Kitselman’s birthday
Today, August 12th, is Gail Kitselman’s birthday. She would be 72 if she’s still alive; I hope she is.
Gail Kitselman was my second girlfriend — although how much a “girlfriend” is debatable. More proper is to say she was the second girl I befriended.
Another girl was the first one I befriended, mainly because she was a friend of my sister.
That girl, and my sister, are both Brandywine High School Class of ‘64; I’m ‘62.
Kitselman was also Class of ‘64, and also a friend of my sister. They played girls basketball — and Kitselman was exceptional, or so she claimed.
This was my senior year in high-school.
My sister died of cancer six years ago. That first girl is still alive, and is a Facebook “friend.” I’ve lost contact with Kitselman.
How many friendships were skonked by teenage male compulsion?
I desperately wanted Kitselman to be my “steady” girlfriend, ultimately my marriage-mate.
Her mother thought me wonderful, her father thought me a disaster. “He’ll never amount to anything.” And of course I didn’t.
Every evening I’d ride my junky bicycle five miles to Kitselman’s, then we’d yammer on her porch until dark. Often we drove to a nearby ice-cream stand. Kitselman’s mother gave me the keys to their ’58 Plymouth.
Sometimes it was so dark it was unsafe riding home. Kitselman’s mother put my bicycle in the trunk of that Plymouth and drove me home.
I dated Kitselman a few times. Once was a day-long church trip to Ocean City, NJ, where we walked hand-in-hand on the boardwalk at dusk.
My sister, going “steady” with a guy she eventually married (and divorced), was thrilled.
Another time was an afternoon at an amusement-park in southeastern PA just north of DE. Kitselman was embarrassed she was so skinny, plus she’d develop varicose veins like her mother.
“I don’t fill out my clothes,” she’d wail.
I thought her striking.
That amusement-park failed long ago.
A while ago a friend Googled “Gail Kitselman” and got a hit: someone in Brooklyn who died. It’s probably not my Kitselman, but she was the right age. That person was involved in some charity, which sounds like Kitselman.
I also have no idea if Kitselman married; she wasn’t the sort.
After I graduated high-school I tried to continue my relationship with Kitselman from 365 miles away in college. I met her once in my old high-school, but she wanted to cut ties. “The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.”
No more Kitselman after that, but I did extremely well anyway. I married the best friend I ever had, and that wasn’t Kitselman.
• Brandywine High School is north of Wilmington DE in suburbia. It still exists. My family lived north of Wilmington at that time, as did Kitselman.
• The ice-cream stand was “Linthwaite’s,” long-gone. The amusement-park was “Lenape Park.”
• “The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on” is from the famous Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám. (My funky little Podunk college left me with that.)
Gail Kitselman was my second girlfriend — although how much a “girlfriend” is debatable. More proper is to say she was the second girl I befriended.
Another girl was the first one I befriended, mainly because she was a friend of my sister.
That girl, and my sister, are both Brandywine High School Class of ‘64; I’m ‘62.
Kitselman was also Class of ‘64, and also a friend of my sister. They played girls basketball — and Kitselman was exceptional, or so she claimed.
This was my senior year in high-school.
My sister died of cancer six years ago. That first girl is still alive, and is a Facebook “friend.” I’ve lost contact with Kitselman.
How many friendships were skonked by teenage male compulsion?
I desperately wanted Kitselman to be my “steady” girlfriend, ultimately my marriage-mate.
Her mother thought me wonderful, her father thought me a disaster. “He’ll never amount to anything.” And of course I didn’t.
Every evening I’d ride my junky bicycle five miles to Kitselman’s, then we’d yammer on her porch until dark. Often we drove to a nearby ice-cream stand. Kitselman’s mother gave me the keys to their ’58 Plymouth.
Sometimes it was so dark it was unsafe riding home. Kitselman’s mother put my bicycle in the trunk of that Plymouth and drove me home.
I dated Kitselman a few times. Once was a day-long church trip to Ocean City, NJ, where we walked hand-in-hand on the boardwalk at dusk.
My sister, going “steady” with a guy she eventually married (and divorced), was thrilled.
Another time was an afternoon at an amusement-park in southeastern PA just north of DE. Kitselman was embarrassed she was so skinny, plus she’d develop varicose veins like her mother.
“I don’t fill out my clothes,” she’d wail.
I thought her striking.
That amusement-park failed long ago.
A while ago a friend Googled “Gail Kitselman” and got a hit: someone in Brooklyn who died. It’s probably not my Kitselman, but she was the right age. That person was involved in some charity, which sounds like Kitselman.
I also have no idea if Kitselman married; she wasn’t the sort.
After I graduated high-school I tried to continue my relationship with Kitselman from 365 miles away in college. I met her once in my old high-school, but she wanted to cut ties. “The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.”
No more Kitselman after that, but I did extremely well anyway. I married the best friend I ever had, and that wasn’t Kitselman.
• Brandywine High School is north of Wilmington DE in suburbia. It still exists. My family lived north of Wilmington at that time, as did Kitselman.
• The ice-cream stand was “Linthwaite’s,” long-gone. The amusement-park was “Lenape Park.”
• “The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on” is from the famous Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám. (My funky little Podunk college left me with that.)
posted by BobbaLew at 2:46 PM
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