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Phyll:
My first conscious memory coincides with when our family moved to a new, 2 bedroom apartment when I was around 4 years old. I recall waking up in the back seat of the car, my head on my Mother's lap; as we pulled into the back parking lot.  I remember thinking I had no previous memory, and thought, "This must be my Mom.  This must be my family."  I remember running around the kitchen and looking into empty drawers.

My Mother told me I was very upset over the move, that she even drove me back to the "Red House" to help me understand.  I don't remember that.

I was named after my Mother.  While my parents were thrilled to finally have a girl after 3 boys, I was told later financially another child was probably the last thing they needed.  Apparently, we did not pay rent for 3 months at the Red House.  Mom gathered up enough for 2 weeks rent to get the family of six into that 2 bedroom apartment.

There were a couple of things that happened around that time regarding my father's drinking.  I am unsure of the time line of events.  I was told my Mother had Dad committed to the State mental hospital at one point, for a 72 hour hold.  Mom wanted to divorce him.  His uncle talked her out of it, advising she might need him around with the 3 boys.  Uncle A hired Mom to clean his house and prepare meals for him, and he paid her in cash. 

There was also an incident in which my Dad was drunk and drove under a semi.  My memory of visiting him at the hospital is very different from what my Mom and other family members reported.  I recall knowing my Mom was really mad at him.  He walked into the waiting room wearing his blue terry cloth robe. I ran up to hug him and said, "It's okay Daddy.  We still love you."

The story I was told is that Dad's nose was pushed over to the side of his face, and that he looked horriffic when he entered the hospital waiting room.  I am told I completely lost it and was inconsolable.  It is amazing to me how my memory differs - I remember Dad looking quite normal, and I was calm and reassuring to him.

We lived in the 2 bedroom apartment until I was in the middle of 1st grade.  The boys shared one bedroom and I was in a crib in my parents room.  In the summer Grandpa (Dad's side) stayed with us.  He slept in my parents bed and my parents slept in the living room.  Our dining table was a picnic table with 2 benches.

The other memories I have from living there was Christmas Eve, watching Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer on the 6" B & W Sony TV with my brothers in their room.  The next thing I knew my parents and brothers were waving goodbye to Santa out the back door.  I could not push my way through to see outside.  When I did they said he was gone.  I looked on the roof of the apartment building next door and wondered why Santa was not delivering there next.  That night my brother F told me there was no Santa.  I was mad that he told me, because once he did I realized it was true.  I also remember thinking he told me because he was jealous of the attention I was getting.

I am surprised by my ability to understand other's feelings with such intensity at such a young age.

My Dad worked as a Service Manager for a car dealership. We moved to another city when I was in the 1st grade, I believe because Dad got fired. The house we moved into was directly across the street from my Dad's new place of employment.  It was a 3 bedroom, 2 story brick house. I shared a room with F, who was 2 years older than me.  I was glad to finally have a real bed instead of the crib.   

We were happy there for a couple of years/  Mom could keep a close eye on Dad.  She taught Sunday School and became a Girl Scout / Brownie leader.  I went to swimming lessons.  I remember Mom spending a lot of time with me. She took me to the library and checked out many books.  I read the Polly Anna - bright side of things and the whole series by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Our family moved again to a smaller city of about 14,000 when I was in the middle of 3rd grade.  Although my Dad lost jobs there too because of his drinking, it is the city in which I graduated from high school.

My Dad yelled a lot.  He was frightening when he yelled.  His face would get red, his eyes would bulge, and his whole body would shake.  He would pound his fists on the table.  He said and repeated awful things to us kids.  I will save that for tomorrow.

Hopalong:

--- Quote ---my ability to understand other's feelings with such intensity at such a young age.
--- End quote ---

Somehow this, and the moment when to rushed to reassure your father, remind me of how old souls with deep compassion so often are found in the young.

I'm sorry your father's addiction twisted him, and moved by how you could see him as whole, regardless. Your mother must have carried so much worry.

It's you who were whole, imo. A whole child, playing among broken pieces, yet always able to imagine them whole.

hugs
Hops

Phyll:
Thank you Hopalong.  I never know what might come out while telling my story.  That event with my father reveals quite a bit. I wonder what will come up today.

As I said, my Dad yelled a lot.  He was not necessarily violent.  He never hit my Mom.  She on the other hand did smash a plate over his head once.  She told me the neighbors knocked on the door over the yelling, and said us kids picked up the mess in effort to hide what happened.

My Dad said things I cannot imagine saying to a child.  I am sure it contributed to my poor self esteem.  The following are a few of Dad's repeated rants:
-- You don't know nothing.  You don't know a (G.D) thing.  I'm right!
-- Eat it dammit or I'll cram it down your throat with the potato masher.
-- How stupid can you be!

