The Memorial Day weekend TV fare is full of creaky WWII movies, most of which I saw when I was a kid, in the 40s and 50s. Most of them have good action scenes, but have truly archaic characterizations full of clichés: the comic relief, usually a wise-talking Brooklyn type, the squeaky clean and timid rural character, who breaks down and/or gets killed, the womanizing, foul-talking (not explicit, only alluded to, since language in movies in those days was strictly monitored) roué, the uptight, morally straight, impossibly chauvinistic, supposedly romantic or sympathetic male lead, usually John Wayne, Charlton Heston, Spencer Tracy … oh, vomit.

It’s a wonder, given these role models who would make an Evangelist of today feel overshadowed, that any woman growing up in that time emerged with any self-esteem at all, at all.

One of my favorites, however, was “Midway”, that I didn’t see on any channel this time around. It has Charlton Heston as the rigid a.h., in an older role, a high-up military man, tyrannizing his son, under his command and no quarter given, who has fallen in love with a Japanese girl, oh, no. But the story of the battle of Midway is well done so I just steeled myself to tolerate the touchy-feely personal story.


About self-esteem, I had my own hurdles to overcome, especially in terms of business success, but on a personal level, I was way ahead of the young girls of today. Elizabeth Smart, kidnapped at 14, was too timid to scream out in a restaurant where she and her abductors were eating. I would have started yelling the minute I walked in the door, assuming that prior to such an incident, I wouldn’t have bitten off the fellow’s private member while pretending to acquiesce.

I remember, as a kid of 6 or so, being totally recalcitrant in all matters pertaining to personal independence. A friend of my mother’s, referring to me as a good little Greek girl, was treated to a belligerent and loud tirade from me to the effect that I was American, period. It’s not that I am, in maturity, loathe to consider myself Greek, but in those days, I already realized at that young age, that independence of Greek girls was non-existent and expectations were primeval. Not for me, thank you, bring it on, I’m ready.

My Iraqi friend, John, whom I found a few short years ago after a hiatus of 40 years, and who died recently from a heart condition, told me that he was astonished at how untypical I was. Dear John, who came to the U.S. with his charm and his English accent (his father was an Iraqi police chief of Indian descent, hence the British influence) was in his 20s, incredibly strong and resourceful in every way. What a shame that he would lose those powers. He came to study electronics, leaving behind a wife and several children whom I knew nothing about. I had assumed he was single.

In any case, I knew my destiny lay with someone whose references were Western, whose literary skills were remarkable, and whose sense of humor was as whimsical as mine. So I left Chicago and came to New York where I found him.

And, perhaps influenced by the war movies of my teen years, I gravitated to a man from the “Greatest Generation”, a term coined by journalist Tom Brokaw to describe the generation who grew up in the United States during the deprivation of the Great Depression, and then went on to fight in World War II, as well as those whose productivity within the war's home front made a decisive material contribution to the war effort. And because he was much older, I lost him sooner. One is never ready.

xx, Teal