Race Across the Sticker Patch...

I am not sure what we were thinking, but one of the games I played with my cousins when we were younger was “Race Across the Sticker Patch”. A game that could be likened to running across hot coals.

The gist of the game was to see who could run across the section of Granny’s yard filled with grass burrs without getting too many thorns in your feet, or God forbid you should stop running, and get marooned out there.

My cousin David and I were good at this game and we loved to entice the “little ones” to play along. Invariably one of them would not set the right pace and end up getting stranded out there. David and I would find it so amusing and rather enjoyed the sound of their begging us to come and save them. We let them “suffer” until we thought that Granny would hear them, and then we would rescue them.

The whole saving thing was tricky. We had to run as fast as we could, grab them quickly, and continue running to the other side. We would take turns heroically liberating them one by one. The game was over, David and I were the winners! The “little ones” may have usually been pampered by the grownups, but this time they had needed us! We were their saviors! Well at least until the little brats would go running to Granny and tell her what had happened.

Our celebration was to be short lived, because when Granny found out what we had done (again) she was furious! I do not recall what our punishment was, I think because at the time it paled in comparison to our “victory”. I wish now that I could say that we never played that game again, for in retrospect it was not a very kind thing to do to the “little ones”. But we did. We played it many times after that. Funny you would think that the “little ones” would have learned their lesson and refuse to play. But then again, maybe they just wanted to “saved” by the “cool” cousins… or at least that’s how I’ll choose to remember it!

Daddy's home...

I am not sure why a child’s reaction to their father’s arrival home each evening is so different today than it was when I was young. Maybe it was due to mother’s countdown reminders, or the fact that we were not as “busy” with other things.

In those days, most mothers stayed at home with their children. A mother who worked outside of the home was the exception rather than the rule. Taking care of the children and home was more than a full time job, and the father’s return home was welcomed support when it came to the care of the children.

I have to say daddy’s home coming each evening was quite an event at our house. The four of us would stand watch to see him driving up the street to our house. "Daddy's home!" we would call out loudly. Then the race was on to see who could make it out to his truck first. The prize for which was “dibs” on daddy’s lunch box leftovers. Whether it was crackers, cookies, or Vienna sausages, it was considered quite a prize. There were always lots of hugs and kisses, because it seemed like a lifetime since daddy had left for work that very morning. We would hang on daddy’s legs as though we were athletic weights as he made his way into the house. I am sure it was the last thing he wanted to do after working all day, but he humored us nonetheless. Sometimes, one of us would get the special delight of daddy picking us up and throwing us over his shoulder in what we called the “fireman’s” carry. Since daddy stood over six foot tall, nothing compared to the thrill of being lifted from the ground to his shoulder. We would all be squealing and laughing as we entered the kitchen where mother was preparing “supper”. True to the ritual, Mother would tell us to leave daddy alone and go play. That was our cue to leave the room, giving the parents an opportunity to discuss the events of their day.

I will never forget the sounds, scents, and feelings that accompanied daddy’s arrival home from work each day. It saddens me to think children today may not have the opportunity to share the same experience.

Some memorable moments may just happen, but since our society has gotten so busy with work, school, sports, hobbies, etc, it is important we create opportunities for unforgettable moments.

So if you take anything from reading this story, let it be to realize how precious our time is with each other. And at the end of the day, as our children lay their heads down to sleep, let's pray we have enabled them to have something worth remembering, a memory to pass along to their children.

Junk drawers...

I’m the type of person who loves junk drawers. You know, the drawer that “catches” all the stuff you really don’t know what to do with at the time, but you know it will come in handy some day. I am a proud owner of junk drawers. Yes, drawers, plural!

Recently we were getting ready to remodel and it was time to go through and sort my “junk”. I think this task is almost as exciting as going on a treasure hunt. You never know for sure what you will find!

My junk drawer had the perfunctory items, rolls of duct tape, masking tape, painters tape, electrical tape, scotch tape, and any other variety of tape indicative of the region where we live. Then there were rubber bands, paper clips, tacks… the normal stuff. But there were also things like spare washers, screws of various sizes, velcro, magnets, little screwdrivers; the list goes on and on.

As I sorted through, I thought maybe I should just dump the drawer into the trash. After all, some of the items had not become necessary for anything for quite a while, and my time might be better spent tending to other things. Just as I stepped toward the trashcan, my husband asked for a small screw to fix something. I thought I heard angels singing as I looked into the drawer. There amidst the plethora of “junk”, as if light were reflecting off its surface, was the exact size and shaped screw. It was as though the items in the drawer were shouting, “You need us, you really, really need us!”

