My childhood bedroom for the first 2 years of my life was a room I shared with my parents in my maternal grandparents’ apartment, in which my 2 uncles and my aunt also lived. My mother was the first of her siblings to marry. It was post WW2 and apartments were hard to come by. My father had just returned from his service in the Air Force and so my parents moved in with my grandparents where they all awaited my arrival. We lived there until I was 2 years old. We were 7 adults and 1 baby for 2 years and I got loads of attention. They spoiled me and showered me with love. When I was 2, we got our own one bedroom apartment which became a bedroom for 4 when my brother was born. Things stayed this way until I was 9 and we moved to a new development in Queens where I got my own bedroom and my own furniture and even, at some point in my teens, my own (old) TV. I was in heaven.

My childhood bedroom was small and I shared it with my sister, who was 10 1/2 years older than I. We had a rug but no carpeting. Our player piano was in the room. My sister and I did not get along too well. She was the big “cheese” at home for 10 1/2 years, and then I was born. She told me everyone paid attention to me and not to her! I had a small pillow that was my “security blanket.” I carried it everywhere and sucked my thumb. Because our house was small, there was not an extra bedroom for my sister. She often went up into our attic to escape. When I was 8 years old, she left for nurse’s training at Beth Israel Hospital. She became an RN, and I even helped her study for her Board Exams. I was glad to have the bedroom to myself. Of course, at vacation times, she came home. She met her husband-to-be in her senior year. She was 20 when they married. I was “free at last!” I had the bedroom all to myself!

We lived in a small row house, in a lower middleclass neighborhood. Our home had 3 small bedrooms and one bathroom on the 2 nd floor. My sister and I each had our own bedroom, next to each other in the front of the house. My room contained two twin size beds with dark brown mahogany headboards and footboards. The extra bed was for a girlfriend sleeping over, or, if we had company, my sister would move into my room. There was a matching chest of drawers and a rather small closet. The room was utilitarian, no pictures or wall décor, plain white sheer curtains on the double windows, and matching generic bedspreads. There was no way to distinguish whether the room was for a child, teenager or adult, except perhaps by the trinkets on the dresser. One day my father came home with a beautiful antique marble top dresser which found its home in my room, there not being anywhere else in the house to place it. It had a beautiful mirror with two small shelves on either side to hold a gaslight or a candle, and three drawers with black onyx hanging handles. The ornate carvings at the top only added to its beauty. I remember being very careful not to spill any nail polish or perfume on the marble top. This dresser lived in my home for many years and now resides in the dining room of my daughter’s home. My mother had a summer and winter arrangement for the beds. In winter, they were across from each other, each resting against the opposite wall. But in the summer, she would place the beds next to each other with a night table in between, headboards on the same wall so that the breeze from the open windows would pass over the beds. I remember being terrified by the shadows cast on my bedroom wall from the big oak tree in front of our house. I would hide under the sheet and turn my back to the window. On Saturday mornings my younger sister would come into bed with me and we would listen to the radio, which sat on my night table. Our favorite program was “Big John & Sparky.” During the show they would say, “We’re getting our magic mirror ready—we’re going to see what you’re doing in your house.” We were convinced they could see us. I remember jumping out of bed and running out of the room.

My childhood bedroom for the first 2 years of my life was a room I shared with my parents in my maternal grandparents’ apartment, in which my 2 uncles and my aunt also lived. My mother was the first of her siblings to marry. It was post WW2 and apartments were hard to come by. My father had just returned from his service in the Air Force and so my parents moved in with my grandparents where they all awaited my arrival. We lived there until I was 2 years old. We were 7 adults and 1 baby for 2 years and I got loads of attention. They spoiled me and showered me with love. When I was 2, we got our own one bedroom apartment which became a bedroom for 4 when my brother was born. Things stayed this way until I was 9 and we moved to a new development in Queens where I got my own bedroom and my own furniture and even, at some point in my teens, my own (old) TV. I was in heaven.

