Even as we watched, we understood why our mother hated it

G

rowing up secular in the 1980s, every house (and sometimes every room) boasted a television set. Except ours. My mom, a single mother and the quintessential Jewish Mamma, refused to own a TV because she believed it dulled the brain. Nothing was going to interfere with the success of her precious progeny — both of us geniuses, no doubt.

So my older sister and I read books (a lot of them). We listened to stories on tape. We played Monopoly, Stratego, Uno, and Mancala. We built forts. We wrestled on our mother’s big bed and played tickle torture so many times that by the age of 12, I’d trained myself to remain still and serene even with my sister tickling my toes.

My mother didn’t have much, but she wanted to give us the world. So in lieu of a TV screen, she opened her home and let us invite friends over after school every single afternoon. With one friend, I amassed an enormous collection of pretty buttons and other random objects. I convinced another friend to secretly bring over her Barbie collection — that was another item forbidden by mother.