The essays writers bring to our weekly memoir-writing classes teach me a lot about history, geography, and civil rights. Gabriela Freese and her twin sister grew up in South America — their parents had emigrated from Germany to Paraguay during the European depression after World War I. “I grew up in a German household,” she says in a very slight –and very lovely — accent., Explaining they spoke German at home and adhered to as many German traditions as possible, she adds, “including Christmas cookie-baking marathons!”
Gabriela, on the left, with her twin sister.
Gabriela immigrated from Paraguay to the United States some 60 years ago. She studied dentistry in Chicago, had a dental practice in Oak Park, Illinois and met Uwe Freese, an immigrant from Germany, at a New Year’s Eve party in Chicago. They wed in 1959 and had been married 49 years when Uwe died in 2010.
Our 2018 classes are coming to a close, and Gabriela generously agreed to let me share the essay she wrote when I asked members of her class at The Admiral at the Lake to write about something they’d lost, broken, or destroyed, and explain why that thing was meaningful to them. Enjoy!
Something I broke and what it meant to me -a.k.a. The Button.
by Gabriela Freese
Coming from a household that survived two world wars and the great depression, it was a natural thing for my husband to treasure the first jacket bought with his own money. It was a sport jacket in a grey two-toned herringbone pattern, with a narrow collar and one button slightly above the waist. The tailor who made it used the true and tried styles of heavy shoulder pads and heavy padding in the front to create a more respectable appearance to an otherwise very thin tall man. The jacket was ubiquitous, he wore it everywhere and, as we were getting to know each other, I found out it was the only jacket he had.
Forward a decade, and the jacket was still around. The heavy padding in the front made itself known: the jacket kept getting longer and longer in the front, while getting shorter in the back. By then our fortunes had improved a bit. Other jackets began to take its place, but my husband continued wearing his old one.
I started looking for spaces to make that old jacket more difficult to find, to no avail. Wherever I hid the jacket, it would always reappear. We moved to another house, and in the move the jacket found a new home in the bedding closet. But then it reappeared.
One day a brilliant thought came to me. What about that button? I cut it off. When asked to please sew the button on again, I just could not find the time to do so.
Actually, this illustrates the tug of war between couples over different sets of values. To him the jacket was a symbol of the power money avails to demonstrate independence, assert personality and distinguish yourself from the rest. A sort of first step up the ladder — both professionally and personally — and the clear division of labor between what a husband has to do and what a wife needs to do.
To me, the cutting off of that button meant that I had discovered the soft power of a wife. Up until that point, I had just tried to fit into a predestined position, a position that expected me to follow the examples of the past. Looking back, this button fit right in with the women’s liberation, Ms. Magazine, the National Organization for Women, the shouts to burn the bra. Though I was hesitant to follow all the new rights feminism had wrested from the good ol’ boys, my choice of profession, dentistry, still demanded women walk a very fine line to protect our credibility and ability to succeed.
That was all in the 60’s. The button is now lost, but I still treasure how this small act of rebellion opened up a whole new world to me. Long live the buttons!
Love this! Any chance I could use it in one of my columns out here in New Mexico. I am published every other weekend. You can take a look at bethurech.wordpress.com which is easier to navigate than going to The Las Vegas Optic. Here’s the column that appears December 15-16, 2008.
Memories of Holidays Past
Fir trees blaze with white or colored lights. Shop windows burst with gift selections. Mail boxes overflow with cards from friends near and far. Well, maybe not so much. Now that we can text, tweet or FaceTime, why resort to a card with a family photo and a heartfelt message?
That’s what I used to do when I was married with my Swiss husband and two adorable children. One year we sat on a bridge in the Küsnachtertobel. The message: “Bridging the gap from us to you.” One leap year we all sprang into the sky. The message: “Leap into the new year with joy.” Another year with Sarah at the piano and Thomas playing the trumpet, the message was musical notes. If you couldn’t read music, you’d never know our message was “Fa la la la la.…” My favorite was us jogging down a hill. Underneath Thomas, Sarah, Dan and me were the names: Dasher, Dancer, Comet and Blitzen. The message: “May your holidays be breathtaking!” Oh, those were the days.
I will create a card this year. Once printed and stuffed in an envelope with a Christmas stamp. I’ll drop it off at the post office on Douglas Street.
In the meantime, please enjoy three of my “behind the scenes” memories. When Sarah was three, I produced “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” at a Zurich community center for oodles of kiddies. My then-husband played the sour-faced Grinch. Sarah wore her pink bathrobe as Cindy Lou Who. Dan slithered on stage completely in character (which wasn’t difficult) and glared at the kids seated on the floor. He snarled, “I must find some way to stop Christmas from coming.”
Sarah’s friend in the front row burst into tears. Sarah poked her head from behind the curtain and said in a loud stage whisper, “Don’t be afraid, Nikki. That’s just my daddy.” Oh, we were off to a momentous start, and the show was a rip-roaring success!
For years, I produced a holiday show in Zurich. The year I adapted “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever” before Hollywood got ahold of it, my narrator fell ill the day before the performance. I gave my son the script to use and watched with horror as Thomas walked on stage without the script. Then he recited every word perfectly. That’s my boy. All the kids performed with gusto, especially shepherd Robert who sang loudly and completely off-key. ‘Twas a rip-roaring success.
Another holiday memory. Let’s skip back to when I was in college. Between semesters, my holiday job was at Rimes & Hildebrand, a small department store in Michigan. I was assigned to the gift wrapping department on the mezzanine. Incapable of tying a pretty bow, I was reassigned to men’s accessories hawking ties, tie clips, and cufflinks with no success. I found my calling in women’s lingerie and gloves. Sturdy red-cheeked Michigan farmers would shyly approach my counter and whisper, “I need something for the missus.” I would show them peignoir sets: pale pink or baby blue nylon nighties with matching robes. Flimsy and feminine. When asked, “What size?” their eyes would go blank so I would step from behind the counter and query, “About my size?”
“Oh, a bit larger.”
I rang up one peignoir set after another and sent them off to the mezzanine to be gift-wrapped. I even persuaded one man to buy his missus the black nylon set with pink rosebuds. When I ran out, I relocated to the glove counter where a farmer pointed at a pair of white kid elbow-length gloves in the showcase and said, “I think the missus would like those. Let me try them. She and I have the same size hands.”
I persuaded him to purchase the gloves without trying them on.
Finally the store closed, and I went home to celebrate Christmas with my family. Three days later when the store reopened, I stood at my post in women’s lingerie as a bevy of furious women besieged me. Dumping the opened gift boxes on my counter, they exclaimed, “What could my hubby have been thinking? I want to exchange this for a flannel nightgown.” Oh, what a lesson I learned.
Now, please excuse me while I create a holiday card for friends and family. I like going to our Post Office because it’s light and bright and everyone is friendly and helpful. Please join me in supporting the USPS. We need them now and throughout the entire year.
And “have yourself a merry little Christmas!”
You win the prize for the longest comment ever, Beth! Let me check with Gabriella to see if she approves of you using her essay out there in New Mexico –stay tuned!
I love this essay! Freedom doesn’t have to start with a bang! It can start with a button.
Brava!
Gabriella,
Thank you for sharing your brave contribution to the rebellion!! This made me smile. It is the little things. Well written!!
What a good story! So fun to read. I’m sure many women will be able to identify with finding the “soft power” of a wife!
– Maggy
One of my favorite phrases from Gabriella’s essay. Should be the title of a book –or a poem!
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