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Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

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Remembering My Dad

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This Father’s Day, my family will be celebrating my husband, who is an amazing father. But I will also be thinking about my father, who passed away four years ago.

A little about my dad …

My father was born in Budapest, Hungary in 1932. When the Nazis invaded Hungary in 1944, both his parents were taken to Auschwitz. He was interned in a ghetto and lived with an aunt and a cousin, surviving under the protection of Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg. His mother escaped during a death march, running away into the woods and eventually returned to Hungary. His father died at Auschwitz in the gas chambers.

My dad emigrated to Canada after the war ended with a group of Hungarian teens who had lost parents in the war–his mother eventually emigrated there, as well. He attended McGill University, met my mom who was visiting relatives in Montreal, and moved to New York when they married. He worked as an engineer and was able to get his Master’s degree from Columbia University at night.

Although the Holocaust certainly shaped my father, he tried hard not to let it define him and he rarely spoke of the atrocities he witnessed. He made sure to live life fully, enjoying good food, wine and music. He was quick to laugh, especially at his own brand of dad humor. My father embraced his adopted country and was deeply grateful for the freedoms and opportunities afforded him here.

Having been born in different countries and in different eras, my father and I saw things from different perspectives. He was a staunch Republican, whereas I am a liberal Democrat. When I was a little girl, he would take me into the voting booth with him and teach me the importance of voting, telling me how lucky we were to live in a democracy. I always vote and when I choose my candidates, I think of him.

Although I thought of my father as more of a math/science guy, he was also more than proficient in writing–in fact he was able to edit my essays in high school and correct my grammar–pretty impressive for someone whose first language was not English. He was my first Scrabble opponent–he never went easy on me. Although it took me two years to beat him, when I finally did, he was as excited as I was.

Despite losing his own father at a young age, my dad knew how to be a good father. He taught my brother and me how to ride a bike, fish, ice skate, swim and play chess, which was a passion of his. He got up in the middle of the night with me when I was sick and dried my tears when I cried—he couldn’t bear to see me sad. He taught me a lot about nurturing and made me feel safe. When he held me in the ocean when I was a little girl, I knew I would be protected against the crashing waves.

My father was thrilled to become a grandfather and was delighted to be able to attend all five of his grandsons’ bar mitzvahs. Although he was mostly confined to a wheelchair for my youngest son’s bar mitzvah, he did manage get up so that he could have one dance with me.

When he got sick with Parkinson’s disease, he rarely complained, accepting his fate with quiet grace and even humor. In fact, a few days before he died, a nurse asked him if he was comfortable, to which he replied, “I make a living.” And even in such a compromised state, he managed to chuckle.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my father’s thriftiness, which was legendary. If saving money were an Olympic sport, he would’ve been a gold medalist. He would turn off the air conditioner on summer nights and turn down the heat in the winter. To this day, when I leave a light on, I can hear his admonishment in my head. And every time I spend three dollars on my iced coffee, I am pretty sure he does a little roll in his grave.

I suppose that’s how it is with all the people we love. We never forget them or the things they taught us. We are reminded of them in the special moments and in the ordinary moments. They live on through the people they loved and who loved them back.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads who are with us and to those who live on in our hearts.

Meet a Local Alopecia Awareness Advocate

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Photo by Carolyn Simpson courtesy of Ali Lambert Voron

Ali Lambert Voron on How to Celebrate the Beauty of What Differentiates Us

Ali Lambert Voron of Briarcliff Manor is many things. She is a voiceover actress, motivational speaker, blogger, entrepreneur, philanthropist and a mother. She also happens to be bald. Yet, instead of allowing that single attribute to define her, Voron flipped the narrative and is redefining society’s views of “normal.” Through optimism, humor and a steadfast decision to be happy, she harnesses every challenge life presents, transforming them into opportunities.

