Childhood
Paul Burlin was born Isadore Berlin to Jacob and Julia Berlin in 1886. The family name was originally Berlinsky. His father was from London. His mother from a small city in Northern Germany near the Polish border. Paul grew up in New York City and London, the oldest of three children. His sister, Carrie, was born in 1890, his brother, David, in 1895. Paul disliked the name Isadore, and stopped using it as soon as he could, when he left home at 16. He found it too painful to discuss his early years, and he refused to do so. Once on his own, he changed his name to Harry Paul Burlin. By 1911, Harry had become H. and by 1915 it was gone altogether. Paul had completely separated from his family and his past, and continued to be forward thinking his whole life.
Read more about this topic: Paul Burlin
Famous quotes containing the word childhood:
“It is not however, adulthood itself, but parenthood that forms the glass shroud of memory. For there is an interesting quirk in the memory of women. At 30, women see their adolescence quite clearly. At 30 a woman’s adolescence remains a facet fitting into her current self.... At 40, however, memories of adolescence are blurred. Women of this age look much more to their earlier childhood for memories of themselves and of their mothers. This links up to her typical parenting phase.”
—Terri Apter (20th century)
“Modern children were considerably less innocent than parents and the larger society supposed, and postmodern children are less competent than their parents and the society as a whole would like to believe. . . . The perception of childhood competence has shifted much of the responsibility for child protection and security from parents and society to children themselves.”
—David Elkind (20th century)
“Indeed, my mother’s beautiful face still shone with youthfulness that night when she so softly held my hands and sought to stop my tears; but, precisely, it seemed to me that this should not have happened, her anger would have saddened me less than this new sweetness that my childhood had never known; it seemed to me that, with a hidden and impious hand, I had just traced the first wrinkle and made appear the first grey hair in her soul.”
—Marcel Proust (1871–1922)