Ethnic Confetti

I remember being six years old and lying alone on top of my parent's king-sized bed, watching I Love Lucy on the TV. I was fascinated by Lucy and Ricky and their life, but I never paid attention to what they said, I just watched their faces. I would study their clothing and closely examine the details of their apartment. My step-father Tony had the same haircut as Ricky Ricardo. Tony also loved music, and would dance around the living room on Saturday afternoons in his suede sneakers while watering the plants. Of course I thought he was Cuban.

Later I learned that he was Italian, and then we were all Italian, eating lots of ravioli and lasagna and cannolis. My mother made espresso in a tiny steel pot with a compartment of finely ground, compacted coffee.

I also suspected I was Jewish. My grandparents, who lived on Brighton Beach, were clearly Jewish. They brought rye bread, potato knishes, and honey cakes from Brooklyn when they visited on Sundays. Whenever I visited them in the city, though, we ate at the local Chinese restaurant on "The Avenue." We weren't supposed to eat pork, but for reasons I still don't understand, it was OK at the Chinese restaurant. I sometimes dreamed about being Chinese.

I also loved the Dick Van Dyke Show on TV. My biological father Tom was a Jewish Dick Van Dyke. He was tall, handsome, klutzy, and had a radio voice. He worked in advertising. I imagined that his wives nagged him just like Laura nagged Rob on TV. In his second marriage, Tom and his wife became Presbyterian so they could adopt two kids. Tom's third wife was a New England Yankee who looked like a movie star. She also worked in advertising. I was a little afraid of her high heels, red lipstick, false eyelashes and sprayed hair. She wore sunglasses that squeezed her head to stay on her face. She and Tom abandoned religion and ethnicity to be modern New York suburbanites.