "give my love to everyone and keep some for yourself" and signs her cards and notes "peace, love and chocolate."
Our current predicament has tested us all, and seniors like her who live alone more than most. The simple social interactions she has with others where she lives has been sorely curtailed, and with good reason: they are a most vulnerable population. And so our celebration of her completing nine decades has to be at arms' length, and hugs and kisses will have to wait. But in no way does that diminish the milestone. Mom, I can wish you no better thoughts than you do for me: may you continue to live a life filled much peace, all my love, and even more chocolate.
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Nan Wollin turned 90 years young on November 20. Her son's column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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