San Francisco – Page 4

Yesterday’s heroes (and a prison pen pal)

Published by Anna Pirhana on February 27, 2014

Bertha, the craziest friend from my childhood, once introduced me to Tanya, the only child of a very wealthy lawyer couple that had an apartment in a Pacific Heights skyrise and a home in Atherton. Tanya walked around clutching Bay City Roller albums and had sewn plaid onto the bottom hems of her flooded semi-bell bottom pants. She was the first autograph chaser of my acquaintance, and her quiet demeanor hid a rather crafty streak that plotted out times, dates and ways to meet her favorite teeny-bopper idol. Tanya was also skilled at meeting other teenaged autograph hunters, and they would plot their strategy to recognize and corner a famous person. Her plans, of course, always worked.

San Francisco Stories: Julie, do you love me?

Published by Anna Pirhana on February 26, 2014

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9FYD1dlw4E

When our family moved from the Western Addition to the more sedate Richmond District, I made my first best-friend-for-the-summer after I stole her little brother’s Hot Wheel car as we played on the front steps. Julie, a lithe blonde haired/blue eyed girl who was so unlike anyone from my old African American neighborhood or my Japanese American Catholic School, asked me why I stole her brother’s car. With no valid excuse to offer, I surrendered the car over to Julie. We continued to play together until the evening, then began again the next morning.

I prefer my father Batman dancing

Published by Anna Pirhana on February 10, 2014

There are very few childhood memories of my father, a man who was already rushing towards old age by the time I was born. At 50, he was already overweight, working the graveyard shift at the old Joseph Magnin department store in San Francisco. He was always asleep by the time I got home from school, and I was ready for bed by the time he was getting ready for work.

Shiny shoes

Published by Anna Pirhana on February 3, 2014

On Sunday early afternoons along San Francisco’s south of Market behind the Emporium, the bars open early enough to let in all the Saturday night drunks. That is the only sign of cognizant life until you get to the little corner shoe store, where boxes of poorly made girls footwear line a long table. My father came here armed with $20 and orders from my mother to find my next pair of school shoes, and he held my hand steady as I peered on tip toes to see rows of shiny black shoes, all with goldish buckles.

Rattling Miss Manners (virtually)

Published by Anna Pirhana on April 29, 2013

Sitting at the Montgomery/Market Starbucks at a cold 7 a.m., I asked the technie at an adjacent table if he was using the extra chairs. He was alone, intimate with his laptop while sipping on his coffee. Without looking up at me, he curtly replied, “Yes, I am using it.”