There were many other families that lived in the little cove of those garden apartments. There was Felicia. Goldman…. I think was her last name, ….maybe. She wasn’t so much a friend, but more of a babysitter for me, someone I was entrusted to, to get me to school and back safely. Actually, there was a group of us who walked to school but I was made to knock on Felicia’s apartment door across the courtyard every morning and walk especially with her.

P.S. 188. That’s the public elementary school I went to in Bayside. I was a victim to the snobby girls at that school but that’s another story. The school was about a mile or two walk from the garden apartments and it was a chance to talk and joke around before we made it to school. I don’t remember the walks to school so much as the walks home. The mood was happier, more relaxed, at ease since it was the end of the school day and there wasn’t that much of a rush to make it home before some bell rang. On nice days, the walks would take us up Hillside Avenue to the candy store on the corner of Union Turnpike and Hillside. There was always one of the walkers who had a little money and we would go in the candy store and get penny Bazooka pieces, or some other penny candies that would get shared around. I was the youngest, newest to the posse and the one without any money, ….ever.

One morning when I walked across the courtyard to Felicia’s apartment, the front door was already open and her mom just yelled for me to come in and sit and wait. I did. As I sat there alone, I just viewed my surroundings. They had unusual furniture and a little mock two seater bar. Pretty cool. On the couch next to me was Felicia’s mom’s pocketbook opened wide and in it was a wallet. I’m trying to remember exactly how old I was or what grade, I may have been 8 or 9years old, in 4th grade? I’m not exactly sure, but I do remember the events of that particular day. I’ve asked mom for money before. The answer was always ‘no, we don’t have money to throw around’ . End of conversation.

That morning, I sat next to the open pocketbook with the wallet inside for so long. I began thinking I could just open the wallet and maybe take a dollar, so that I could be the one that day to buy and share. Was I nervous? Hell yeah!!! But, the thought became so strong and so I opened the wallet. Did I know I was doing something wrong? Yes, but I did it anyway. When I unclipped the closure to the wallet there were a few bills in it and then I heard movement from another room and I grabbed what I could and shut the wallet up quickly and moved to the other side of the couch. We went to school as usual and on our walk home from the candy store, I was the big man that day. What I pulled from the wallet was a $20.00 dollar bill and so we had a feast of candy. Everyone was happy and excited and I felt great and like I belonged.

It wasn’t until later that night that I would suffer the consequences of that days action. With the good, there’s always that bad. From my room, I could hear whisperings. I didn’t know who was whispering or what the conversation was about so, I snuck in closer to the living room. What I heard was “I’ve worked with children like this before and its a cry for help, maybe she needs someone to talk to……” I recognized the voice. I heard her being led out and I knew I was in for it. I just didn’t know how bad it was going to be. I was prepared for the yelling, preparing myself for the smacks. What I wasn’t prepared for was the severity of the yelling or the hits. I was called out of my room. MARIAAAA!!!!! There wasn’t even a question. There wasn’t an “explain to me why?!” Just the instant thundering voice and the backhanded smack and then I’m on the floor with coins being rained down on me. He was taking the change out of his pockets and throwing them down at me. I heard his voice but I don’t know what he was saying and the sound of the coins hitting the floor. I don’t think I was even crying at that point because it just all happened so fast. The boys were only 1 and 2 years old and as I tried to look up to see if my mother was going to save me, from the floor in my fetal position as he kicked me with his boot, I glimpsed her just sitting in the sofa chair with one boy on each arm of the chair watching. I may have been crying all along, but seeing them there, just watching as I’m on the floor trying to cover up as much of myself as I could from the belt, the coins and his boot, that’s when the real sadness came. It’s the realization that there was no help coming to me that did me in. It was the realization that we was just going to sit and watch as I cowered on the floor like dog.

I know I had done wrong. I know I deserved punishment for it. The events, feelings, anything else that happened after that, I no longer remember. I just remember that beating and the reason for it.

There have been other beatings similar to that. One particular one, I can’t remember what it was for, but it was as severe as the one I got for stealing money from Felicia’s mothers bag, just no kick or coins to top it off. The swings of the belt were hard enough that they left these beautiful black, blue and purple raised marks all up and down my legs and backside. One swing of the belt even caught a part of my arm when I tried to protect myself.

