Mrs. Toman

I lived in my first off-base housing, in the suburbs of Washington D.C., after my father was transferred from Ramstein, Germany to Andrews Air Force Base. It was the early 1960s and a time when only a small percentage of moms worked outside of the home, so besides riding bikes and playing endless outdoor games, children spent a lot of time in and out of each other's houses. Neighbors intentionally got to know neighbors.

The Toman family lived next door and one of their four children was a daughter, my age. Debbie turned out to be kind and dependable and we had lots of shared interests. As you might expect, she and I became good friends and spent much of our after-school time together.

From early on, I felt very welcome in the Toman house. I was a bit mesmerized by the hustle and bustle that went on in a big family and I think Mrs. Toman recognized that fact. She was a natural nurturer and it wasn't long before I felt she genuinely cared about me.  She often invited me to stay for dinner when she served her infamous Pasta Fazool and I occasionally attended Mount Calvary Church, with them, on Sundays. My family was not Catholic so the details, customs, and  gestures of Mass were unfamiliar to me but I loved the beauty of the interior of the church (I've often wondered if it reminded me of the many cathedrals we had visited in Europe) and the way the parishioners appeared to care for each other. I especially loved the little lace mantilla that Mrs. Toman would pin to my hair before we all piled into the car to head to services on a Sunday morning.

I have so many wonderful memories of Debbie and her family but there is one specific interaction, with her mom,  that will always remain near and dear to my heart. It exemplifies the kind of woman she was and the unique relationship we shared.

One day, after lamenting to Mrs. Toman,  that I didn't have enough money to buy Mattel's Chatty Baby Doll, (my mother had told me that I could wait for my birthday, or Christmas, or spend my own money) Mrs. Toman hired me, for 25 cents a day, to be her maid.

Chatty Baby was 18" tall and was a pull-string talker.

Regular household tasks are always more exciting at someone  else's house and my talkative nature never seemed to bother Mrs. Toman, so together we  folded clothes, washed and dried dishes, and matched socks. I have no recollection of how long I worked for her but the time seemed to fly and I did eventaully earn enough money to purchase Chatty Baby. Without doubt, the recollections of those "working days" are stronger than the memories of the times I spent caring for Chatty Baby.

It has been said that childhood memories "carve our souls."  Mrs. Toman helped to shape my soul...my  sense of self. She conveyed to me, in ways more important than words, that I was a valuable little human being. She had more than enough children (there were eventually five Toman children) to fill her heart, her hands, and her time. Yet, she found time to communicate I was important to her. She found time to spend valuable moments with me. Her memory and those moments will remain with me, forever.

Dave and Helen Toman in 2000.
I received this photo, in a card, signed "Mom Toman"

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Do you have someone, from your childhood, who you consider helped to shape who you have become? Perhaps it's a good friend's parent or sibling?  Perhaps a teacher or a coach?  Take a moment to reflect on those positive childhood memories and see if a special person doesn't come to mind. Then, send that person a note letting them know those old memories still hold a special place in your heart. I promise it will be a special moment for both of you. I'd love to hear about it.

                                                    Go the extra mile - it's never crowded.