Me & Issy: A Four Seasons Romance by Rosalie Wise Sharp

Author:Rosalie Wise Sharp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2022-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

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When high school ended, I had to decide what I wanted to be — apart from married — which was the first thing on my parents’ agenda. Was it art school to be a window dresser, sign painter, or fashion designer — or English to be a journalist? I decided against art school because I was in the academic stream, and it was a badge of honour to have letters following your name, so I followed Merle and my brainy friends to university. At the University of Toronto, the “ologies” appealed because they sounded so esoteric — particularly sociology and anthropology. I had read Margaret Mead and fantasized about fieldwork on some undeveloped South Pacific Island. But the truth is, I knew I couldn’t handle the mosquitoes, the risky food, and the celibate life. I had reached the age when romance was everything. Ever since Mr. Rochester had cantered down the road on horseback and swept Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre off her feet, I was on the lookout for just such a man. Or even Heathcliff from Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, played by Laurence Olivier, my movie heartthrob for years. I had that strong prerequisite for romantic love, my love for my father — which is quite a mystery, because he did, after all, give me a whack once in a while. But nevertheless, we loved each other deeply.

In Grade 7, I had a serious crush on my English teacher, Mr. Vyvian, even the three V-shapes of his name. He was dark, reserved, and formal. I’m sorry I didn’t question why he had asked Miss Wise, the only Jew in the class, to read the part of Shylock. Finally, when I was nearly 15, Morley Markson asked me out on a date and came to collect me on his motorcycle. On the spot, my father said, “Don’t let me see him here now or ever again.” Dad screened each boyfriend carefully. He had to be Jewish and studious, with good prospects, and he had to bring me home, in the same condition in which I had left, by 11 p.m. I was not to wear lipstick or makeup, bare-necked dresses, or high-heeled shoes.

I’m surprised I had any offers at all, because at 14 my arms and legs were like sticks, and I was the only girl in my class with a flat chest — the bane of my existence. I would say to my mom, “How can you be so sure that I’ll get any? Maybe God will skip me.”

My mom refused to let me buy a bra. “You’re so mazeldik — lucky — to be small,” she said. “What do you need them for? They just pull you down.”

Well, there I was in high school, still wearing an undershirt. Finally, I bought a size 30A bra and stuffed it with hankies. I was mortified one day when my dad came into my room and spied a hanky sticking out of my bra. He just scowled and said nothing.

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