I remember after that beating, I was allowed to go on outside!!! Odd right? I cant remember what it was for, but I was allowed to go out after it. I didn’t even want to go out. There was no one out there to play with, but I went because they wanted to talk in private. I remember riding my bike and I remember I couldn’t quite sit right on it because my ass was so bruised. I also remember that though it was a cloudy day, it was still a warm day for October and I was made to wear long pants and long sleeves.

I cant say I never stole anything again because that would be a lie but I tried to be as good a girl as I could possibly be, …for awhile.

Day 1 of 365 – January 1, 2020

New year, new me? Doubt it. Same me, same shit, different day.

I wanted to write my story from beginning to the end but there really is no beginning, no definitive one anyway, and the end is not yet here. So, how do I begin this?

I wanted this year to be the beginning of a better me but I’m still not quite feeling what I want the better me to be. I’m still feeling hollow somehow. Not right. Not whole, A bit discombobulated and still very unorganized. I thought I would try and become more of a minimalist, be more out with the old, in with the new type of person. More so, just out with all the junk that clutters my life, that takes up space in my thoughts, in my brain, in my head that prevents me from moving forward. It’s not how I’ve felt today.

Day 2 of 365 – January 02, 2020

Day two into the New Year. Today is my brother Timmy’s birthday. I text him this morning and wished him a Happy Birthday. I text him without having heart palpitations, no nervousness in contacting him even by text. Thank you Prozac and Gabapentin.

That’s not the first time I’ve said that. Sad, I know, but true. I keep thinking, how great it would have been if I had the opportunity to have these little pills when I was younger. How different I would be. How more confident and self-assured I would have been back then instead of that timid, shy and nervous, sniveling little girl I was. Not that my step-father helped me over those hurdles. In fact, he actually amplified them by his intimidation over me.

40 plus years of being intimidated by him. 40 plus years of being nervous, anxious and depressed over it. 40 plus years of trying to overcome it, trying to be a different person.

In my teens, I just wanted to be like every other teenager. I didn’t know how to be like all other teenagers. I tried to be cool and got called out on it when I’d say “I don’t know, I don’t think they’ll let me” meanwhile all their plans were being made around me. I’d try to be a badass but then cower and shake when it was close to the time id have to go home. I would be happy one minute and the next be crying about everything. I was forever locked in that self defeating persona.

That’s not to say I didn’t pop my share of pills. Those were the days of “Sex, Drugs and Rock ‘n Roll

Not long after moving out of Grandma and Grandpa’s house on Long Island, we moved to a small garden apartment in Queens. Alley Pond Park Garden Apartments in Bayside NY.

I might have been somewhat happier living in the house with Grandma and Grandpa. I don’t recall but I can’t recall a whole lot about my time in the garden apartments either, or I should say, I can’t recall a lot of happy times in those apartments.

I think Uncle Walter was maybe running the place? Maybe collecting rent for the owners? He did have an apartment in the same area too. Oh……….., Uncle Walter, he was Joe’s older brother, then it’s Joe and then Aunt Linda, the only girl and as I’ve said in earlier posts, Jeffrey who is the baby of the family, 20 years after Joe.

My life at the Garden Apartments was more one of watching the boys mainly. It was my main job. That’s not to say I wasn’t allowed my playtime but with my playtime came watching the boys too. I was their little mother. I got them up and dressed, I got them snacks, fixed their lunches, broke up their arguments, fixed their hurts, played with them, even if I didn’t want to. I felt like they were glued to me. The parents got their cuddle time in with them, I just felt like I got all the rest.

We lived on the second floor of a two floor walk up.

My time in the garden apartments?……. I’m beginning to remember a lot of it lately. I remember there were kids I played with there. I remember Jodi and her two older brothers Larry and Todd (I didn’t play with them, they were much older). I remember Jodi had a giant fish tank in her apartment. I remember Mona who lived with just her mom. There was also Adam Grandolfo. He too just lived with his mom. Jodi, I think was younger than me but she was the one I played with most. She had dark brown hair and was short and pudgy and I can’t remember much of what we played but we did write a song once. It was a good one too and I have tried many times to remember at least what it was about, but it’s all gone. Mona was around Jodi’s age and she had long silvery blond hair. I remember her mom was always meditating. It was the early 70’s and she was a hippie mom, incenses and meditations and she always meditated right there in the living room with with her front door open. One day, we played a game of “Dare”. I was maybe 8 or 9 years old and I was dared to walk into Mona and her mom’s apartment while her Mom meditated in the middle of the living room floor. So, quietly I stepped one foot in and out, but of course that wasn’t enough for anyone. I had to walk in a little further. My heart is pounding and I am scared shitless but of course I do it. Then it became a bigger game of who can walk in the furthest and out without getting caught. I can’t remember what happened or if anything, I just know, remembering it now how terrified I was. I’m laughing to myself now at what stupid things little kids do to themselves.

