Nostalgia by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I am on the spectrum, as such I have always had trouble when other people get facts wrong. (I have been berated often for correcting people and can think of once or twice when I had to bite my tongue at church because someone got a Bible fact wrong.)

That said, I refuse to bite my tongue this time.

Lately, I’ve seen a ton of posts about how kids were allowed to roam all over town in the 60s, 70s, and the 80s, and didn’t have to be home until the streetlights came on. Um, the 60s and 70s absolutely, but not the 80s. By the 80s there was too many child abductions, too many child murders.

I know this because I lived it.

Did I wander around the neighborhood and even the town until dark? Heck, considering how soon it gets dark around here during the fall and winter, I stayed out until after dark! I mean what kind of kid wants to call it a night at 4:30 or 5 in the evening if they don’t have to? And we didn’t have to.

Admittedly a lot of our friends did, but most of them had stay-at-home moms fixing meals they were expected to show up for and eat. But back in the early 70s, the number of single moms was clearly the minority in the neighborhood.

By 1975, when the oldest of our half brothers was born, single moms had become common enough that the term latchkey children came into use and school districts all around the country were instituting after school programs to “help” those single moms and eliminate those latchkey children.

Konnie and I, as well as our older sister and the oldest of our brothers (the only full brother) were all latchkey children. Ben never was.

Our youngest brother came along in 79 and our oldest niece came in 80, and neither of them were ever left without supervision because long before they came along the news was full of stories of kids being abducted, abused, and murdered.

Actually, the last time I went trick or treating as a child was 1973. And even then, that year there were warnings against kids entering homes of people they didn’t know. (We were told not to enter any stranger’s homes, but we were not told to only go to the homes of people we knew well.) And still the news after Halloween was of kids finding razor blades or needles in their apples.

When Halloween 1974 came some nutcase has threatened to poison candy all over the country, and most people found alternatives to going door to door as well as insisted on giving out only individually wrapped store bought candy.

Nothing homemade and no fresh or candied apples.

Also, hospitals were allowing kids to bring their loot in to have it X-rayed for metal, while parents were told to inspect all pieces of candy for damage to the wrapper, and throw out anything with damaged wrappers.

The world had become a scary place for kids. That was sure, but the 80s had gotten worse. By 1981, I went with our stepmother (I think Konnie went too) to the local elementary school to get McGruff Identikits for Ben, Dan, and Patty and fill them out. That’s how bad the child abduction problem was. Schools were giving out special kits to store a current picture, description, and even a lock of hair of each child. They also had fingerprinting, which is why the little ones went with us.

So, I promise that kids were not allowed to wander the neighborhood unsupervised in the 80s, at least not like when we were younger.

I mean I remember at 12 riding my bike across town, entering the BAR where our mother worked, and got some cash off her then went to the theater up the street and watched a movie that gave me nightmares for weeks. All by myself.

Actually, that was only about halfway across town, I more often road all the way to the pool, which was clear across town.

From when we were 12 on, I don’t remember once having a babysitter, and well, even before that, we played outside with the babysitter’s boys until well after dark most nights, and only part of the time was their daddy playing with us when we were out there.

Today, a 12 year old wouldn’t be allowed to go trick or treating without adult supervision. In 1973 the oldest kid in our group was 12, and the youngest was like 7, and yet we went without adult supervision.

So, I promise, kids did not get to wander free in the 80s, at least not as free as we wandered in the 70s.

Anyway, happy writing everyone.

Of Memories and Birthdays by Konnie Enos

Recently, I saw an article about the events in our life that we remember clearly even as we age. The point of the article was the more things we remember clearly, the better our memory is overall.

Now I think I have a pretty good memory, and I remember a lot of events from my childhood at least vaguely. Though, I expected to the article to mention specific national news events which most people who lived through them will remember.

Things like the moon landing, walking on the moon. I know it happened, but I have no actual memories of watching it on TV. Though I have to admit I was still pretty young at the time. I was even younger when the Cuban Missile Crisis and JFK’s assassination occurred, so I have no memory of either event.

Though the events in the article were mentioned in broader terms and were personal events rather than national news. Things like the first day of school. Your best friend from grade school. Your first date or kiss.