To this day I jump at loud noises, whether I anticipate the noise or not.  I also jump if someone comes up behind me.

____________________________________________________________________________
As an adult, it has helped to know my Mom and Dad's stories.

MOM:  There was a terrible tragedy in my Mom's family.  While she and her older brother were in school one day, their 4 year old brother got a hold of some matches and tried to build a fire in the back yard playhouse. My grandmother was alerted to a fire in the playhouse by a passer by.  When she pulled Jr. out he was ashes.  You can only imagine the ramifications that event had on the family.

When my Mother and her brother were in their senior years, they both told me during separate conversations the same story.  The story went something like this, "We never made a big deal about birthdays growing up.  In fact one year they forgot my birthday all together."  Of course it was a big deal.  Otherwise why would they still be talking about it in their 70s?  They both learned how to put their Mother's needs ahead of their own.  It is no surprise they both married alcoholics.

My Mom was always very pretty and very popular.  She was homecoming queen.

DAD:  Dad was born 12 years after his sister.  He was named after his father, who was the principal of the local high school and superintendent of the areas schools.  They called him Professor and he was known to be a very strict disciplinarian. He also held positions in the state and national education associations.

I had the pleasure of being able to conduct a survey at the nursing home in his home town through my job with the state.  It was verified how strict he really was.  One resident said he was strict with his wife too (my Grandmother), but said she did what she wanted regardless.

I get the feeling my Dad and his sister could never live up to Grandpa's expectations.  They both became hopeless alcoholics.  My Dad never drank until he went into the army.  He fought in World War II.  I know he was in battle and saw his friend get killed, Mom never let him talk about it in front of me.

My parents met when my Dad was visiting his Uncle A, and Mom was staying with her Uncle E who lived next door.  Dad was very handsome, and according to Mom he had been around the world.

_____________________________________________________________________________

A little bit about my Brothers:

My oldest brother B is 7 years older than me.  He was the hero.  He was pulling in cash from babysitting jobs and helping my parents out financially.  At age 14 he built his own fishing boat and at age 15 he built a hydroplane speed boat. I remember him showing me how to build a shelf for my room.

In his senior year of high school he got into trouble.  His girlfriend N got pregnant at age 16. One night B was very friendly and gave my brother F and I some money - 2 dollars each. I did not know he was drunk. That same night I heard yelling and saw my Dad breaking down the bathroom door.  The next thing I knew B and Dad were rolling around the dining room floor, and B was swearing. 

I was 10 years old and did not understand what was happening. And no one explained it to me.  I only remember after the crises that night Mom telling me I felt wide awake because of the crisis.  A few days later I made the mistake of asking at the dinner table where was B.  Dad went into a tantrum.  I later learned B was in jail.  Apparently he had ripped off a liquor store and a local country club, and his car was full of stolen booze. That night on the dining room floor Dad was trying to get his keys and restrain him. 

As a result of that my brother B went to Viet Nam.  Fortunately he was smart enough to stay behind enemy lines and work on helicopters.  After his girlfriend N had the baby they got married and N and my niece lived with us.  This was significant to me as I learned at a young age it was no picnic  having a baby.  Poor N at 17 was not much better equipped at taking care of a baby than I was at 11, and brother F was at 12. We helped while N worked nights at the canning factory.

N was very insecure during the time she and baby BJ lived with us. I instinctively knew to be careful not to let the baby (BJ) show too much love towards me in front of N, or she would get jealous.  Poor N got so depressed, she became very thin and patches of her hair fell out.

B and N did very well for themselves.  After their 2nd child N went back to high school and got her diploma. Their first home was paid for in 10 years. They retired up north, in a home that B added onto.  Unfortunately N passed away from a terminal disease this past December.  I am so proud of how well B cared for her.

Brother D is 5 years older than me.  He is a talented musician. He was in rock bands that practiced in our garage/attic spaces.  He and his friends had long hair, the neighbors thought we had a topless woman running around outside. He was the Scapegoat of the family.

Brother F is 2 years older than me and he is the lost child.  We were close growing up and hung out with the same friends in high school.  Today it is hard to even have a phone conversation.

All that said, I will get on with my childhood in my next entry.

Phyll:
Hey Skeptical!  I just now saw your post.  I will eventually get the hang of this!  Thanks for telling me about your hollar and homesteading.  I look forward to sharing with you more on that topic!

sKePTiKal:
You're welcome Phyll!

Talking about day to day, in between the deeper stuff, is still 'getting to know you' stuff, too.

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