My childhood bedroom was small and I shared it with my sister, who was 10 1/2 years older than I. We had a rug but no carpeting. Our player piano was in the room. My sister and I did not get along too well. She was the big “cheese” at home for 10 1/2 years, and then I was born. She told me everyone paid attention to me and not to her! I had a small pillow that was my “security blanket.” I carried it everywhere and sucked my thumb. Because our house was small, there was not an extra bedroom for my sister. She often went up into our attic to escape. When I was 8 years old, she left for nurse’s training at Beth Israel Hospital. She became an RN, and I even helped her study for her Board Exams. I was glad to have the bedroom to myself. Of course, at vacation times, she came home. She met her husband-to-be in her senior year. She was 20 when they married. I was “free at last!” I had the bedroom all to myself!

We lived in a small row house, in a lower middleclass neighborhood. Our home had 3 small bedrooms and one bathroom on the 2 nd floor. My sister and I each had our own bedroom, next to each other in the front of the house. My room contained two twin size beds with dark brown mahogany headboards and footboards. The extra bed was for a girlfriend sleeping over, or, if we had company, my sister would move into my room. There was a matching chest of drawers and a rather small closet. The room was utilitarian, no pictures or wall décor, plain white sheer curtains on the double windows, and matching generic bedspreads. There was no way to distinguish whether the room was for a child, teenager or adult, except perhaps by the trinkets on the dresser. One day my father came home with a beautiful antique marble top dresser which found its home in my room, there not being anywhere else in the house to place it. It had a beautiful mirror with two small shelves on either side to hold a gaslight or a candle, and three drawers with black onyx hanging handles. The ornate carvings at the top only added to its beauty. I remember being very careful not to spill any nail polish or perfume on the marble top. This dresser lived in my home for many years and now resides in the dining room of my daughter’s home. My mother had a summer and winter arrangement for the beds. In winter, they were across from each other, each resting against the opposite wall. But in the summer, she would place the beds next to each other with a night table in between, headboards on the same wall so that the breeze from the open windows would pass over the beds. I remember being terrified by the shadows cast on my bedroom wall from the big oak tree in front of our house. I would hide under the sheet and turn my back to the window. On Saturday mornings my younger sister would come into bed with me and we would listen to the radio, which sat on my night table. Our favorite program was “Big John & Sparky.” During the show they would say, “We’re getting our magic mirror ready—we’re going to see what you’re doing in your house.” We were convinced they could see us. I remember jumping out of bed and running out of the room.

My childhood bedroom for the first 2 years of my life was a room I shared with my parents in my maternal grandparents’ apartment, in which my 2 uncles and my aunt also lived. My mother was the first of her siblings to marry. It was post WW2 and apartments were hard to come by. My father had just returned from his service in the Air Force and so my parents moved in with my grandparents where they all awaited my arrival. We lived there until I was 2 years old. We were 7 adults and 1 baby for 2 years and I got loads of attention. They spoiled me and showered me with love. When I was 2, we got our own one bedroom apartment which became a bedroom for 4 when my brother was born. Things stayed this way until I was 9 and we moved to a new development in Queens where I got my own bedroom and my own furniture and even, at some point in my teens, my own (old) TV. I was in heaven.

My childhood bedroom was small and I shared it with my sister, who was 10 1/2 years older than I. We had a rug but no carpeting. Our player piano was in the room. My sister and I did not get along too well. She was the big “cheese” at home for 10 1/2 years, and then I was born. She told me everyone paid attention to me and not to her! I had a small pillow that was my “security blanket.” I carried it everywhere and sucked my thumb. Because our house was small, there was not an extra bedroom for my sister. She often went up into our attic to escape. When I was 8 years old, she left for nurse’s training at Beth Israel Hospital. She became an RN, and I even helped her study for her Board Exams. I was glad to have the bedroom to myself. Of course, at vacation times, she came home. She met her husband-to-be in her senior year. She was 20 when they married. I was “free at last!” I had the bedroom all to myself!

