Remembering Cookie

Here's a picture of my mom, Cookie, aboard the S.S. Roosevelt on our journey from Japan to San Francisco in 1964. My Dad was in the Navy and we had just spent four years in the Orient. We would be seeing family members in the United States for the first time - Mom's parents, Kathryn and Al, were driving up from Long Beach in their sky blue Plymouth Sports Fury with the green tinted windows to meet us at the dock. Those days, they're so Technicolor in my mind.

I love this picture of her. Great outfit, eh? The lipstick exactly matched the accessories, as was the style in those days. The outfit was run up by the sweet Japanese seamstress who came to our house each week to sew clothes out of material Mom bought. I remember going with Mom to tiny crowded stores and translating for her (I spoke Japanese) as she dickered for bolts of the most delicious fabric. In Japan, every Sunday my parents and I would go to the Officers' Club in formal wear, my Dad impeccable in his dress white uniform and my mom in a self-designed gown. She would pick out a fabric, then make a drawing for the seamstress, and voila, a Cookie original. I remember a dress and jacket of blue satin embroidered with delicate chrysanthemums in gold and silver. I remember a full-length navy shantung silk coat with an all-over paisley pattern in black embroidery, trimmed in black bugle beads. I remember lots of whirly swirly skirts and smart matching jackets in madras and pastel polka dots.

Back to the ocean-crossing ensemble pictured. Little Stevie, age 5, had a matching outfit - a jacket made of the same seersucker fabric, worn with white short pants, white socks and black shoes. In case you didn't know, matching mother-son outfits is a sure precursor of, ummm, impending faggotry. But I didn't know that then. I just remember being delighted wearing that outfit, and proud that the whole world knew that Cookie was my mother and I was her son.

It was a great voyage for us. Mom and Dad sat at the Captain's table each evening, reveling in the deluxe accommodations and my father's status as a Navy captain. I enjoyed great freedom aboard the ship. I was babysat by twin Brazilian teenage girls who took me with them all over the ship. Our ship docked in Hawaii for a couple of days and we were greeted by gorgeous Hawaiian ladies bearing fragrant leis. They bent down to kiss me but I was embarrassed and hid in my mom's full turquoise skirt. My parents got a red hawaiian shirt for me and I later wore it with a grass skirt and straw hat, winning the costume contest, little kids division. My babysitters won in the teen category by dressing in matching Mexican outfits, one of the girls dressed as a Senorita with lace mantilla and one of them dressed as a matador complete with toreador pants and penciled-on mustache. I thought they were so beautiful. I played piano at the talent show, I was a pretty good little pianist for a five-year-old, and when all the adults exploded in applause and yelled "Bravo!" I thought they were booing and screaming at me, so I bolted from the stage in tears. No matter, Mom explained they were saying I was good, so I was mollified.

And then we landed in San Francisco, and my wonderful grandparents were there to throw their arms around us, to welcome us home, to press us into their cigarette-smelling bosoms, and it was a very special occasion. A few days later we boarded a train which took us all the way to Washington, D.C.