The writing prompt for this piece were the words freedom and independence.
The Search for Independence
Becoming independent was what I wanted. At least, that is what I was told. I have to credit my older sisters for that want, I never would have thought of it myself. Eventually, I might have.
My family lived in a two-bedroom apartment in the Bronx. When you have a family of five, a mother, father, two daughters, and a son, guess who doesn’t get one of those two bedrooms? As the French would say, C’est moi! You can read more about my journey to find a room in the apartment here: https://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=2375
It wasn’t until I was 15, after my younger older sister got married and my older older sister moved out on her own, that I finally got to have a room of my own. I inherited my parents’ bedroom, and they, in turn, moved into my sisters’ vacated room, which was the bigger of the two.
Finally, I had a door, not a curtain, as a room divider, and all the amenities of independence. Well, in 1966, all the amenities included a bed, a dresser for myself, a record player, maybe a transistor radio, a very small standing bookshelf, and my bicycle. The room also had several storage units and a closet that my parents used for storage. There was a bit of space in the middle of the room, as my parents’ double bed had been moved to their room. I ended up with a high-rise bed. (For those unfamiliar with a high-rise bed, it’s a twin bed with another twin bed underneath it that slides out and opens up to form a similar twin bed when needed. It looks something like this:
I had privacy, for the most part, and felt free owning my room. It remained my room for the next three years and the following three summers, before I was to move out of the house.
When I was 17 years old and about to graduate from high school in 1968, I applied to only two colleges. One was City College of NY, and the other was SUNY Stony Brook. I was accepted into both.
City College would have been the logical choice for me, as it was cheaper and I could live at home.
Stony Brook was a little scarier, as it would cost more, and since I had never lived away from home, I wasn’t very confident that I could handle it.
That’s where my sisters decided for me. They came up to me and quite clearly stated, “Harvey, you have to get out of this house.”
I was never very outgoing, and they reasoned that staying at home in that environment would not enable me to grow.
So that’s what I did. I went to Stony Brook to grow up and be independent of my family.
Side note:
At eighteen in 1968, there was a lot of political stuff going on. I was not old enough to vote yet, but I did learn a lot about voting. One of my freshman roommates stayed up all night on the night of the presidential election, keeping track of the ongoing statistics about the election of Nixon, Humphrey, and Wallace. He was a little obsessed.
I was very disappointed, and still am, that the minimum voting age was changed from 21 to 18, the year I turned 21.
Back to my independence…
I returned to my home and room during vacations and over the summer. Of course, I was more independent on each visit, much to my father’s dismay.
Upon graduating from Stony Brook, I stayed at home for one more month before moving permanently to Long Island, where I rented a house with a few of my fellow graduates.
Multiple moves later, in 1985, this apartment dweller purchased his own house in Wading River and became truly independent. That same year, I also met Christina, who would eventually move in with me and marry me. Teaching me that independence is one thing, but sharing it with someone you love is a lot more fun.
