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Deborah Ellen Schneider (page 3 of 4) Page 3 of 4
Mrs. D’Alessandro kissed me on the cheek and said, “Welcome to our home.”
The feast that followed shocked my world even more than the affection. A meal in my family began with the ringing of a cow bell hung on the porch. My brothers and I raced to the table knowing that the first to arrive would get the most. Even so the helpings were sparse, seconds didn’t exist, and we all eventually worked in restaurants to supplement our food.
In the D’Alessandro home, a traditional Italian banquet began. The antipasto was a beautiful assortment of cheeses, olives, and meats. I had never seen this kind of platter and spent a lot of time trying to figure out whether this was the meal. Next came chicken soup with tortellini, lasagna followed by pork roast with potatoes and vegetables, and Italian pastries and cheesecake for dessert. Mr. D’Alessandro brought in a plate of figs from the backyard and Mrs. D’Alessandro opened a jar of preserved peaches and wine.
John helped out by secretly taking food off my plate and putting it on his. When I discovered they had a big meal on Sunday, I tried to figure out if my train would depart before noon so I could miss the second food marathon. I didn’t adapt well to dinner but I wanted desperately to fit in. Saturday morning I got up and hugged everybody. I pretended to like it; eventually I did. Over the years my speech even picked up some of their Italian-American patterns. I ate more, drank wine with dinner, became annoyingly loud on occasion, and began to enjoy the special communion in the D’Alessandro home.
* * *
My whole life, I had never developed my own personality. Instead my chameleon abilities were finely honed. I changed personalities without effort to be the person everyone liked. John married me because I fulfilled his expectations and appeared content with the relationship. But I never shared any of my innermost feelings with him. I didn’t know how.
When John was offered a wonderful opportunity in New York City in 1980, we moved into the city. Since we arrived in the fall, it was too late to find a teaching job. I decided to pursue a career in human resources and found a job in a hospital. I stayed there for two years.
John could only fill the void inside me for so long. When I was unhappy with the marriage I starved myself and ran. I began to seek more challenging positions and aimed no lower than Wall Street. My job became my drug.
When I said goodbye to John in 1982, I don’t think he really understood why. There was so much hollowness inside myself I couldn’t function as a true partner in the marriage. The lack of worship and Christian fellowship in our relationship left me feeling even more isolated. I had lost God. By then, my father was no longer alive. I would have left John sooner but had been afraid of displeasing a dominating father.
On a warm spring morning with just a few rays of sunlight seeping through the window of our basement apartment, we sorted our belongings. As we shuffled around, the two German shepherds the landlord kept in an adjoining room clawed at the door and growled. We didn’t disturb them for long. The lack of emotions John and I both exhibited was reflected by our scant belongings.
He asked if I wanted our photo album. I sat on the bed to thumb through the pictures. There we were, our entire history in twenty pages. On a page entitled Summer vacation in Maine, a photo showed me sitting on the beach staring at the horizon. That day I had gotten up early to run. Despite the romantic setting, I spent nearly all the days alone. I ran the entire time. I hadn’t known what I was racing from or toward, and that spring day in Harlem was no different.
I handed the album back to John. Was he hurt? I don’t know. We didn’t talk about our feelings. We just packed. He kept offering to box up things that were mine and I kept refusing to take them. I was trying to get out with as little as possible because I didn’t want to remember how badly I’d screwed up this part of my life.
When I suggested we split the silverware and dishes, John nodded. There was nothing to argue about. It was as if two roommates were saying goodbye for the summer. John hadn’t fought to keep the marriage alive because he’d been unaware that it was dying.
After a final hug, he walked out. In the next room, the dogs leaped and snarled.
* * *
Soon after the split, I was hired at J. P. Morgan Bank on Wall Street. My boss, Daniel Sherman, was a Vice President in Human Resources. When I first met him in the summer of 1982, I didn’t have a banking background. Before I could be eligible for promotion, I needed to become more financially sophisticated.
At first I found Daniel tough and demanding but people who worked hard in his department were promoted. He did have a sarcastic sense of humor and initially I took much of what he said personally. His comments triggered the negative self-image my dysfunctional family had created for me at a young age. I once asked him why he didn’t give more compliments for a job well done.
“You’re at a level where you shouldn’t need so many compliments,” he said. “You should be more self-sufficient and appreciate your own work.”
That was not the answer I was looking for. I wanted him to nurture me more while he wanted to develop a tough banker. I made it my mission to earn his admiration. Working harder was the way he would appreciate me more so I threw myself into the job.
Despite my experience with a major medical center, corporate banking was unfamiliar territory. It was difficult to blend in with the refined senior management. I was still a small-town girl who’d ended up in New York only because of John’s career. Daniel saw the potential and rewarded me with promotions. After a year I was promoted to Assistant Treasurer, a first-level officer position. By fall I was transferred and became a human resources trainer.
Although the job was a source of great pleasure, my days seemed much brighter whenever Daniel brought his two boys into the office. He was extremely attentive to Peter and David and I liked that. Every day they called when they got home from school. Daniel often stopped meetings to listen to them. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with him.
The world of parenthood became mine as we went to soccer games, Cub Scout meetings, elementary school events and family outings. I was sure everything was going to be OK. Daniel would provide everything I needed. The courtship and engagement were very brief, almost like their own little whirlwind.
From Wind Dancing: The Gift of Healing Traumatic Brain Injury by Deborah Ellen Schneider. Copyright © 2009 by Deborah Ellen Schneider. Reprinted with permission from Wind Dancing, New Beginnings, Inc. For more information on Deborah Ellen Schneider, go to http://winddancing.com.
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