It’s funny the stupid crazy things you remember, when you give yourself a chance to look back. I remember Adam Grandalfo because one time when he was sitting on the cement walk by the big bushes in front of the apartment I lived in, I accidentally pinched a piece of his butt by stepping too close to where he was sitting. LOL!!!!!! He punched my leg but I think I laughed more than I was hurt because it was so funny how he yelped out. lol

When we first moved into those apartment buildings, I remember we had moved into the second floor apartment first. I remember the brightness of the rooms. I remember being made to sit down while Joe and Mom told me what was in store for me the following day. I was told that I would be seeing an important man in his big office and that this man would be asking me questions and I had to answer the questions honestly, and then I was told a story and this is the story I was told……

******** It was a very long time ago when Mom was still very young. Joe sits me down and begins to tell me what I’m thinking is going to be a fairy tale story. A pillow case was thrown over my mother’s head when she was a young woman still living with her parents. She was carried out, having been kidnapped and taken away. I was told that she was held a prisoner, beaten many times. He even made her show me the mark on her neck where she had fallen into a table and the corner of the table had punctured her neck causing horrible bleeding. I was told she had been repeatedly raped and that was how I came to be. He said that was why we would be going to see this man in the morning because he was going to adopt me and give me his name. He said the man was going to ask me if I wanted him (Joe) to be my dad since I didn’t have one. I was 7 or 8 years old. What do I know? I said “Okay” and that was that, off to play I went. ************

I remember a few more incidents in the upper floor apartment. When you give yourself time to think about things, I guess a lot comes back to you whether you want them to or not.

A not so pleasant memory comes back to me remembering the bright lights coming from the windows of that top floor apartment. I had just finished my first week of the new school and I remember Joe sitting in front of me asking how school was. I started talking about a class “friend” I met at school that I got along with and as I went on with whatever story I was telling, he interrupted me and said “classmate” . I said “yeah my class friend” and he said it again….”classmate”. I just wanted to tell him my story and I couldn’t quite get the word out and he wouldn’t let me continue until I said the word “classmate”. By now, I’m getting scared because his voice continues to get louder and louder and sounding madder and madder. My eyes begin to tear up and I couldn’t help it, I start to cry. It was a mistake to cry. “WHAT ARE YOU CRYING ABOUT!!!!! JUST SAY IT!!!! SAY CLASSMATE!!!! I cried even harder.

So many things you begin to remember when those flood gates to memory lane open. Things that mean absolutely nothing. Things that could mean everything. Things buried deep. Things that scar you forever.

Yes. Homework.

I’m stuck. I feel stuck. I’m no-where and my thoughts seem to be everywhere to a point where I am not thinking about anything except, that I am stuck.

I had gone to my therapy session, my first session in over two months. The summer flew by and there was always something to be done for the whole month of August, so I missed a few consecutive sessions and there we were on the first day of October.

I sat there in front of Dr. Jay and he asked “how has everything been going for you”? I tell him “yeah, great”. I tell him that I sent the letter and that after I sent the letter, back in mid-August, I was feeling so much better. I felt like a weight had been lifted from me. The weight of words, the weight of angry words, the weight of words I was never allowed to voice out, words I was afraid to voice out, and now finally at 55 years of age and after a 5 year silence, and having Pennsylvania and Virginia separating me from the target of my letter, well it isn’t like I would get a knock on my door anytime soon. Even if a phone call was made, I am now clearly aware that I am a grown-up and can choose to not pick up but, then does that make me a coward hiding out still because just the thought of all that, brings on this hyperventilation feeling that still overtakes me.

