Aubrey Milunsky

On an unlikely street, Cinderella, in a less likely town, Florida, I spent my childhood in this now infamous apartheid country, South Africa. 

My parents, Harry and Janie, with Lithuanian lineage, did all they could with their then meager means.  My father, an escapee from the Czar’s conscription order, with the help of a relative, opened and ran a small corner grocery store in which my mother spent years by his side, standing all day.  I worked there every Saturday and holidays, gaining considerable insight into the frailties and foibles of the human condition. 

Nights my mother spent knitting, sewing clothes for us children. Forced to leave school after the eighth grade to help her parents, she was nevertheless regarded as the brightest of her six siblings. 

As I ended primary school, she took, for me, a life-affecting decision. 

She cajoled a pharmacist nephew to permit the use of his address as my permanent residence for my application to an elite boys high school. Acting against the school rules, which required residency in close proximity to the school, he gracefully permitted the use of his address. That simple act led to my acceptance in that school and later to medical school.

Some 64-years ago, when I made a university tennis team, my mother knitted this jersey with university colors.  I still wear it for tennis every spring and fall, but I remember her with love no matter the season.