Past inaugurations have also brought dramatic changes in approaches to governing.
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I’ve enjoyed all of your stories about inaugurations, especially those about JFK’s in 1961. But do you know wherefrom he got his most famous quote?

Soon after that fabulous speech, the word started going around in alumni circles of The Choate School that they had heard words like that before. As a fellow alumnus (am I now indelibly labeled as a “preppy?”) I heard these rumblings. It turns out that line was modified from one that the former Headmaster used in some of his sermons. (We had to attend chapel daily, and twice on Sunday in those days!) This has been documented since then. Here’s one excerpt from an article from HuffPost:

Rather than scandalized, I’m sure most of us were proud that our little school played a part in actually educating JFK, and helping him make history!

I often get comments about the treasure vault of old photos I provide in these stories. My father was the family record-keeper, both in still and moving pictures. When my parents divorced in 1981, my brother and I insured in the divorce decree that he got custody of those precious home movies (on real 8mm film, dating back to 1949 when my brother wasn’t yet 2 years old). Rick then transferred them to Beta format, I transferred them to VHS and later to DVD. With each transfer, the quality diminished, but I can still watch them, as I did up to my second birthday in 1954, the morning I began to write this story. At one point, I burst into tears. So many of my loved ones are deceased. And sometime between the divorce in 1981 and the move to be close to me, at the end of 1995, my mother threw away many of my early childhood photos. Much of what I have, I had already cribbed for my own albums.

With that in mind, it is difficult for me to tease apart true memory from what I’ve formed by watching those movies, or discussed with my brother over the years. We are almost five years apart. He was the youngest in the family and did not appreciate being eclipsed by this new, squalling creature who took up time, space, energy and affection from all the adults who used to be devoted to him. You can look at the Featured photo and see me in my “tenda” (I believe it was called). I seem pretty happy. Rick looks stiff beside me. I think I have a vague memory of him peeking into my crib and poking at me, deliberately making me cry. He had been robbed of his supremacy and for a few years did things to undermine me.

In the movie I watched today, I am on a blanket in the backyard at 7 months old, able to sit up, but wobbly. He appears to be looking out for me (our parents had just returned from vacation while our beloved nurse “Jean-Jean” and a maid stayed with us; they were not far from me). Rick watches as I topple over. He tugs at my dress to pull me up, then pushes me over again. He runs around a bit, then comes back and gives me one more shove, just for good measure. I don’t remember those events, but they seem indicative of the relationship at that point in time.

As I began to walk, I know he tripped me one day. I went sprawling into the leg of a chair, opening a cut above my eyebrow. I still bear that scar. Do I actually remember that, or have I just heard that story repeated many times? I am not sure.

For my second birthday, I received a little red plaid purse. I was delighted with it. I was always a girly-girl. The family met for my birthday dinner at my Aunt Do and Uncle Art’s (my dad’s oldest brother) who lived a few blocks away. Lots of family members were there and I was the guest of honor, sitting on everyone’s lap, a big birthday cake brought out in my honor.

Yet the most famous moment of that day took place before the party, in our living room. It became the stuff of family legend. My dad took a movie of me dancing a fandango. I even did a little umbrella spin. Then the camera pans over to reveal my mother, dressed in a form-fitting red knit dress, doing all the dance steps. I am merely following along, aping what she did. Classic. Do I remember that? Probably not, but I have watched that moment so often and it is so utterly charming that it is ingrained in my psyche. I am able to provide a little clip from the home movie below. Remember, the original was film, not video, so no sound.

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Where my brother was passive, I was much more rambunctious. As I grew, I did not like being subtly harassed by him (once I became a companion for him, we became the best of friends and remain so; I just had to grow up a bit).

A strong memory that is absolutely mine, not family legend, happened when I was three and he was eight; he was still significantly larger than me (of course, he always will be). We were playing, independent of one another, in our wood-paneled den. It had a deep window seat at the front of the room, a perfect desk or performance platform. I had my paper dolls set up there and played make-believe with them. Rick sat on the sofa, pad of paper in his lap, drawing Disney advertisements for whatever was the current movie at that moment. He didn’t like working on his lap and decided, again, to declare his superior position in the family over me. He arose and swept me and my dolls away with one swoosh. I was IRATE! I tried, unsuccessfully, to push back. He was much bigger than me.

So I walked behind him and bit him where I could reach him…in the BUTT! Hard! HA! That would teach him! He yowled. Our mother came running in. I was sent to my room for a while, though I protested mightily. It wasn’t fair. I was playing nicely. He had pushed me aside! He got a lecture too. We both cried a lot. Mother didn’t like chaos. We both had to apologize, swear we wouldn’t pull stuff like that again and would take turns with the window seat. I don’t remember that we ever had a problem again.

 

 

I refused to watch the previous inauguration,

More accurately called the abomination,

But teary-eyed in hopeful celebration,

I watched this one with at least half the nation.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for Joe,

But if you ask almost anyone, the women stole the show.

Not just the performances of Lady Gaga and JLo

But a 22-year-old in a coat of sunshine yellow.

 

Our youngest poet laureate, with grace and poise endowed, 

“The Hill We Climb” she recited out loud.

We will always remember as, standing confident and proud,

Amanda won our hearts and utterly wowed the crowd.

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100 words/RetroFlash