I finished sorting the drawer, mainly to refresh my memory of all that it contained. I could not bring myself to throw much away. After all, each item could be vital to solving a future calamity.

So go forth and cherish your junk drawer. Put all the things that you are not sure what to do with today in it for tomorrow. If you find you need to create a second, do so. I am sure that there has to be a culture somewhere that your wealth is determined by the number of junk drawers one has. In that case, I would be revered as a very wealthy woman!

I vote choke the Blue Bird...

“Blue Bird” was a song that was taught to elementary school students back in the day. It was a simple song. It had a happy beat. And the pleasing tune would usually make a smile appear on everyone’s face. But there was a time I would have choked the darling little thing if it would have come within reach!

I am now, and have always been a “night owl”. Unlike most people, we night owls tend to have a difficult time with the standard daily schedule that most people live by. If left to my own devices, I will easily stay awake until four or five in the morning and sleep until noon. So, needless to say, I am not now, or have ever been a “morning” person.

That was not the case with my little sister Suzie. Unlike me, she would jump out of bed each morning with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step. Her disposition aggravated me to no end. I could not stand a happy animated person before noon. Remember, after all, that had been my intended waking time all along. So, needless to say, I avoided her every morning. For if I encountered her lively temperament face to face, I would have to share my grouchy disposition which would result in my being in trouble.

You might be wondering what connection the “Blue Bird” song and Suzie have…

Well she learned that darn song. One morning, I finally got up after mother making the third or forth trip to my room. It took the threat of her throwing ice water on me to get me motivated. I knew better than to test her, for I knew she would not hesitate to do so. Anyway, as I stumbled to the bathroom I heard… “Blue Bird, Blue Bird, in and out my window. Blue Bird, Blue Bird, in and out my window. Blue Bird, Blue Bird, in and out my window. Oh Johnny I’m ti-erd!” It was Suzie! To others she sounded like an angel and what a pleasant way to start the day, being serenaded. Not me!

Now, not only did I have to persevere her being in such high spirits each morning, there was not escaping it! Her melodic voice echoed throughout the entire house. She was relentless. She would go on and on and on… I could not help myself; the mere sound was torture. Unfortunately, for me, I had to intervene on this insanity. I screamed for her to stop. Nothing I could come up with would bring her singing to an end. I resorted to tyrannically begging my mother to end the torment. To my misfortune mother was enjoying it, telling me to “leave your sister alone.” Suzie would not stop singing until she stepped on the school bus. But it was too late; my day was off to a bad start.

She was just shy of being a freak of vocabulary nature...

I was just sitting here thinking about my newfound blog experience. I did not realize that I would ever enjoy words as much as I do before I met my dear friend Hope...

Hope and I worked together for years. Writing narrative reports was one of our many tasks each day. It would amaze me that Hope would finish her reports very quickly and that is what I wanted to do. The secret she shared was so simple... it is called increasing your vocabulary! I discovered that one word could take the place of several; sometimes it would replace an entire paragraph! Now if my English Vocabulary teachers would have told me that by increasing my vocabulary I would have more free time, I would have jumped right on that! Hope was patient and shared her art of the English language freely. She was just shy of being, in my mind at least, a freak of vocabulary nature! But if I got stumped, she was ready, willing, and VERY able to assist! Before long, I had cut the time I spent writing daily reports in half! I was hooked! And so started my love affair with words... Thanks Hope!!!

Fostering Foster Homes...

I have heard a lot about “Foster Homes” in my time. It makes one ashamed to admit if they were raised in one. Well I was. Many of you may be surprised by this factoid. For a long time it was difficult to speak about it. It was just easier not to deal with the reactions of the unsuspecting. Usually when conversations happened to settle on this topic, tales of the horrid living conditions and irresponsible if not abusive parents would ensue.

Yes, I lived in a Foster Home. However, there is a twist…

I was a birth child in the Foster Home. This meant that I shared my parents, siblings, everything with the many children who came and left our home throughout my formative years. I saw first hand the looks of helpless fear on the faces that would usually arrive late in the evening. Most of the time they arrived tired, hungry, in need of a bath, and clean clothes. Most importantly, they needed a warm friendly face and just in case they were in need… a set of arms to hold them and a shoulder to lean on as they cried for their own mommy or daddy.

I would grab a hand or two and slowly begin to show the frightened faces around their new surroundings. Meanwhile my parents discussed particulars with the caseworker. Next a warm bubble bath and fresh pajamas. Then off to the kitchen where a snack of choice was awaiting them.

It was a heart breaking experience for all of us. The goal of everyone involved was to make the first night as tolerable as humanly possible. By bedtime, impressions of their tragedies were already pressed deep into my heart.