Lean and long, with bright eyes and a warm smile, Voron’s captivating presence radiates both inner and outer beauty. From a young age, she found joy in spreading happiness and light, saying, “My mom always strived to make others smile, especially if she sensed they were in a bad mood. I inherited that. I had an amazing childhood. Then, I lost my hair.”

Redefining Normal

At the age of 16, Voron began noticing bald patches in her head. Those discoveries prompted a confusing journey of misdiagnoses including hair-pulling disorders, depression and the potential of lupus. Voron recalls, “I felt happy and didn’t think I was stressed, but then I began second guessing myself. When a dermatologist finally diagnosed me with alopecia areata, an autoimmune disease that results in hair loss everywhere on the body, it was almost a relief.”

With the support of her family, Voron met the diagnosis with what would become her trademark optimism. A variety of treatments including serums and topical injections were used that produced hair regrowth, but only temporarily. “The most insecure part for me,” she says, “was that I never actually imagined being bald. I thought I’d have patches, but that it would come back. I never foresaw what actually happened and over a period of a year, my hair got thinner and thinner until it eventually all fell out.”

Initially, Voron bought a wig, but that didn’t last long and she emerged from the experience stronger than she thought possible. She explains, “Wearing a wig just wasn’t me and it didn’t take long before I whipped it off for good. I realized that I wanted to be myself regardless of whether that broke social norms. Strangely, I almost viewed myself as lucky for having learned this valuable lesson early on.”

A Sense of Humor Helps

Losing her hair at such a formative time was not without challenges. The headmaster of the private school Voron attended encouraged her to run for president of the school, a recommendation Voron credits as a “true gift.” With guidance from her “very funny” parents, she launched into campaign mode and put together a slideshow of bald leaders who she hoped to emulate including Mahatma Gandhi, President Eisenhower and Mr. Clean since he is the “leader of household cleaning products.” She won the election and gained a valuable platform to prove that although she was different, she remained the same, explaining, “As president, you make speeches in front of existing and prospective students, alumni and parents regularly. I got to show my community and myself that I was okay–different, but normal and even a leader–and, I got that opportunity over and over again.”

A Cycle of Kindness

Her story gained traction and Jennifer Saltiel, a family friend and aspiring writer (coincidentally, also a current Chappaqua resident) reached out. The resulting article, No-Hair Day, was published in “Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul” as well as “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.” Voron began receiving letters in droves from people undergoing cancer treatment who were inspired to forgo their wigs to teenagers who were encouraged to look past their own insecurities. Voron says, “Those letters inspired me to realize how much we can help one another. I helped them and their outreach helped me. It was an amazing cycle.”

Years later, a chance meeting at the New Orleans’ Jazz Fest, introduced Voron to her husband. A fellow Philadelphia native, they had been orbiting one another for years, as his mother was even Voron’s second grade Hebrew school teacher. The first years of marriage would also show that they shared a strong sense of resilience. Voron explains, “I got very sick with ulcerative colitis in the beginning of our marriage. Autoimmune diseases like alopecia and colitis are closely genetically linked. I ultimately had my colon removed. Though I have no recollection, my parents reported that when I left the operating room, I raised my fist in the air and said, ‘the monster is out!’ At that same time, my husband’s mom died of brain cancer. Like my alopecia, these traumatic experiences made us stronger and taught us that we will emerge from the bad days to see the good ones.”

The Vorons have extended that philosophy to how they parent their children, ages three and six. Voron explains, “I love that my kids have a mom who looks different because it sends the message that it’s not just okay to be different–it’s cool. If you’re not different, you’re the same and that’s not exciting or special.” So, when Voron learned that a bald Bratz Doll hit the market, she naturally seized the opportunity.

The couple launched a grassroots effort, “Bald Dolls 4 Bald Kids.”

“I understand firsthand how having this doll would be so impactful, so it became my mission to get enough dolls to the National Alopecia Conference, a place where going wigless is the norm,” explained Voron. With only three weeks until the conference, armed with sheer will and energy, the Vorons raised $14K, enough money to provide dolls for every child in attendance at the event. The family maintains a small inventory of the dolls, which they distribute at intervals to children with cancer and alopecia.

