To Have Not
By Frances Lefkowitz
Intelligent. Well crafted. Honest. These are the words that come to mind when I think of Frances Lefkowitz's memoir, To Have Not. The book chronicles her years growing up in poverty in San Francisco, her experiences as a scholarship student at Brown University and her subsequent journey into adulthood. This is a tough story. It's not one of those this-is-what-happened-and-this-is-how-I-overcame-it-and-everything's-just-peachy-now stories. But neither is it one that wallows in pain. Lefkowitz was resourceful from an early age and was never inclined to act like a victim.
For example, when Lefkowitz was nine years old, her family was evicted because the building where they'd lived for several years was sold and the new owner wanted to move into the flat they'd been calling home. On moving day, her father was becoming increasingly impatient double parked outside, and her timid mother was flummoxed. "When Dad gets mad, Mom gets flustered," Lefkowitz wrote. "She moves faster, but she accomplishes less. To preserve some sort of peace, I've got to get boxes packed and down the stairs. 'Just shove that stuff in there, Mom,' I say, piling plates into a box." So, while still in grammar school, Lefkowitz was taking charge, doing what her mother was incapable of doing.
I moved to San Francisco as a young adult in the mid-1970s, when Lefkowitz was in middle school, and I didn't interact much with parents and children until I became a parent myself about a decade later. I recall in one rag-tag household I joined for a while, my roommates and I would cringe every evening just after dinner because the father of a family living nearby beat his children, and their screams permeated the evening fog. I had come to San Francisco, in part, to leave a painful childhood far behind, yet there right on the block was the painful present of another family. I hadn't a clue what to do. Lefkowitz wasn't beaten by her parents, but they were too immersed in their own struggles and pursuits to provide a stable home with food on the table, clean clothes, guidance--all of the things responsible parents should provide.
That Lefkowitz made the very most of what she had and became an accomplished and wise adult is a testament to her fighting and winning spirit. And now, whenever I visit San Francisco and pass a place where I once lived, I will recall some the experiences I had there, but I'll also be acutely aware of the children in need who lived just beyond my reach. And this, I believe, is a good thing. I highly recommend this book.
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