Claire's Bush

My mother Claire has been a source of inspiration and strength for me in so many ways. After having five kids, she finally divorced my crazy father and picked up the pieces of her life and carried on with the strength of a racehorse. She went to school to become an accounts payable clerk, and worked at night in a factory to support us.

My mom, Claire Kikta, rocks!

Times were tight. I remember one time,  LILCO turned our power off because she couldn’t pay the bill. Our boiler broke, and we borrowed heaters one winter. We were on welfare and food stamps, but we had a roof over our heads, food to eat, and besides us kids, nobody was any the wiser. My very strong mother, who put up with my father for seventeen years finally broke down crying in front of me one day. Her Chevy Nova had been spouting black smoke from the exhaust pipe, and a cop gave her a ticket. The ticket had pushed her over the edge.

Claire worked hard at her job, and got us off of welfare after a while. She had her pride and refused to have us on assistance. We had a nice house in Hicksville, NY, on Long Island, and because I had no father, who never visited (thank God), and eventually died of a brain tumor when I was in third grade, I felt different. Our carpet was threadbare, with small area rugs covering the holes, and the furniture was old. It had the aura of the past surrounding it. But, like Stevie Wonder sings in his song “Just Enough For the City”—“Her clothes are torn, but never are they dirty,” our home was kept spotless. But our hearts were not.

When my father died, we got his much needed social security checks, and my mother replaced the carpet in the living room. My sister Susie and I re-painted our rooms and bought pretty comforters for our beds. My Aunt Ethel gave us her beautiful velvet couches, lamps and a dining room set, and we felt a sense of renewal living on Elliott Drive. On the outside, our yard had beautiful lilacs, black and yellow irises, blueberry bushes and red roses in the backyard. On the inside, Sue and I thrived, and grew up, in a confusing environment, yet, we were very well cared for, and loved both by our older siblings and my mom, who is now almost 88. I am a lot like Claire, in her looks, creativity (she wanted to be an artist, but in those days they gave you a test to see if you had talent), her voice (she also wanted to be an opera singer), and her temperament (oy!).

We didn’t have a rhododendron in our backyard in Hicksville, but my mother gave me this one when John and I got our weekend cottage upstate. We affectionately call it “Claire’s Bush.”  It’s thriving, and it blooms big white flowers. I thought that the flowers would be pink when we picked it up at a farmer’s market. You never can tell what life will hand you. So I accept it, and love it just the same.