I watched an interview with Sully co-star, Aaron Eckhart. He’s working on a movie based on his mother’s memoir about her hardscrabble life growing up on the Montana plains. It got me thinking about my memoir and whether my daughter would appreciate the grueling torment that embodied growing up in the ’60s in the unforgiving San Francisco suburbs.
- Hygiene horror. The one and only bathroom option in our cracker box domicile consisted of an indoor toilet, small wash basin, and a tub. Sparse at best. That’s right. One lavatory for five people. Oh, the humanity. When dad had to go, he grabbed the sports section of the Oakland Tribune and announced his intentions to the rest of us. His attempt to fend off the requisite pounding of the door and caterwauling of my older brothers and me to “Hurry up!” was, alas, futile. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the 19th century claw-foot tub had – wait for it – no jets. Imagine wallowing in flat, motionless, non-jetting water. Oh sure, we had bubble bath, a pathetic substitute for a frothy whirling whirlpool.