School Buses & Prescription Drawers

Although I lived most of my weekends with grandparents thankfully my mother made every effort to keep me living with her during the week. Obstacles were numerous for my mother Elle as she had to work a full time job during the day and then work part-time several evenings per week. I remember her working evenings at a huge Bingo hall. Occasionally I tagged along with her on nights when Gran was there playing Bingo. I could sit with Gran trying to occupy myself as the evening passed. I was quiet and well-behaved for them so it wasn’t too difficult.

After Great grandmom died there was no one available to help my mother so we began a routine when I was in the first grade that played itself out for years. I awakened in the morning to a clock radio that played my favorite station. This became increasingly important during my teen years when there was no real life without the radio or records playing. Somehow I got myself out of bed most mornings and proceeded to get ready for school. In the early grades (until mom felt I was old enough to safely walk to school) mom paid extra for the service and made me take a bus to school that picked me up every morning at certain time on our street. If I wasn’t there on time I missed the school bus.

It amazes me now how often I was able to get myself ready for school and to the bus stop in time. I was quite young, only about six or seven and I honestly did not have a routine or know what to do in the morning to get myself ready. I never thought it through but somehow I got dressed and ready enough to leave the house in the nick of time. I still have a school photo from the second grade where my hair was not combed or fixed before leaving home that day. I did not know that our school photos were scheduled for that day so I came back looking rather homely with my long messy locks.

There were too many days when I failed to get my young self to that bus stop in time. Missing the bus was a chronic problem. Solving it was also my own issue to deal with and each time I chose between one of two alternatives. Occasionally I would go knock on the door next and ask for help with my plight of missing the bus. The father of the family next door would then drop me off in his car at my school on his way to work. Sometimes I’d be forced t listen to his mini-lecture about how often I missed the bus. Naturally I listened to his reprimands and admonishments in silent agony. Mostly when I missed the bus I would resign myself to staying home that day. Eventually mom would arise and get herself out the door to her job and I would spend the day alone playing or watching television. My favorite game was playing school. I had a blackboard on the wall in my bedroom and I became the strict teacher to numerous imaginary students.

I had little way to learn many skills such as time management. To this day the passage of time never quite feels as it actually is. It could be 10 am or 3 pm and my body can be clueless. Fifteen minutes or two hours may have passed without me aware of much difference. Since I was usually late or arriving in the nick of time, I am still bored and uninterested to arrive any place early. I don’t know what to do with myself if I show up early so I end of stuffing in another productive activity that results in my just on time arrival. This is also why I carry books everywhere- in case there are spare minutes in between events. The virtue of getting some place fifteen minutes early seems more like a waste of valuable time than a positive quality. The struggle with time was excusable and sad while a little girl but now it could be categorized as a character flaw- something I need to grow up and out of.

Preparing breakfast for myself was more than I knew how to do so most mornings in those early grades I ran for the school bus without any breakfast. My mom was always asleep in the morning. She never was a morning person and the fact that she was able to keep her day jobs must have been due to the skill she brought to the business when she did arrive late for work or after missing a day of work because she just couldn’t get out of bed to ever make it in that day.

As I grew older there were too many mornings when my mother forced me to call her office and tell them my mother was too sick to come to work that day. I absolutely hated making the call and speaking to anyone at her office. I was so on the spot. Any protest on my part met with such insistence from my mother that I felt helpless as I went through the motions of doing something extremely uncomfortable.

I knew so much of the time that Mom wasn’t actually sick but just tired and hung over form being out late and sometimes drinking alcohol. Once I made the phone call for her she fell back into bed and disappeared from my day. I remember nights and mornings hearing mom in the bathroom sick form too much alcohol. I realized years later that she abandoned alcohol since it too regularly made her sick. Instead she turned to prescription drugs to ease the struggle of her reality. Sometimes I opened one of my mom’s dresser drawers and stared at the rows of prescription bottles lining the inside. I didn’t know what they were for but there were a lot of bottles. Several times in later years doctors made comments or expressed concern to me about my mother’s abuse of drugs. I did not understand nor did I ever discuss it with anyone. I was, as usual a quiet observant bystander.

Made for Relationship

                     Gran (Mildred) and me in our Easter outfits

Anyone learning about my life can easily observe the insufficiency of male input and support. This was, I believe, the foundation or lack thereof for what would become a near lifelong struggle and the setup for my largest life mistakes.

There was George Sr. who had emigrated from Russia when he was sixteen and later married Anna who was ten years his younger.  Pop as I called him tended things in the grocery store but wasn’t as easy going with customers as Gran. Pop was a nice enough man who was around the house to eat meals, watch television and nap in his recliner while Gran was usually in high gear industrious mode cooking and keeping her house spotless. She even trained me to use the towel after my shower to wipe down the entire shower area to avoid mildew and water spots. I never remember either of them driving and doubt they ever had a driver’s license. When Gran took me to the market we took public transportation- buses and trolleys.