A Path of Inspiration

Voron’s experiences have laid the foundation for living a life with a focus on kindness and empathy. “Initially, it bothered me that at least one person would approach me to ask about my hair daily, until my husband pointed that each of these people had their own story to tell. It literally changed my whole perspective. By simply giving them ten minutes, I was giving them an important gift. Now, I go through my day wondering how I can help that random stranger. You can let something destroy you and crumble into a ball or you can make the decision to not allow that. That’s an empowering concept and it’s my privilege to share it.” And, Voron spreads that message, proudly embracing her differences as what makes her special as she inspires everyone in her path to do the same.

“If It’s Not One Thing…”

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(L-R): Don Rosenstein, MD and Justin Yopp, PhD Authors of The Group
PHOTO COURTESY of UNC Lineberger Comprehensive Cancer Center

How Programming at Gilda’s Club Helps Those Affected By Cancer

Gilda Radner, and her much-beloved Saturday Night Live comedic characters such as Roseanne Roseannadanna, kept audiences in stitches from the mid-1970s through the actress’s untimely death from ovarian cancer in 1989. Laughter is a gift, and Radner gave most generously. It is in that spirit of giving, and to honor her personal wish that information about her illness be shared to help others fighting cancer, that her husband, Gene Wilder, helped establish Gilda’s Club.

Gilda’s Club is a national network of 22 “clubhouses” dedicated to helping all people living with cancer– patients, their families and friends–free of any financial charges, ongoing obligations or commitments. Local affiliate, Gilda’s Club Westchester*, has welcomed and supported individuals and families in its warmly inviting White Plains clubhouse since opening its signature red doors in 2001.

Help for Bereaving Parents

While Gilda’s Club has a full calendar of regular and ongoing classes, support groups and events, there are often special events as well. And, it’s worth noting, many of these are open to the public without any need of Club Membership. In fact, this coming Monday, April 22nd, from 6 – 7:30 p.m., Gilda’s Club Westchester in partnership with the Bereavement Center of Westchester is hosting a Special Bereavement Parenting Workshop. The workshop will be led by clinical psychologist Dr. Justin Yopp, PhD and psychiatrist Dr. Donald Rosenstein, MD, authors of The Group: Seven Widowed Fathers Reimagine Life and co-founders of The Widowed Parent Project.

The Widowed Parent Project began in 2010 with a support group for fathers who had lost their spouses to cancer. From that small original group of widowed men to research that involved more than 400 fathers, to its current commitment to supporting widowed mothers and fathers, the Project is part of the Comprehensive Cancer Support Program at the North Carolina Cancer Hospital and Lineberger Comprehensive Cancer Center of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

The highly anticipated evening event is for “parents who have lost a partner to cancer and struggle with experiencing loss as they continue their role as a sole parent.” Yopp and Rosenstein will share their experiences in supporting both widowed fathers and mothers, and provide additional methods for coping with loss of any kind. Children of attendees are invited to come along, and to participate in a concurrent social program facilitated by a professional from Gilda’s Club Westchester’s Children Teens and Families group. Copies of Yopp and Rosenstein’s book will be available for purchase (with all proceeds going to the Widowed Parent Project) and light refreshments will be served.

New Off-Site Cancer Support Group in Northern Westchester

As busy and wonderful as the White Plains clubhouse and its many free programs are and continue to be, Gilda’s Club Westchester’s Director of Clinical Partnerships, Christine Speck, points out that the club’s proximity to people in need can be a deciding factor in determining membership and usage. “Time management is a big part of cancer treatment”, says Speck. Patients have various doctor visits, treatment visits, and also recovery times when they’re just too tired to go anywhere. There’s a lot to consider. Therefore, Speck and her colleague, Programming Manager Debbie Vincent, LMSW, are very excited to announce a new off-site initiative, the Living with Cancer Support Group, especially intended for people in northern Westchester.

