tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4377233430342666341.post8482898188944333865..comments2023-07-15T01:03:05.023-07:00Comments on Posts from the Unconscious: More on Story-Telling: The Cambodian HealerMay Benatarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699440948227894292noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4377233430342666341.post-48655298245201257362010-08-28T04:57:11.906-07:002010-08-28T04:57:11.906-07:00My rabbi recently asked members of his congregatio...My rabbi recently asked members of his congregation to tell him a story about a relative, his/her compassion, faith, generosity, courage, etc., that he could incorporate in his sermons for the High Holidays.<br /> I e-mailed him a story about my grandmother Fanny:<br /> I would like to tell you about my maternal grandmother, Fanny, who came to this country from LIthuania and married my grandfather, Peter Somers, a tailor. Fanny tried to be very modern and wanted me to call her Nana, instead of Bubbe, what I called my paternal grandmother. She went to night school to learn English and was very proud that she could speak to me in English. To her, education was everything, and the education of her children and grandchildren was of tantamount importance. Fanny was the most kind, loving, generous, self-sacrificing grandmother imaginable. <br /> My grandfather worked long hours as a tailor at a store in Boston and brought home clothes to make extra money. They somehow managed to save enough money to send my Uncle Louie, her first born, to college, but not enough to send their younger daughter, Lillian, my mother to college. After all, the education of a son was so much more important than that of a daughter! I know that Fanny always felt bad about that.<br /> My grandparents lived in Dorchester, MA, in a small, two-bedroom, immaculate apartment which was on the third floor, with no elevator. After I was born, my grandmother continued to save money, this time for my education. Fanny had several heart attacks and cancer but refused to move to a more expensive apartment with elevators in order to keep squirreling away money for my college education. I don't think my grandfather ever knew about her stash. I remember her giving money to my mother, but I never knew why. I remember visiting her, going to a park, and then her huffing and puffing while climbing the stairs. I huffed and puffed, too, behind her and kept suggesting that she move to a building with an elevator, but she wouldn't. She would just tell me to do well in school, go to college, and become whatever I wanted to be. And so I did. I named my daughter after her.<br /> I forwarded this story to my daughter who asked, "Why didn't you ever tell me this story?"<br />I had, but she had forgotten it. I forwarded this story to my daughter who asked, "Why didn't you ever tell me this story?"<br /> Telling her this story brought us closer and made her proud to have such a generous, loving great-grandmother. What a wonderful role model she was!Barbara Bhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14403194069715869823noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4377233430342666341.post-80945281133434960562010-08-27T14:41:38.193-07:002010-08-27T14:41:38.193-07:00I'm a big believer in storytelling, of course,...I'm a big believer in storytelling, of course, and I love having some "data" to back this up. (And I will certainly be referring back to this post the next time I find myself justifying a pedicure.)Country-Fried Mamahttp://www.countryfriedmama.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4377233430342666341.post-69142703302867658802010-08-27T13:18:11.169-07:002010-08-27T13:18:11.169-07:00Great posts, Dr. May. Your blog is thought provoki...Great posts, Dr. May. Your blog is thought provoking; this entry is especially profound. I am struck by a few things, not the least of which is Phaly Nuon's horrific story. I simply cannot comprehend her ordeal or what it must have been like.<br /><br />Her tailored therapy for these refugees is an incredible story, in and of itself. I wonder to what extent her education informed that process, and how much of it was intuitive. (I suppose I could check out these links to learn more.)<br /><br />I also was interested in the detail about the "intimate and impersonal" act of sharing manicures. I've never thought much about it, but I suppose those types situations stimulate a sense of social connectedness, even among strangers.<br /><br />I look forward to reading more.Davidnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4377233430342666341.post-33437592343488700702010-08-27T12:55:10.922-07:002010-08-27T12:55:10.922-07:00I heard this story on the Moth too. I love Andrew...I heard this story on the Moth too. I love Andrew Solomon, he has the magical ability to make reading about depression rather enjoyable.Elanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09518024549942413459noreply@blogger.com