I have no memory of going to school on my first day of school, it made no impression on me. I do remember our first teacher constantly telling me I was picking up my writing implement with the wrong hand, a lot. I finally learned to only use my right hand for that activity. Of course, I also remember all my teachers complaining about my sloppy handwriting. That is until I started spending my summers filling every leftover notebook I could find practicing my penmanship. (All this was before I figured out that I should have been using my left hand all along.)

As for best friends, we moved so frequently and changed schools so often that I can barely name three friends from grade school. Though one of those I only remember his face and first name. One was actually Bonnie’s friend and again only her first name. The third? I was twelve when we met, so far easier to remember. I also still remember my best friend from 8^th grade, but we’re also still in touch and both grandmas now.

I do remember my first date, even the movies we saw. Song of the South and The Aristocats. I also remember my younger brother watching us and my date disappearing halfway through the first movie. I found him talking to my brother and sister. After I joined them there, he disappeared entirely. Just left. His mom was supposed to give me a lift home, but he was already long gone. I had to go home with my brother and sister, but I don’t remember if Momma picked us up or her husband at the time. That was the last date I had until I was in college so remembering my first kiss was even easier.

The events I remember the clearest are the ones that made the biggest impression on me. I vaguely remember inviting friends to our 8^th birthday party. The party itself is far more memorable since it turned into something of a block party. It was the largest party we ever had.

I also remember our infamous 6^th birthday. From the plants falling on me to Bonnie opening two of everything.

The article also mentioned the Bicentennial and I do remember snippets of those events. Parts of the parade and the party in Ross Park, but I did turn 14 that weekend.

There were other things mentioned in the article that didn’t bring any memory for me, not even the events I knew had to have happened at some point in my life. They just didn’t make a lasting impression on me.

So according to that article, my memory isn’t that good. But I beg to differ. Most of the specific memories they mentioned did not make a lasting impression on me, but I do have lasting memories, some from when I was no more than three years old. True, the older ones are just snippets here and there and the details, names, dates, etc. are vague. The feelings are not through, I remember those. The stronger the feelings from the event, the more likely I am to remember more details.

Things like seeing Grandpa Westover for the last time or waking up Christmas morning with strangers in a strange house. (Both happened before I was five.)

But being the first week of September, and so close after Labor Day, the one memory that I’m thinking about today is the one I so eloquently spoke of in my post of September 2017 “Of Holidays and Other Memories”. And today just happens to be the date Labor Day fell on that year. So 46^th Happy Birthday, Dan.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Of Memory, Memories and Allergies by Konnie Enos

I had all these plans and ideas for my post this week.

There’s the conversation with Jerry that I thought was funny. You know the one I forgot to record in any fashion that has since been changed out of my retrievable memory.

Then there is the funny interaction I had with Royce. Still funny. What it boils down to is his description of what a shawl is. He called it a fancy blanket. I understand why he said that. I crocheted both my shawl and my Afghan, they both are to keep me warm, and I doubt he’s noticed that they are different shapes.

I, however, didn’t write that one down either because I had to take Mable to the vet. Saturday was just a normal recheck of her bloodwork visit but they asked us to bring her back on Sunday. Not because her bloodwork was off, but because they were concerned about some changes we are seeing in her. They did some x-rays and what they could see just tells us that Mable is on her last leg. As far as we know, she’s 12 now, but that’s because she was a mature dog when the shelter got her. Veterinarians can distinguish puppies and dogs up to six years and after that, it’s harder to tell. She was mature, i.e.: at least six, when the shelter found her. She could be much older than that and is showing signs of dementia.

All in all, it means we may not have Mable much longer. But then it was almost 2 years ago when they told us her liver wasn’t functioning well and she didn’t have long left. So it’s just wait and see now.

Then Monday, Royce’s birthday, we had the wonderful event of my daughter bringing her daughters (and husband) for a visit. During this visit, someone prompted my oldest granddaughter to wish her Uncle Royce a happy birthday. She immediately responded by singing the birthday song to him.

It was beautiful. Especially since she is old enough to pronounce all the words. Not to mention young enough to be adorable doing it. Then as we were giving him his presents and cutting the cake I asked her to lead us in singing to her youngest uncle again. She happily complied. Stole the show from Royce, but I don’t care. I don’t think Royce did either.