I wrote letters and journal-ed for the better part of my life, spelling out in words, a lot of what I felt about “him”, how he’s made me feel my whole life up to now and after 30 years of writing letters to him and re-writing and then writing the letter a new, maybe two (hundred) dozen times, I finally just wrote all that was in my head at that time, finished it however way it came to my head and mailed it as is. Let whatever was to happen, happen. Once it was in the mail, there was no taking it back and I was feeling good about it. I was feeling liberated, lighter, proud of myself for gaining the courage at 55 years of age to finally say what I felt (albeit in writing) for all those years that I kept it to myself. They say I it’s the relief in the telling.

I go off on a bit of a vacation for a week and a half. I’m still feeling pretty great. I come back from vacation and yeah, still doing good. No repercussions to speak of from North Carolina and we are well into September.

I’m getting along okay with everyone. Having bits of conversations with the boys!! Everyone seems to be going about their business. “All was going good” I tell him, “and now it’s not going good anymore.” “So, what’s happened? What’s made it go from good to not so good?” he asks. I say, “I don’t know, I don’t know why I’m in a slump again”.

“So, I have an assignment for you to do, a bit of homework” he says. “You have to trust me and do as I ask.” “I want you to sit down and figure out what it is that makes YOU happy”.

So, I have homework to do.

What makes me happy?

So much for chronologizing Tierney and Hugo’s Honeymoon, I mean our honeymoon. Lol

Once the ship sailed out to sea all WiFi and internet went down for me. It was fine though. Being able to tune out for a while was kind of awesome. For just a little while I was able to pretend my world was just the sea, the sky and what was in front of me just in that moment in that time.

Tierney’s first wedding was very nice. She planned out a party to die for.

She’s always been a great planner. She takes after her Dad. He’s a big party planner too. Always with his lists and ideas that sometimes become too big and puts on more stress than necessary. Tierney follows suit.

Her first wedding was a whole weekend affair complete with white wedding dress, tuxedos, bridesmaids and ushers, a little Jazz band and an awesome DJ to dance the night way. Truly the event of the year.

It was held in Upstate New York at the time when all the leaves turn colors and it looks peaceful and clear.

I should have realized the tension I was feeling coming off of her (even before the weekend started) wasn’t just about becoming a newly wed.

Anyway, that was then and this is now.

Now, I see her happiness. She truly loves Hugo and I believe he truly loves her. You can see the happiness flow out of them and it makes me smile so much to see it.

No white dress or tux this time around. No reason to have a crowd, just the people that matter the most and each other. The Chinese believe that red is good luck. Not that they need luck to make their marriage work because look at them. Love, understanding, communication and more love.

The rest is their story to tell.

Day 1 of Tierney’s Honeymoon on Royal Caribbean-Allure of the Sea. I like saying that we are on Tierney and Hugo’s Honeymoon with them. Lol. It just makes me laugh. They got married yesterday in a non-traditional wedding ceremony at the Curtis Mansion in Miami Florida. I say non-traditional because this one was so more non-traditional than her first one.

Sunday, August 25 2019.

Yes, her first one. In 2014 she married a boy, more so a man 6 years older than her, that she had been dating for more than 7 years. Unfortunately, it didn’t last more than 8 months when she realized that it wasn’t really a union she wanted to be in for the rest of her life. No kids involved so early in that marriage, that the separation was quick, though not so easy, for the new groom that got left behind. ☹️

So, now I’m on this ship because it was Tierney’s desire that both families spend some time together after the nuptials before going off separately to their respective lives. What an awesome idea… right?!??? I love it.

Grandma and Grandpa had a little boy. It was a “late in life pregnancy”. He was three years younger than me. 20 years younger than the Giant.

In the Philippines, before I came to the United States, I was the youngest child, the baby. I felt secure, happy and loved in the arms of my Lola.

Here in the States, I was the oldest child and of no blood relation. I was not the first grandchild, I was not blood related. I was an intruder.

Jeffrey was the baby. Bridget was perfect and I was lost here in a family not mine.

One morning, I heard voices up in the attic. I climbed the steep stairs to see what was happening. Grandma stood yelling at mom and mom was crying. Mom was trying to talk to her, but Grandma just kept yelling. When Grandma walked past me and back down the stairs mom went back to scrubbing the wall. Mom just looked at me, tears still streaming down from her eyes. She looked at me and asked “why?”, “why did you have to do this!?!?”

