This happened on May 27, 1958. I was 13 and a student in Seth Low JHS in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. I was in a very good class, the top class, 9SP1 (special progress). We had skipped 8th Grade and most of us were going to graduate from junior high at 14, some younger. My fellow students were/are memorable. A group of about 10 had formed within the class,  a sort of “chevra.” We would meet every Friday evening at someone’s house. At least that was the initial plan, but soon we just showed up at Dede’s (Deidre Sklar). Her parents lived in a spacious apartment on Avenue O, and it came with two wonderful, tolerant, supportive parents. Her mother was a kindergarten teacher, and her dad was a NYC police detective - unusual for a Jew in ‘58. If they had any objections to our taking over their place every Friday, I never heard any. 

 

     Someone suggested a change in our routine, that we have a picnic on a Saturday. Sounded good! So we all showed up at Dede’s on a Saturday morning with blankets & food. I forget our intended destination. Wherever it was we didn’t get there. An unrelenting, heavy rain began early. We waited for it to stop. It didn’t. Someone turned on the radio for the weather report. Not good - it was going to come down hard all day. 

 

     We were disappointed, but not for long. Someone, I think it was Dede, came up with Plan B. We spread the blanket out all over the carpeted living room and proceeded to “picnic” all day and into the evening. I distinctly remember the sounds of the Everly Brothers’ pop-hit, “All I have to Do Is Dream,” being played over and over on the phonograph. The records were all 45 rpm’s. So we danced, talked, ate, noshed, laughed, grew bored - but no one made a move to go home. 

                                                                                                     

     Then Dede’s parents, who had thoughtfully been gone all day, returned. We heard them coming up the stairs. I positioned myself in a corner.  Although we were good kids, there was obvious evidence that teenagers had been teenagers. I had no doubt that Dede’s parents would take note of the “crime scene.” Based on my Life with my aunt and uncle (a Dickensian life in a small, cramped apartment with the shades drawn to figuratively and literally block out the Sun) I expected anger, maybe even screams. So I waited. They entered. The mother was pretty. The father was handsome. I was taken by the leather patches at the elbows of his tweed sports jacket. If Memory serves, and often it doesn’t, I think he smoked a pipe. An attractive couple. 

 

     I was immediately “agog.” No anger, no screaming. They both stood there, smiling. The father looked around, asked about the picnic, asked if we were hungry. Then he asked, “Would you guys like a pie?” There was unanimous assent. So he ordered a pie (probably more than one pizza pie). We happily ate our unexpected supper, cleaned up and packed, not forgetting to thank the Family Sklar for such a good day.

​

     I walked home, happy and agog.