I doubt she’ll remember it for long. Not only because of how young she is but also because I think she was more impressed that we had watermelon on the table. I don’t think she even batted an eye at the home-made pizza and cake, or the ice cream.

Then again, she’s a bit dog crazy so being in a house with five dogs to lavish some attention was a big draw for her. Unfortunately for her, all are dogs are older and the only one still young enough to give some exuberant attention was still recovering from minor surgery. Before she’d been here an hour, they were all avoiding her. Well except the biggest one, which she only saw through my bedroom window.

And at that point, I was still remembering I had a post to write. Though first I had to deal with getting some bills paid since it is the beginning of the month. So yesterday, while mauling over exactly what I’d write, I spent most of the day dealing with the bills. Then, even when I’d finished that task, I still wasn’t quite sure what to write.

However, I think what messed me up is I completely forgot to set an alarm for earlier than I usually get up so that I’d have time to get something written. So this morning, after my alarm had startled me awake, and after I’d made sure both Mable and Xavier had their morning meds, and while I was still groggy, I suddenly realized I had a post to write and only an hour in which to do so and get it posted.

Funny how deadlines can wake you up. And sometimes even stimulate the muse.

And I think I can blame my still being a bit sleepy because Friday I came in contact with something I’m reacting to. It’s not anaphylaxis so I’m just treating it with Zyrtec and Benadryl. But we all know Benadryl can put you to sleep. I took some last night and within thirty minutes I was barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to prepare for bed.

So while I’ve had a few things happen this last week, I’m going to blame my lack of energy on my allergic reaction and the treatment available to me. It is also the reason my post is up late.

How are things going for you?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. 

Of Late Nights and Memories by Konnie Enos

 Okay, confession time.

I spent so much time and effort studying for my finals this week that I forgot I still had a post to write, even though it was on my to-do list for Tuesday. Only after I was getting ready for bed did I realize that I hadn’t done that one very important task yet.

Now what? At this point, it was past midnight and I absolutely need my rest so I could do well on the two tests I still needed to get done. But, since I hadn’t forewarned Bonnie, I also had to get a post written.

Conundrum.

I still had no clue what to write about. In fact, I’d been having difficulty putting two words together in coherent thought since I was told the oldest of our brothers had passed away. Keep in mind that while he is the oldest boy, he isn’t the oldest child. He’s younger than all three of us sisters (me, Bonnie, and our older sister).

So, with my thoughts fully on my brother, I suppose he will be the topic today.

One of my clearest memories of him was when I was eight and out in our front yard playing. When to my astonishment Bryon came riding down the street on our mother’s bike.

This was a full-sized women’s bike and Bryon was at most 7-years-old, and he wasn’t big for his age. He couldn’t even reach the pedals if he was sitting on the seat at its lowest position. So instead of trying to ride it while sitting, he was standing on the pedals while he rode around.

It blew me away. He was the youngest of us and the first one to figure out balancing on a bike. Over the next four years, both Bonnie and Jacki learned how to ride, but I was simply not confident enough to balance one. I always lost my balance within a few feet.

When I was twelve, with a bunch of our friends over to ride bikes around the parking lot outside the apartment we lived in, Bryon convinced me to get on our mother’s bike and try just one more time.

I was very reluctant, but he promised me he’d ride beside me and keep ahold of the seat, so I didn’t tip over.

Admonishing him to not let go, I set off, periodically glancing to my side to be sure he was still beside me. Because of our positions, I couldn’t see if he was still holding me up or not but assumed so since I was not tipping at all.

Then he suddenly rode off, swinging around right in front of me. I yelled, even berating him for not holding on.

His response? “What are you yelling at me for? You’re riding, aren’t you?”

I looked down. I had not wobbled in the least and was still pedaling along nicely. Without hesitation, I then did a crazy eight. My brother had tricked me into figuring out I could balance a bike.

I have plenty of other stories, particularly about how spoiled our little brother was, but I also have some about the man he grew to be.

When we were adults and married, Bryon and I ended up living in the same apartment complex. Being the nearest family member, I often called on him and his wife when I needed help with something. Early one morning I needed help.