What did I do? I don’t know what I did. Please, ….. what did I do? I was confused but then she pointed to the wall and I understood. I had done a bad thing. I had gotten mom in trouble and I made Grandma yell at Mom.

Being in the attic, high up and away from the others in the house, it was scary. Being up there alone was scarier. Having to navigate my way down the stairs, in the dark to go to the bathroom was terrifying. And after my fall, I preferred to stay in bed until I absolutely could no longer hold it in. But, I made messes on the wall. I wiped my hands on the walls. The wall was all a mess. Grandma was mad at mom because I made the mess and no one was watching or checking. There was a terrible mess on the wall and mom had to scrub it clean.

Not long after the fight that Mom and Grandma had, we moved out of a grandma and Grandpa’s house. That was the end of that roof over my head.

We moved into the Giant’s parents house. I would come to call them “Grandma and Grandpa”. We lived up in the attic rooms of their house. Mom and the Giant had one side of the attic and I had the room on the other side. The steps leading up to the attic rooms were high and steep. One morning, I slipped on the top step and rolled down the steps. The Giant had already started walking down ahead of me and when he heard me rolling down, he stopped and stopped me from rolling the rest of the way to the bottom, with his legs.

The Grandma and Grandpa were okay. I was a little afraid of the Grandma. She had a loud voice and yelled, it seemed like all the time. She’d come to tell me that that is just the way she talked. The Grandpa was not loud. He was a small man, but he always had this scowl on his face that made me a bit afraid to ask him anything or even be near.

Did I feel like I was part of the family? No. Not really. Not ever.

One year, there was a friend of the Grandma and Grandpa that came calling on a holiday. The Grandpa was so proud introducing Bridget. Bridget was the daughter of their only daughter Linda. I called her Aunt Linda. Bridget was her daughter, my “cousin”. Bridget was two years younger than me. Bridget had beautiful honey blond hair and perfect blue eyes. Bridget was perfect. His words were…… “Look at this one, (pointing his finger at Bridget) she’s my FIRST grandchild. Isn’t she beautiful ”. I was standing next to Bridget.

As young as I was, I had this funny feeling that I wasn’t really standing there at all, that I wasn’t really being seen, and I really wasn’t. So I stepped to the side and ever so slowly, backed out of the room. I wasn’t being seen. I came to understand that day that I wasn’t the first “born” grandchild. I wasn’t the first grandchild. I came to understand that day, that I wasn’t really anything worth any introduction.

There was Grandpa’s mother who came to visit rarely. I was glad for that. Nana Kaline. When she came I was always forced to go up to her and say hello. It’s a rule. “Give her a kiss, say “hello”. I could tell she would rather I not. After the hello, I disappeared into the background again. I don’t think she actually ever even looked at me. I just wasn’t there. Then there was Great Grandma Berger. That was Grandma‘s mother. She was a lovely lady. She had this huge hump on her back and walked with a gait because of the weight of it. She took time to look at me, to say “hello” to me and asked me questions like “how are you dear”. She was a person. She looked at me like I was a person too. She was not afraid to talk to me. She answered my questions. One day I asked her about the big lump on her back and she told me that when she was a young girl, she and her friends used to try and grab the back bumpers of passing cars and ride them on their heels. Skitching. That’s what they called the game. The last time or maybe it was the first and last time she tried to play the game, she faltered and it was a disaster. The accident left her terribly broken and the hump on her back would be the reminder of how fragile life could be and that she needed to love hers and live it humbly and not risk stupidness. I loved Great Grandma Berger.

I was not used to the foods they prepared and made me eat. I used to have to sit for hours at their table until “finish everything on your plate” was repeated like a hundred times. That was a rule. “Eat everything on your plate. There are starving children in Africa”. There were timers set on me and I had to finish my plate before the timer rang or I would be punished. They forced me to eat things I did not want or like. I cried all the time.

The big wooden spoon was the weapon of choice. Or the wall and you would not be allowed to sit, just face the wall.

I was left behind a year in school because I didn’t know English. I was not allowed to talk my native tongue. That was a rule too. I wasn’t allowed to speak it to my mother in Tagalog because Grandma thought I was talking bad about her. I learned English quickly enough.

