Tales of a Rebellious Introvert: The Early Years

I would never have used the word introvert to describe myself in my younger days.

But I completely understood why the term introvert applied and still applies to me. Though I like ambivert to define someone with an offbeat sense of humor, obscure interests, and who can rise to the occasion of dealing with people, if so called for, and enjoy the socializing as well.

My parents, and specifically my mom Lena, had different views on my interests, anxieties, and more importantly unwillingness to befriend many of the neighborhood kids in our upwardly mobile NYC burb — which was a breeding ground for a generation of mini-Trumps, but that is another story.

Circa late 1970s, I preferred to while away a summer afternoon reading the stories in Galaxy Magazine, finding refuge listening to records with a like-minded friend, or fine-tuning my erratic tennis game.

In retrospect, I should not have been too surprised that during a college break in my senior year or perhaps home for a weekend after starting my first job — my recollection is hazy — I was told I had to chat with a representative from something called the Dale Carnegie Institute. Lena thought this person would help improve my people skills. She fancied herself as something of a crafty charmer — sigh, she really wasn’t — and strongly felt I needed help in being more strategic with my relationships in the same way she was.