We lived one day at a time. We were not promised anything. The only thing that we were certain of was the palpable emotions associated with their departure which was already coming.

We learned to share and sometimes forfeit. We learned you can survive if you have food, clothing, and shelter. But you can thrive if you are loved. Even if it is only for a short time, it makes a difference.

Most stayed a week or so, but a few lived months, even years with us. That said; it was never easy to say goodbye. I am really bad at goodbyes. I always wanted to know the night before they were to leave the next day. I tried to avoid the whole situation. I hated the huge lump that would rise in my throat and refuse to go away. Feeling like my heart was being ripped out of my chest; all the while fighting back the tears, trying to smile, and wish them luck on this new leg of their journey.

So I speak to you for us, the kids who learn how to love from the unloved. Kids who unknowingly become decent, honorable people who really care about our fellow human beings because we want to protect tomorrow’s children from our past.

There are “kids” who left our home and “grew up” but to this very day send a card, call, or drop by to say hello. Those who still consider my parents their mama and daddy.

So here’s to the Foster Home that I was privileged to call my own. And to my mama and daddy who have been heroes to so many…

I love you mama and daddy, with all my heart!

Big sisters and vampires...

There was a new series on television; it was introduced as an afternoon soap opera. Now mind you my parents would have never willingly allowed me to watch, but every afternoon after school I would run over to Nera’s house “to say hello”…

The name of the series was Dark Shadows. The story line was about a vampire and his lost love. As I sat eating fresh baked cookies, I would watch intently. I knew it was not real, just people pretending. So there was no reason I shouldn’t watch, right?

So began my education about vampires. I was a very sharp student. I learned things like… When vampires suck all of your blood out, you become one too. To stop a vampire, you must drive a wooden stake through their heart. That sunshine burns them like acid. And they sleep all day only to feed on human blood at night. Oh, and one must not forget to have a cross, a vile of holy water, and cloves of garlic handy… For everybody knows those are the things that can save you in the event you are confronted by a vampire.

My routine of “visiting Nera” after school continued for months. At the end of the school year, my family moved. Nera's house was now two hours away. So I no longer had access to my favorite show. As kids do, I quickly forgot about Dark Shadows and set about enjoying my summer vacation.

It was when we moved to the country that my knowledge of vampires returned. I am not sure why. Maybe it was that it seemed much darker at night, or it could have been the sound of the wind blowing through the trees resembling the musical introduction to Dark Shadows. Regardless of what triggered the memories, they flooded my mind each night as I crawled into bed. I knew vampires were not real. But just in case it was a good thing that I shared a bed with my big sister Kathy.

I was the typical little sister. To Kathy, I was a brat. Since she thought I was a brat, a brat I would be! I remember tormenting her, until I had to run as fast as I could to get away from her. She would only take so many of my antics then she would start swinging a broom, mop, or whatever was within her reach. Of course, I made matters worse by laughing and taunting her with each step I made. This would happen at least once or twice a day. I was very proud of myself, I didn’t NEED a big sister.

Now back to the whole going to bed thinking about vampires thing… I would crawl into bed with Kathy. Remember, the very sister I had tormented all day... Well she was not very forgiving of our daily skirmishes. So I was NOT allowed to touch her side of the bed. As I, lay thinking about the vampires I realized that I couldn’t go to sleep. I had to stay awake and make sure that a vampire didn’t come and suck out all of my blood! As the minutes passed my eyes would become so heavy that I knew I would never be able to “stand watch” all night. I thought and thought. What could I do? How would anybody know if a vampire came and swept me out of bed? I was horrified at the thought! Then an idea came to me, all I had to do was touch Kathy with a toe. Just a toe on her side of the bed… she would never know… after all she was sound asleep. I would take a deep breath and slowly move my toe toward Kathy. It seemed to take forever, then… contact! I had made it! Success! Now if a vampire came and took me, Kathy would surely wake up to rescue me when my toe was no longer touching her. Finally, it was safe to fall asleep!

As I relaxed and closed my eyes I heard the sheet move. I just knew it was a vampire there to get me! Then B-A-M, Kathy kicked the heck out of me. “QUIT TOUCHING ME YOU BRAT!” she would scream. "IT WAS JUST A TOE!" I woud quip back...

Maybe I DID need a big sister after all.

Double trouble...

I was around seven years old and in trouble as usual. Mother had sentenced me to bed early for my crimes of the day. I do not recall the reason for the decree, but most likely I had pulled one too many pranks. As this was the most devastating punishment she could have come up with, I was furious! I stomped as loudly as I could get by with all the way to my room. As I reached to retrieve my pajamas from the dresser, out of the corner of my eye I noticed our kitten clinging to the window screen outside. Ah ha! Since I was in trouble, someone else should be too, might as well be the kitten!