On a cold night in December, I think it was night, we finally landed at JFK International Airport. Standing in this vast open room in the middle of the night, not a sole was around, well, maybe a few but certainly not many people were about. I hear yelling from high up above me and looking up, I see a small group yelling and waving down to us. The Giants family had come to meet us in the middle of the night and to welcome us to the US

It was a cold night and I’m sitting in the front seat of the car with my mother on the right and the Giant on my left. He was driving the car but he jumped out for a few quick minutes. He ran to the front of the car and bent low. He scooped up a hand full of white “cold” and formed a smooth ball with it. Mom and I sat watching him and then BOOM!!! He threw it at the window we were watching him through. It splatters all across the glass and he bends down to scoop up more and throws another one at the car. Snowballs. I giggle.

I remember my Lola, …….vaguely. I remember I felt warmth from her. I remember her smile for me.

I remember vaguely the Tenement Building I lived in with Lola.

I remember another girl who lived somewhere in the same Tenement Building. I remember being in her apartment one evening and I remember how she wanted me to kiss her like the grownups kiss. She tried showing me but I don’t think she thought I was doing it right. (Such a bizarre thing to remember)

I remember laying on the floor to sleep for the night with the Aunts. I remember seeing a few little flashing lights flying above me and I told one of the aunts that had been laying down close to me about seeing them and she told me that they were little luck dragons and that I should try and catch one and I would always have good luck. To this day I can still picture her having caught one and putting it into a cabinet that had a glass door and I remember seeing that little dragon glowing behind that glass door.

***** Many years later, I would take a nasty fall and as I got up from that fall, I saw stars floating about my head. Little flashing lights twinkling in and out and it dawned on me. They weren’t little luck dragons that my aunt said were flying about me!! They were stars from either having laid down too fast or they could have been just lightening bugs. In my minds eye, I still see the glowing little luck dragon behind that glass door of the cabinet.

I remember being brought down to the waters in the early morning light. Was it to fish? Was it to get cleaned up? That memory is so, so vague it could maybe just be a made up thing in my head, but the thought of that beautiful morning with the red/orange sun just starting to peek up from the water, it still makes me want to wake up very early some mornings to catch that early morning sun light.

I remember Aunt Josie yelling at me a lot. It made me feel like she didn’t like me all that much. And then I remember her sitting me down at a table and letting me have bread with sugar sprinkled on top and I thought maybe she does like me a little.

I remember a wonderful, fun afternoon with the grown ups having a massive water fight with buckets of water being thrown all around and at people. I remember the laughter of it. In my head, I can see a woman across the Tenements leaning over one of the balconies to throw a bucket of water down to the lower floor to drench someone below. I can almost feel the laughter I felt seeing it. It brings a smile to my face, that memory.

I remember one afternoon, making a circular turn around Aunt Cora. She had braided pigtails and I remember a whole bunch of people sitting and standing around her as she was kneeling on the rice covered ground. I remember she knelt on that rice for such a long time with her arms outstretched holding onto two lit candlesticks with the melting wax spilling over and onto the backs of her hands. I remember her looking straight ahead and at no one. She looked so strong, determined and as if in prayer but a tear was escaping down her right cheek. I remember thinking that it looked like some kind “right of passage” and thought to myself…. “ I hope I don’t have to do that ritual when I get to be her age”.

I remember a very gentle boy who made me laugh by attaching clothes pins to the top and bottom of his lips. He moved his lips and made clacking sounds with them. I wanted to try too but he said I would hurt myself and wouldn’t let me have them.

I remember this giant white man painting my little nails red. Why? I don’t know why. It’s such a strange memory.

I remember going to an office and sitting next to a man who had a little Monkey for a pet. I remember that little monkey making funny noises and hopping all about the man’s shoulders and the window behind him. I wanted a pet monkey too.

I remember skipping along in front of that giant white man and my mother up a ramp and I was happy. I remember skipping back down towards them because I wanted to have another one of those stick cookies he was eating but my mother gave me that look she gives me when I doing something she does not approve of. That looks always makes me back down. I just wanted another cookie but she quietly said to me, to let him have the last one. He didn’t understand that I had been yelled at to “not bother” him. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted another cookie or even offer up a piece of the last one to me or my mother. He just gobbled up that last one. I remember pouting and being mad.

I remember being on a plane going somewhere far far away. And then I don’t remember any of them anymore. I remember sitting for too long and I wanted to get up and run and walk and skip. I remember getting a pin of wings from PanAm Airlines.