Held at the newly renovated Bedford Playhouse, the Group will meet every second and fourth Wednesday from 10–11:30 a.m. beginning in April. It’s worth noting that the Bedford Playhouse is more than a comfortable, convenient locale; it was here that a preview of the thoughtful and moving Gilda Radner documentary, Love, Gilda was screened to great acclaim. The Group “will encourage discussion of personal experiences as well as provide ongoing exploration of emotional and social concerns, while dispensing wisdom and practical advice.” It is open to anyone in active treatment, including those who are not Gilda’s Club Members. Those interested need only sign up ahead of time.

*For further information, please visit Gilda’s Club Westchester website: www.gildasclubwestchester.org

My Idea of Beauty at 19 and Now

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Author and his wife Laurie

It was the late 1980’s and a Grateful Dead cover band was playing it hot at a local college bar. Across the room I saw her. A classic Deadhead chick in faded jeans and a tie-dye, covered with a loose peasant blouse. She was balancing a beer in a plastic cup while un-self-consciously bopping to the music. To say she was an enticing vision would be an understated lie. She was just outstanding. At 19, I probably fell in love at least twice a week but this moment stood out. I was not the type to approach a girl in a bar and I may have stared a little too intently but it definitely felt like lightning had struck.

As it turned out I eventually got to know this stunning hippy girl, just a little, and away from that moment in time the magic was gone. She was sweet and cute but there was no connection. In retrospect that moment at the bar, aside from my unwieldy 19-year-old ardor, was a great summation of my understandably naïve take on beauty.

Back then I was limited in my perception of so many things. If I were to consider my opinion of what was beautiful at that time it would now seem dated and superficial. I’ll present here, embarrassing as it may be, what might have been my vision of an ideal evening at that time even if it was, in reality, completely out of reach. I’d pick up my date (picture the hippy chick above but really into me) in my new red Porsche 944 (one of the company’s few failed models), we’d have a fine meal at TGI-Friday’s (who knew mozzarella could be deep-fried!) and then we’d head off to the movies to see the latest John Hughes teen angst flick (to this day I still don’t quite understand Eric Stoltz’s big plan in “Some Kind of Wonderful”). I know. This scenario is not appealing.

Cut to 2019 and the world is spinning wildly out of control and we the people are divided. Social media is pervasive and invasive and we’re clearly, as a society, moving forward into unchartered territory in so many ways. As for me, I’m as immersed in the chaos as anyone else but I endure and now I believe, I have a more credible and learned perspective on the subject of what constitutes beauty.

I can now see beauty in so many things that had been inconceivable to me when I was a younger man. Obviously, watching our children grow and evolve is a no-brainer but is also a profound movement away from inherent pre-kids self-absorption. Having worked for many years, I now recognize the allure of someone doing a job, any job, with commitment, honor and excellence. I’ve been fortunate enough to have unexpected friendships that make life more fulfilling and fun. I’m also lucky to still be able to compete athletically at sports I loved as a child. Not to mention the pleasure of good food be it a bacon and egg on a roll or fresh summer peach.

I can now see beauty in so many things that had been inconceivable to me when I was a younger man.

Undoubtedly, the most consistent and important aspect of beauty I’ve been fortunate to be exposed to is my wife. Laurie is the embodiment of gorgeous both physically and spiritually. I’ve known her a long time and am completely secure in our relationship yet I still have moments where I shake my head and say, “How the hell did I achieve this”? On a typical morning, she’ll get dressed for work and ask me how she looks. This daily exchange has occurred for years. My first instinct is usually to say “beautiful” because that’s the truth. However, I usually choose a more work-setting appropriate adjective. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I look forward to that interaction every day.

Way back, at 19, I had another one of those memorable moments not unlike at the bar with the Deadhead chick. A lovely girl pulled up in a funky orange European car wearing a red-sweater and blue jeans. She had stunning coffee-colored eyes that matched her long hair. My heart fluttered a bit as I caught sight of this beautiful young woman. It was years later that we got to know each other well. Of course, it was Laurie and the lesson I’ve learned is that true beauty can even transcend the naivete of youth.

