Conception The Beginning.
By: Jay Javurek
Tags: Birth, Family History, Long Island, Birthday, Life Lessons

So I asked my brother. “So the second day after Labor Day in 1954” and I am interrupted by him. “Well, I don’t know what day of the month of” he stated gruffly. And I interrupted him. “Ahhh, I could look that up. So the second day ahh, after Labor Day. You think it was a Wednesday, in 1954, was the day you think I was, ahh.”

“You were conceived,” he stated. Bluntly. “ Probably.” he is thoughtful. “Huh”. I said incredulously. “Or di, di, the Weekend after Labor Day. He stuttered. “Ya your not listening to me, what I am saying.” He said. “Oh, the weekend after Labor Day,” I said and understand. “Yeaaah” he nodded his head at me in affirmation. A smug look on his face.

“Because of ahhhh. I remember the truck coming into Middle Village. And — the men driving the truck loading it up. And then I sat in the back of the truck, he said proudly. Middle Village, is located between three cemeteries. Its people live in the Borough of Queens. There are five Boroughs that are part of New York City. A lot of Czechs used to live there in Queens.

“Aahhh, all the way out to Huntington” some 40 plus miles. And in those days, the trucks, there was no expressway. And there was no parkway that went all the way out.” He says with a grin on his face. He is referring to the Long Island Expressway, Interstate 495. Now a 72-mile roadway, it spanning across the island from West to East. The road opened in 1958 and, is still used today. During rush hour, your speed can drop below 10 miles per hour.

He also refers, to the Northern State Parkway. “And the truck was not allowed on the parkway that was open.” “That was called the Inter Borough.” I sat quietly, listening to him. His voice is soft but direct. Him reliving that trip. I sitting there envisioning what he was saying. How it must have been, to take this trip, to a new home, a new life.

“So we went all the way through Jamaica, out Hillside Avenue. Hillside Avenue at the Nassau County line becomes ahh, Old Country Road. And drove Old Country Road through Mineola. Past the hanger where Charles Lindberg left from in 1927.” He was an American aviator, U.S. military officer, author, and inventor. At the age of 25 from May 20th to the 21st, 1927. He made a nonstop flight, once a U.S. Air Mail pilot.

He flew from New York City to Paris, France to win $25,000.00. My brother looked up to people like that. He enjoyed history. Charles Lindbergh died in 1974, my last year of High School.

“And ahh, and then you keep going till you get to Huntington. Then past route 110, and you come to Deer Park Avenue.” That name, Deer Park, is located in Huntington. Today known as Dix Hills. I can remember deer drinking from melted winter water. Their heads moving up and down as they drink in our backyard. I watched them from the living room as a child facing west. I grew up on what was called a “Long Acre” not a “Square One”.

“And that’s how we went.” He finished. Then he continued. “And then, finally, after what seemed like several, several hours. Which was what it was in those days.” He said, in a matter-of-fact tone. I could see he was remembering it. Remember my statement — “rush hour — 10 miles per hour”.

“Because on Jerrico, you know with the lights and everything. You went 30 or 40 miles an hour. By the time the truck got going, you know. And came to another light.” Laughing to myself — The time it sometimes takes to drive now in traffic.

“So uh it took some time to get out. And then the furniture had to be unloaded. The beds had to be set up. Because we were not going back to that apartment.”

He said with sadness, “When we left, with everything, we left.” To him, it must have been very hard to leave his home and friends.

“And ahh, and so.” “That happened over the weekend.” “ahh after, after.” He paused. “Labor Day.” another pause. “And if I am not mistaken — ahh. “If I remember. That was the days before there were three-day weekends. ahhh”. “So like” He clears his throat. “ah hum.” He makes the sound.

“And when I went to Saint Margret’s.” (That is a Catholic School in Queens Borough, New York City). “You had a day off for Lincoln’s Birthday and the next week. It was Washington’s birthday.”

“So if one of their Birthdays fell in the middle of the week.” His laughter, happy thinking back. “You went to school for two days. You had off for the holiday. And you went back to school for the last two days.” I also remember that happening, even when I was a child. Me going to school on Long Island. School, was so different back then.

“In today’s world.” Referring to the year of this, his story to me. Back in the year 2017. The time of my trip to his house. “All of these weekends — ahh. Were made into one long 3 day weekend. and ahhh. So, the holiday does not fall on the actual date of birth. “And ahhh Labor Day — ahhh — was a weekend. I think it was the first weekend of — ahh The first weekend in the month of, September.” I said “Right.”

“So that must have been — ahh. Within a couple of days after that.” They left on a Friday for the new house. A couple of days would have been Sunday. I think it must have been that Saturday night though. I can’t believe they would, Mom and Dad, do the act on a Sunday. My mother went to church regularly each week. It is hard to imagine them doing it anyway.

“ When Mom and Dad must’ve ahh conceived me,” I state. “Yesss, riiiight,” he says thoughtfully. “not — must’ve - because you were born what? In what, May.” “Nooo, in June,” I interject. “4th” he blurts out. “June 2nd” I blurt back. He forgot my birthday I think to myself. My brother. “June 2nd,” He goes on.

Looking sternly at me.

“So count the whole month of September.” he is thinking. You can see it in his eyes. “October, November, December.” said rapidly. “Jan-u-ary.” He reflects, holding up his left hand. Counting off each month with his fingers. “February, March, April.” He pauses. “Mayyyy. “ He says, loudly. Looking at his fingers. Thinking about it. “Which is the 9thhhh month. And you were born a few days after the 9th month.”

“Which would be the few days at the beginning of September”. He says this with triumph in his voice. His left hand moves back and forth from left to right.

“So you were born nine months exactly — Just about.” He say to me with a smile.

So I answered after it was all figured out. The who, the where the when. The probable, reason it happened. The day I was conceived by my parents. The miracle of what some call “when life begins”. But that is still debated even today. Another topic. I will share one day.

But, It happened in a new room. It happened in a new house. It happened in a new future for them. My Mom and Dad. They left the “Big City” And started a new life. Literally two lives. Theirs and mine out in the country.

That story finished. “So tell me the story about the Tumor,” I ask my big brother. And I see his eyes going back. My mother had one. The doctors say.

My brother sits there. Looking, with blank eyes at me.

And then he starts. His next story. About my mother. But that’s my next story too.