It could not have been 5 in the morning when Tina fell out of bed and cut open the bottom of her chin. I was certain she’d need to be seen so I called Bryon.

He wanted me to take her to his place, but I pointed out her three sleeping siblings and the fact that Jerry had left for work not long before she fell out of bed.

He also had three sleeping kids, so he moaned and came over. After checking her chin, he ended up taking her to the ER with a note from me saying he could seek medical care for her.

Years later she was attending college in the same area where he lived and found herself in immediate need of a ride. Bryon dropped everything to head over to pick her up though our sister-in-law beat him there.

However, only a few months later I had reason to believe she again needed help and called Bryon in a bit of a panic. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped everything and rushed right over to her and stayed with her while he was still needed.

These are the things Tina remembers about her Uncle Bryon. The one uncle who would drop everything to help her when she needed it. She is already missing him.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. Our family could use it.

Of Memories and Smiles by Konnie Enos

I like reading the Miss Manners column. (I might learn something about good behavior.) This past weekend I was reading some of her recent columns and came across a letter from the mother of the bride. She had been divorced from the bride’s father for over two decades and she had little contact with him during the intervening years, plus she did not know his family. All would be in attendance at the wedding.

Now the letter was about her concerns for making this event less uncomfortable for this group of veritable strangers, but while I read it I remembered the story of another wedding reception where the parents of the groom had been divorced for over 20 years. The groom was their youngest. It should also be noted that while their children were in their late teens the father bodily threw the mother out of his house, with good cause. (I secretly applauded his actions.)

Within a few years, he then moved his family to a different state without ever seeing or even speaking to his ex since he threw her out. (Be assured, he had seen his children, just not their mother.)

During the intervening years, their three older children had managed to get married without both parents being there to witness it. The oldest eloped. The next two pretty much eloped as they planned their big days in less than two weeks. Due to proximity, the second child had only the mother there, and the third had only the father. By the time this wedding takes place, it’s been well over a decade since their last face-to-face encounter.

Now the son and his bride took nearly a full year to plan their big event including taking into account the weather since the father would have to drive through the mountains to get there. They planned a fall wedding, rather than in the middle of winter. Both parents can and would be there, if not all the siblings.

I heard no stories about how the actual wedding went down but one has to assume that the parents of the groom had no face-to-face confrontations based solely on what happened next.

Now it must be understood that both of them are now pushing 60. She’s grown a bit rounder and has more gray hair. He has a full head of receding gray hair and now needs a cane. He’s also rounder. One can safely say he’d aged more in the last few years than she had, though he was still recognizable.

Now cue the reception.

Since the father and mother weren’t known to get along, and both parents were there with their current spouse, not to mention the father’s health issues, they had forgone a reception line.

Well, the mother of the groom felt it was important that she should greet all the guests and introduce herself to any she didn’t know. She, therefore, was wandering around the room talking to everyone.

The father, however, health being the issue, was sitting at one of the tables only talking to or greeting those who came up to him. Just an older gentleman sitting with his hands resting on a nicely carved cane, sitting, for the moment, alone at a table.

Spotting him, the mother walked over holding out her hand, and happily asked him how he knew the happy couple. Then she added. “I’m the groom’s mother.”

Now I’m not exactly sure of his actions at this point, but I can imagine he didn’t take her hand and he may well have rolled his eyes or audibly sighed in an exasperated manner. All I do know is what he responded. “I know Grace.” (Yes, her name is Grace.) “I’m the groom’s father.”

Now I did not have the good fortune to be able to attend this blessed event due to distance and the impending arrival of my firstborn. But when I heard about it well after the fact I found it hilarious that she hadn’t recognized him and went so far as to introduce herself to the man she had four children with.

This wedding took place thirty years ago this fall. Both parents have since passed on. The bride and groom are now grandparents and due to multiple strokes, he is in the last years of dementia. So the only ones who were at the wedding and can remember it are the bride and the groom’s then stepmother.

All I have is the memory of Dad telling me about his encounter with Momma at Bryon’s wedding.

What memories bring a smile to your face? I’d love to hear them. Let’s give everyone something to smile about.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.