Thinking about childhood

I was born after my oldest brother, Arthur Paul, died. He was 17 when he came down with some kind of "blood poisoning" and was buried in 1938. My sister Imy always said I saved Mother's life. Apparently Mom rocked and grieved for much of that period until Sept. 5, 1940 when I was born, the sixth child, and unplanned, but the first born in a hospital. I don't have memory of the early years when we lived in Oakwood, then north of Danville. My memories start with the big old farmhouse south of Bismarck where Dad and Mom bought their first, and only, farm of their own. That 120-acres was meticulously cared for ... Dad was always weeding, even picking up twigs from the yard. Occasionally he would trust me to hoe the corn rows when I was older. I usually found a place to lay down and contemplate the sky. I loved to think about all the places I would go someday. An avid reader, I envisioned similar adventures filled with dashing, handsome men. My parents felt that what I did is what I kid should be doing ... playing and dreaming.

Raised alone since my brothers and sisters were grown, I was deliciously spoiled, but they didn't have a lot of money, so the spoiling was more in the permissions I enjoyed. I only remember being reprimanded by my Dad once. I was forbidden to ride my bike to visit the neighbor kids after supper, and sneaked away while they were playing cards with the parents of those kids. I don't think Dad raised his voice when he sent me to my room upon return. But I knew I'd done something wrong. 

Going to a two-room schoolhouse provided a sound basic education. If you didn't get it the first time around, you heard it again for three more years. My 8th grade class had 8 or 10 kids and we knew one another better than kids do in bigger schools. After WWII and the atomic bomb, people were afraid of the possibility of nuclear war. So many people built bomb shelters, or stored things in their cellars, hoping to survive attack. At school we were taught not only about tornados - go to the hallway, sit with your knees to your chin and cover your head – but in case of bombs, to take the first place to hide, under your desk. Now really, was that going to help? I think not. Of course we are still at risk of nuclear attack and terrorism, but I don't think people pay much attention anymore. I certainly never knew what alert we were under during the Bush years since 9/11. 

Our preacher was also my teacher, so I couldn't get by with too much mischief! Church was a big thing for us, and I tried to stay awake, even during revivals. Some of it stuck with me, because I was much more religiously inclined as a teenager ... but that's later. Little did I know that I was receiving more education than Mom and Dad had obtained growing up in Kentucky. But both were life-long learners, teaching themselves about the world and its people.

Horses were the best part of childhood for me. I'd always spent a lot of time pampering whatever animals we had, kittens with sore eyes, chickens, calves ... always knowing that the chickens and cattle were someday going to be supper. Ember was the name of my Tennessee Walker, and she loved me. We spent hours wandering around the countryside. Whenever my sisters and brothers would come with their kids, they begged for a ride. Ember was an angel with the kids, but she apparently thought adults were a nuisance and if the adult was inexperienced, all the better. One time my brother's wife rode her at an unplanned gallop around the pasture. I stood in the horse's path to prevent Ember from ramming the rider's leg into the door frame to her stall. I became interested in training horses, so Dad had Ember bred and a gorgeous filly, Flicka, was the result. Training her was not easy ... I had the bruises to prove it. One kick landed on my thigh leaving it black and blue from groin to knee for the summer. Bummer! 

Eventually, of course, I became more interested in boys than horses, and Dad sold the two mares. They ended up at a Kentucky horse farm.

The point is, my childhood was wonderful ... filled with the love of good parents and siblings who teased and taught me. Sure, I had the same uncertainties every child has. But love triumphed and their absolute belief in me made me who I am. 

I wish every child had that kind of home.