Snow Days Bring Winter Warmth and Community Bonding

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As my feet came out from under me and I started to fall backwards on the front stoop of my house the first thing I noticed was that time had started moving very slowly. My next thought was that this was not a good situation as I saw my unlaced sneakered feet elevate above the rest of me and found myself twisting slightly as my skull approached the waiting hard-brick top step. I didn’t feel panicked but was aware that there was something ridiculous about braining myself first thing in the morning while still in a bathrobe. Astoundingly, my body landed across the steps, as it would turn out, relatively unharmed. My head was the last body part to land and with acute clarity I felt it connect with the rock-hard surface about as gently as imaginable. As I lay there doing a toes to forehead assessment of any physical damage one thought crept through–I should have used more salt!

There are a myriad of realities to living in the snow-belt that is Westchester County north of 287. Better have all-wheel drive. A generator? Not a bad idea. Plow guy seems expensive and wakes your neighbors at 3 a.m. as they’ve communicated through strongly worded notes taped to your door? It’s still better than you shoveling the large wet snow-filled driveway and unwittingly flirting with your first heart-attack. May it only be mild.

The other big figurative snow-balls to contend with are the incessant snow days. In the past when the phone rang at 5 a.m. it was usually serious business. A health scare or worse. Fortunately, those shock-inducing calls were exceedingly rare. However, present day, anytime there is a hint of snow in the forecast you can expect the phone to ring at that same ungodly hour.

At best a two hour delay. Many of these calls result in full, no school, snow days. Which translates to no school for Bella and a day of professional productivity and otherwise being abruptly obliterated by a robo-call.

One morning early last winter the phone rang early and my wife dutifully answered it. I could tell by her expression that this was not going to be a two-hour delay. Outside the snow was steadily wafting downward and absolutely sticking. Ugh. I can’t recall specifically what I wouldn’t be accomplishing that day but I do remember being irritated that the heaven’s and Board of Education were annihilating my day.

Like any modern middle-aged man of responsibility I took my concerns to social media. The Facebook post went like this:

Like most kids I used to long for snow days which seemed exceedingly rare and elusive. The thought of sled-riding, pick-up snow football and a variety of potential misadventures all while not having to go to school made these days unbearably wonderful. Now, cynical and grizzled from life, I dread snow days like a looming medical procedure. There’s some kind of lesson here but I’m too engaged in my irritation to pursue it.

The comments and likes came quickly from friends, people I barely knew in high school and random acquaintances. The overwhelming theme was that I should stop being a snow-grinch and embrace the situation and the serendipitous opportunity of an unplanned day with my family.

So I did.

Laurie, Bella and I bundled up and headed up the cul-de-sac to see what was happening. It wasn’t crazy cold out nor windy so the little neighborhood hike would be not a frozen bummer. The fluffy snow was accumulating on massive pine trees and looked absolutely beautiful. Like a work of art. If you stood still you could hear the snow coming down relentless but gentle.

I did avoid one persnickety neighbor but after that it was like we walked on to the set of “It’s A Wonderful Life” (the happy part) and I was Jimmy Stewart reveling in the beauty of what’s all around me but often unappreciated.  There are kids sled-riding. The smell of a burning fire-place and smoke rising from an old stone chimney. We’re hugging neighbors and sincerely wondering why we haven’t seen each other for months. I joined a group pushing out a rear-wheel drive car stuck in the snow with gloved high-fives all around once the tires found firm footing.

As we looped back to our yellow house I couldn’t help but think of the contrast of how I felt before the walk and after. Through the simple act of a winter stroll I remembered the feeling of community that something like a snow day elicits. And, the winters here while challenging are most definitely communally persevered. It’s a long haul from start to finish but we all go through it and come out the other side ready for a beautiful spring.