My first memory is from about three weeks after my third birthday. It must of been on February 20, 1953...give or take a day. Everything prior to that was apparently uneventful. Copasetic. At the time we lived in a small house...just blocks from the house I was to raise my family in about twenty years later...give or take a year. West Division. I think it was probably West Division all through time. Or, when out of Marine city limits, it became Route 143.
Living there in the early '50's must of been idyllic. I have no idea what the population of the town was then, but by 2000, according to the census, it was only 910. During this timeframe my dad was building a gas station next door, which leads to my second memory. More about that in a moment.
First memory. The living room. Small and dark. It was day time because there was a window letting in a few rays of sunlight. Furniture? I'm sure there was a couch. I remember a chair. I think. But, what I clearly remember is my mother standing in the middle of this room. Looking tired and disheveled. Hair not quite as coiffed as normal. Face looking pale. Tired. She was wearing a navy dress with white polka-dots. And in her arms she held a tightly wrapped bundle. A baby. My little brother, Lonnie.
My little world was forever changed. I was no longer the baby. I was now the big sister. Who saw that coming? No one asked me my opinion on this whole subject. I was not consulted. This role was thrust upon me. But, none the less, there I was. Loving my little brother.
Apparently is wasn't exactly love at first sight on my end. I was found a few days later stretching my chubby little arms through the crib slats, attempting to cram my stuffed bunny's ear down his throat. Did I plan and plot this devious act? Waiting for the opportune moment? Or, did I simply see my chance and jump on it? Either way, I had a purpose. I wanted my perfect pre-baby world back.
The second memory I spoke about? It had to do with the construction of the gas station. I feel this probably occurred shortly after the arrival of baby brother. Mom was probably too busy with him to worry about, or even think about getting shoes on my feet. I'm sure I looked upon it as an opportunity that didn't happen everyday. I remember running in my bare feet across the parking lot to visit my dad. Just happy as a lark that it was possible.
I don't think he shared in my joy. I got a stiff scolding from him for running without shoes through the broken glass, nails, wood and debris from the construction site, as he picked me up and carried me home.
A scolding was the most severe discipline I ever received from him. I don't ever recall him spanking me. And this was during a time when it was politically correct...even encouraged, to do so. Truly, I know that if he were to ever spanked me, it really would of hurt him more than it did me.
I love this! Hooray, memories!!! You were suuuuuch a cute little kid, i can see your chubby 3 year old self running thru that lot. I'm glad Grandpa didn't spank you. That was rare and VERY ahead of his time. He was a kind man :*)
ReplyDeleteI can't wait to hear more!
Nik, glad you like the beginnings of my memoirs! They shall be scattered in a hodge podge sort of mix. As I don't remember in chronological order.
ReplyDeleteAnd Dad was kind, and certainly ahead of his time. I know that kind streak ran straight to you and J.