We lived in a small row house, in a lower middleclass neighborhood. Our home had 3 small bedrooms and one bathroom on the 2 nd floor. My sister and I each had our own bedroom, next to each other in the front of the house. My room contained two twin size beds with dark brown mahogany headboards and footboards. The extra bed was for a girlfriend sleeping over, or, if we had company, my sister would move into my room. There was a matching chest of drawers and a rather small closet. The room was utilitarian, no pictures or wall décor, plain white sheer curtains on the double windows, and matching generic bedspreads. There was no way to distinguish whether the room was for a child, teenager or adult, except perhaps by the trinkets on the dresser. One day my father came home with a beautiful antique marble top dresser which found its home in my room, there not being anywhere else in the house to place it. It had a beautiful mirror with two small shelves on either side to hold a gaslight or a candle, and three drawers with black onyx hanging handles. The ornate carvings at the top only added to its beauty. I remember being very careful not to spill any nail polish or perfume on the marble top. This dresser lived in my home for many years and now resides in the dining room of my daughter’s home. My mother had a summer and winter arrangement for the beds. In winter, they were across from each other, each resting against the opposite wall. But in the summer, she would place the beds next to each other with a night table in between, headboards on the same wall so that the breeze from the open windows would pass over the beds. I remember being terrified by the shadows cast on my bedroom wall from the big oak tree in front of our house. I would hide under the sheet and turn my back to the window. On Saturday mornings my younger sister would come into bed with me and we would listen to the radio, which sat on my night table. Our favorite program was “Big John & Sparky.” During the show they would say, “We’re getting our magic mirror ready—we’re going to see what you’re doing in your house.” We were convinced they could see us. I remember jumping out of bed and running out of the room.

My childhood bedroom for the first 2 years of my life was a room I shared with my parents in my maternal grandparents’ apartment, in which my 2 uncles and my aunt also lived. My mother was the first of her siblings to marry. It was post WW2 and apartments were hard to come by. My father had just returned from his service in the Air Force and so my parents moved in with my grandparents where they all awaited my arrival. We lived there until I was 2 years old. We were 7 adults and 1 baby for 2 years and I got loads of attention. They spoiled me and showered me with love. When I was 2, we got our own one bedroom apartment which became a bedroom for 4 when my brother was born. Things stayed this way until I was 9 and we moved to a new development in Queens where I got my own bedroom and my own furniture and even, at some point in my teens, my own (old) TV. I was in heaven.

My childhood bedroom was small and I shared it with my sister, who was 10 1/2 years older than I. We had a rug but no carpeting. Our player piano was in the room. My sister and I did not get along too well. She was the big “cheese” at home for 10 1/2 years, and then I was born. She told me everyone paid attention to me and not to her! I had a small pillow that was my “security blanket.” I carried it everywhere and sucked my thumb. Because our house was small, there was not an extra bedroom for my sister. She often went up into our attic to escape. When I was 8 years old, she left for nurse’s training at Beth Israel Hospital. She became an RN, and I even helped her study for her Board Exams. I was glad to have the bedroom to myself. Of course, at vacation times, she came home. She met her husband-to-be in her senior year. She was 20 when they married. I was “free at last!” I had the bedroom all to myself!

We lived in a small row house, in a lower middleclass neighborhood. Our home had 3 small bedrooms and one bathroom on the 2 nd floor. My sister and I each had our own bedroom, next to each other in the front of the house. My room contained two twin size beds with dark brown mahogany headboards and footboards. The extra bed was for a girlfriend sleeping over, or, if we had company, my sister would move into my room. There was a matching chest of drawers and a rather small closet. The room was utilitarian, no pictures or wall décor, plain white sheer curtains on the double windows, and matching generic bedspreads. There was no way to distinguish whether the room was for a child, teenager or adult, except perhaps by the trinkets on the dresser. One day my father came home with a beautiful antique marble top dresser which found its home in my room, there not being anywhere else in the house to place it. It had a beautiful mirror with two small shelves on either side to hold a gaslight or a candle, and three drawers with black onyx hanging handles. The ornate carvings at the top only added to its beauty. I remember being very careful not to spill any nail polish or perfume on the marble top. This dresser lived in my home for many years and now resides in the dining room of my daughter’s home. My mother had a summer and winter arrangement for the beds. In winter, they were across from each other, each resting against the opposite wall. But in the summer, she would place the beds next to each other with a night table in between, headboards on the same wall so that the breeze from the open windows would pass over the beds. I remember being terrified by the shadows cast on my bedroom wall from the big oak tree in front of our house. I would hide under the sheet and turn my back to the window. On Saturday mornings my younger sister would come into bed with me and we would listen to the radio, which sat on my night table. Our favorite program was “Big John & Sparky.” During the show they would say, “We’re getting our magic mirror ready—we’re going to see what you’re doing in your house.” We were convinced they could see us. I remember jumping out of bed and running out of the room.

