Taking the #6 Bus to White Plains

My Aunt Jackie says you have to accept people with their warts. I like this concept and try to abide by it. To the best of my knowledge I have only been genuinely mean to 3 people in my life—the rest I have accepted for the most part with their flaws.

Nina Weissblum was my neighbor on Bolmer Avenue in Yonkers. Her parents were non-conformists. They were into transcendental meditation. And Nina, who later changed her name to Naomi, was gothic way before the term and lifestyle was invented. I did not accept her with her “warts.” I talked crap about her and it was not right. I am truly sorry. Everyone has the right to be who they are.

Patti McCabe was my locker neighbor in high school at Our Lady of Victory Academy. Patti’s immigrant Irish mother forbade her from shaving her legs. And the long, thick, red, follicular excess would spill over and through her hunter green uniform knee socks. It was rather unsightly and she paid a social price for its unsightliness. I deeply regret being mean to her. She was a nice girl. She was just obeying her mother.

But the person I have the biggest regret over not being very nice to was Jean Chebetar. I didn’t just say mean things about her behind her back; I was her fake-friend. And I had an accomplice in the fake-friendship—my genuine best friend: Elissa.

Elissa and I met in September of 1972. She lived up the street from me on Summit Terrace in Dobbs Ferry. Her father and mine were musicians together---technically they introduced us. And Elissa’s mom Mary and my mother, just like Elissa and I, also became best friends.

Our mothers were very overprotective. We were never allowed to do lots of things that the other girls in our class could do. And when we were in seventh grade and all the other girls were allowed to take the #6 Liberty Line bus directly from the bottom of Briary Road directly to the front doors of Macys in White Plains, we were denied. We begged. We pleaded. But finally, for absolutely no particular reason in the spring of 1973, our mothers relented—but there was one proviso: we needed a posse of 5 girls. To this day, I am not sure why 5 was the magic number. But it was. And so Elissa and I began to put our support team together.

The first 3 girls were easy picks: it was me, Elissa and Judy Walsh. Next we choose Mary Reagan—she was okay in the #4 position; but the #5 position was a problem. And here’s the thing: we really really really wanted to go to White Plains—and when our mothers said we needed 5 girls, they meant 5 girls, not 4. And in seventh grade sometimes the end justifies the means. In seventh grade you will do anything to maintain your social status. Fitting in is the driving force in your existence. You are defined by who you eat lunch with and what you do after school ends.

So in desperation, we invited Jean Chebetar to come with us. But understand we really didn’t like Jean very much. I mean we really really didn’t like her very much. Jean was awkward and her mother was….well…I’ll let you decide: One day in seventh grade Jean’s mother interrupted Sister Grace to speak to the class. Jean’s mother told all 40 of us that she prayed to the Virgin Mary every night for the welfare of our souls. She feared that we as a class were so bad that we were all going to go straight to hell. And then she cried. Jean’s mother cried in Sister Grace’s classroom in front of forty thirteen year old kids. Yep. Poor Jean was not just awkward but her mother was an added awkward hindrance.

So we did it.  We invited Jean just so we could make our posse complete. We invited Jean just to meet our bus quota. And it gets worse: not only did we not like Jean terribly much, but when she asked us Are you inviting me because you want me to come or because you need me?, we lied for the sake of our posse and told her we really liked her and wanted her company. We fake-friended her. And if that was not evil enough, we invited her every time we wanted to go to White Plains after that-- that is, until our mothers decided that the magic posse number could be reduced to 3 in the spring of 1974.

I learned from Father Borzaga that using people as tools and then disregarding them was the biggest sin. I also learned from Father Borzaga that asking for absolution from a priest in a screened in booth was not as weighty as asking for forgiveness directly from the person you wronged. So with all my heart, I apologize to you Jean Chebetar wherever you are. I used you as a tool and that was not right—even if it was seventh grade, and our reputation was on the line, and we just wanted a little bit of freedom and our mothers were really annoying. I hope you will forgive our sins---and if your mother is still alive, now that I am older and open to it, tell her she is more than welcome to pray to the Virgin Mary for the welfare of my soul. I am totally good with it. Hell is probably not a pleasant place. I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

And by the way, 39 years later, Elissa and I are still best friends and I love her—and she still doesn’t have any warts for me to overlook.