I quietly approached the window, not wanting to alarm the kitten. I did not want it to jump off the screen before I had the opportunity to dispense punishment for such a horrid offense. I slowly pulled back my hand, then w-h-a-c-k; I slapped the screen while saying, “Get off the screen you damn cat!”

I had done it! I had said my first “cuss” word out loud! I felt vindicated and was reveling in my callousness until I heard a voice chuckle, “You only thought you were in trouble, I’m telling your mama.” It was Nera*! She was sitting in the dark on the front porch! I was sunk!

Needless to say, I did go to bed early. But had the added luxury of the taste of soap in my mouth as I drifted off to sleep.

*Nera was an old friend of the family who lived with us. She felt a certain “ownership” of me as she had been a nurse and was present when I was born. So I am sure there are more stories to come about her.

"Rough" weather...

I have always been surprised by how many people are afraid of thunderstorms. I guess they did not have the benefit of having a mother and daddy like mine.

I remember when we were little as a thunderstorm would pass through, my parents would take us out on the front porch to watch the “show”. The lightening would arc across the sky followed soon thereafter by a loud clap of thunder. We would ooh and ah at the theatrical event presented by nature. Of course, there were times that we would wince. But a quick glance at daddy’s face smiling, eyes bright with awe as he narrated the show would quickly chase any uneasiness away. “The angels are bowling” my parents would say. And although somewhere in my mind I knew that statement to be untrue, it made the experience even more exciting.

One summer, mother put a bed out on the front porch, the reason for which I do not recall. One stormy evening I remember all four of us kids sitting on the bed, side-by-side, propped by pillows, as mother and daddy sat on the porch swing. There could not have been a more comfortable seat in the world to watch the storm. A fine refreshing mist would occasionally blow on our faces, but to my amazement, we never got wet.

As I have grown older, I realize that I have a great respect for “rough” weather, as daddy would say. Although I have experienced it first hand, I have never been afraid. I do however, as news of an impending storm is announced, heed the words of my mother that echo in my mind “Use the head God gave you on your shoulders!” Enough said.

My life as a Spy...

When I was around 9 years old, I went through a phase of hiding, for in my mind, I was a spy. As you know all good spies need to hideout. So I hid out as often as possible. No one really knew or cared, I think everyone thought I was just “busy” being a kid. Anyway, unaware of lurking dangers, I found the neatest hiding places and… wait for it… there is a story that goes along with each one.

“The Headboard Hideout”: While “exploring” under the bed my sister Kathy and I shared, I made a discovery. The back of the headboard was hollow. I ascertained this information as I crawled around under the bed and wiggled up into the unknown void. To my amazement, there was room enough to set up an extraordinary spy headquarters. All I needed now was to get organized! With each opportunity that presented itself, I would slip the supplies essential for a proper spy operation into the space. You know, the necessities, paper, pencils, tacks, tape, and of course snacks. By the time I finished a full fledge spy command center was born. Any chance I could I would slip away into my headboard hideout and write reports on the “Villain” of the day, which was usually one of my siblings.

“The Rooftop Retreat”: I would often climb up on the roof of the house and perch where no one could see me. This usually required moving around in stealth mode, but such was the life of a spy. This location allowed me to see the sugar cane and clover fields, the “main highway” at the end of our drive, and the old abandoned drive-in theater a field over from our house… a bird’s eye view of my world, how awesome it was.

“The Under the House Hideout”: This was a somewhat scary place, but fascinating nonetheless. Oh, the historical finds, an old soda bottle, a matchbox, broken glass, and the occasional snakeskin. I would crawl around listening to my family as they went about their daily activities. The footsteps, muffled voices, the sound of the broom swishing across the wood floors, and on occasion the most joyous sound for that time in my life, my mother fussing at one of my siblings and not me!

“The Clover Hideout”: This was one of the coolest! Our neighbor had a field of clover, I am not sure what it was really for, but My cousin David and I knew it was for us. We carefully tunneled in and pressed out a main space followed by several escape chambers. We spent many hours that summer evading the “younger ones” in the lush green. Not once did we think about all the little country creatures that most likely were “sharing” our space. But back then we would have embraced them, reveling in our discovery.

There were other hideouts, but you get the picture. I hate to admit that on occasion I would “spy” on my mother as she called my name. I am sure she heard me giggling from time to time but never let on. I never “spied” very long on her, that would just have been a bad idea, if you know what I mean…