My childhood bedroom for the first 2 years of my life was a room I shared with my parents in my maternal grandparents’ apartment, in which my 2 uncles and my aunt also lived. My mother was the first of her siblings to marry. It was post WW2 and apartments were hard to come by. My father had just returned from his service in the Air Force and so my parents moved in with my grandparents where they all awaited my arrival. We lived there until I was 2 years old. We were 7 adults and 1 baby for 2 years and I got loads of attention. They spoiled me and showered me with love. When I was 2, we got our own one bedroom apartment which became a bedroom for 4 when my brother was born. Things stayed this way until I was 9 and we moved to a new development in Queens where I got my own bedroom and my own furniture and even, at some point in my teens, my own (old) TV. I was in heaven.

My childhood bedroom was small and I shared it with my sister, who was 10 1/2 years older than I. We had a rug but no carpeting. Our player piano was in the room. My sister and I did not get along too well. She was the big “cheese” at home for 10 1/2 years, and then I was born. She told me everyone paid attention to me and not to her! I had a small pillow that was my “security blanket.” I carried it everywhere and sucked my thumb. Because our house was small, there was not an extra bedroom for my sister. She often went up into our attic to escape. When I was 8 years old, she left for nurse’s training at Beth Israel Hospital. She became an RN, and I even helped her study for her Board Exams. I was glad to have the bedroom to myself. Of course, at vacation times, she came home. She met her husband-to-be in her senior year. She was 20 when they married. I was “free at last!” I had the bedroom all to myself!

We lived in a small row house, in a lower middleclass neighborhood. Our home had 3 small bedrooms and one bathroom on the 2 nd floor. My sister and I each had our own bedroom, next to each other in the front of the house. My room contained two twin size beds with dark brown mahogany headboards and footboards. The extra bed was for a girlfriend sleeping over, or, if we had company, my sister would move into my room. There was a matching chest of drawers and a rather small closet. The room was utilitarian, no pictures or wall décor, plain white sheer curtains on the double windows, and matching generic bedspreads. There was no way to distinguish whether the room was for a child, teenager or adult, except perhaps by the trinkets on the dresser. One day my father came home with a beautiful antique marble top dresser which found its home in my room, there not being anywhere else in the house to place it. It had a beautiful mirror with two small shelves on either side to hold a gaslight or a candle, and three drawers with black onyx hanging handles. The ornate carvings at the top only added to its beauty. I remember being very careful not to spill any nail polish or perfume on the marble top. This dresser lived in my home for many years and now resides in the dining room of my daughter’s home. My mother had a summer and winter arrangement for the beds. In winter, they were across from each other, each resting against the opposite wall. But in the summer, she would place the beds next to each other with a night table in between, headboards on the same wall so that the breeze from the open windows would pass over the beds. I remember being terrified by the shadows cast on my bedroom wall from the big oak tree in front of our house. I would hide under the sheet and turn my back to the window. On Saturday mornings my younger sister would come into bed with me and we would listen to the radio, which sat on my night table. Our favorite program was “Big John & Sparky.” During the show they would say, “We’re getting our magic mirror ready—we’re going to see what you’re doing in your house.” We were convinced they could see us. I remember jumping out of bed and running out of the room.