                                           Young Mildred
Dutch, my other Pop married my grandmother Mildred when my mother was young. Pop went to the steel mill every day. I remember the black metal lunch box with a silver metal handle he carried back and forth. He often went fishing on his own from piers or on boating day trips and would clean and cook his own catches- yummy. When home he was usually in his recliner watching television. When I traveled anywhere with Gran and Pop, Gran and I were passengers. Gran had her license and I recall two or three times when she drove instead of Pop during long road trips in the summertime. During these trips we would often drive for hours at a stretch and on the occasion that Gran decided she wanted to take the wheel Pop and I softly moaned and were on utter edge until Gran decided she’d had enough and allowed Pop back in the driver’s seat.

It is impossible to explain the way Gran drove but it was like she did so many things- with great earnest and by her own rules. The best way to explain passenger anxiety when Gran drove is telling about when she went bowling. Most people understand that a bowling ball is held closely until your arm nears the floor of the bowling alley where you then sort of lay and push the heavy ball onto the floor, giving it direction so it glides down the polished wood surface.

Once we had an extended family bowling outing. Pop was in a bowling league one night a week but this time it was a family event and even though I was a little kid I played with the adults. As usual I was the only kid in the group. Gran knew how to bowl but her lack of experience and skill evidenced itself when she kept earning low scores by throwing gutter balls. After numerous frustrating attempts just to keep the ball from the gutter and hits a few pins, Gran’s patience was worn so she bowled her own way.  

With gusto, Gran’s fat jiggling, powerful arm released the ball while her arm was still high up in the air. The ball descended quite a ways before making its first loud thud (intermingled with Gran’s growls and hisses) as it bounced onto the wooden alley. Then it continued loudly bouncing its way halfway down the alley until finally reaching its destination in the left gutter. Amazingly, no one said a word. Everyone in the family froze with mouths wide open in astonishment. I laughed uncontrollably inside but couldn’t dare show it and risk incurring Gran’s wrath. Embarrassed? Everyone was so much so that no one knew quite what to do except pretend everything was normal. So is there any wonder why I rejoiced that I would live to see another day when Gran gave the steering wheel back to Pop?

Even with her foibles Gran (Mildred) loved me as best she knew how which for her meant taking me places, even the adult places where she and Pop went like race tracks, bars, casinos for slot machine games, Bingo halls. It also meant buying me games toys and especially dresses with matching socks, purses, gloves and hats for Christmas and Easter. If my mother wasn’t guilt tripped into buying something for me then Gran probably would if I asked her. Mom told me years later that she bought me things trying to make up for her not being with me so much of the time. Consequently I had more clothes than several children needed. It was fun to get something new and enjoy wearing it but it didn’t help alleviate the loneliness and fear for very long, not very long at all. Sometimes the stuff seemed to be all I had. The promise of anything satisfying our yearnings besides real personal relationship with our infinite-personal Creator and with other humans made in His image falls quite hollow within us and the fall comes all too quickly.

The New England Primer

                                  The New England Primer

I’ve continued pondering how death is censured from our everyday modern lives. Our lives, our children are shielded from the realities of death and we have limited involvement with the dying. Death is set apart as if it is not really part of life. This was not always the case as evidenced by The New England Primer first published in 1777 in Boston for use in American public schools “for the more easy attaining of the true reading of English”. The New England Primer was the first textbook ever printed in America and was used to teach reading and Bible lessons in our schools until the twentieth century. In fact, many of the Founders and their children learned to read from the Primer. The textbook by which most American children learned to read would likely lead to a federal court case if any government school teacher tried using it today.
 Most of the verses and poems in the primer were meant for memorization by the youngest students. One old poem clearly reveals how children were not limited in their exposure to and awareness of death. This was before the discovery of antibiotics which can save the life of many babies and children who would have died from infections. Children were taught that sooner or later we all must die and therefore being spiritually prepared for this inevitable important change was vital.

I in the burying place may see,

Graves shorter there than I,

From death’s arrest no age is free.

Young children too must die.

My God, may such an awful sight,

Awakening be to me!

Oh! That by early grace I might

For death prepared be.

The Primer also contains a bedtime prayer children memorized that again kept them mindful of the fragility and preciousness of human life.

Now I lay me down to my sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

If I should dies before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Read The New England Primer online for free at http://www.sacred-texts.com/chr/nep/1777/index.htm

Cultural Taboo

Great grandmom became too ill to continue living with us or to help care for me just after my first year of school. Other than the amusement of our silly arguments in which I taunted the poor woman, she was kind to me and she was there so I wasn’t by myself especially in the mornings and when I got home for school. I wish she had shared with me why giving me the gift of a Bible was so important to her. She never said anything about it that I recall but she beamed with pride and happiness when she presented it to me. I’m glad that I still have her gift after all the years.

The last time I saw Great grandmom was when my mother took me to visit at one of her son’s homes. She was lying in a bed and relatives were standing around in the room. Great grandmom kept repeating that she wanted to jump in the river.  I don’t know if she was in pain and imagined that a river of water would soothe her or whether she was seeing some sort of river in her own mind’s eye. This was the only time I saw what used to be commonplace- a family member dying at home.

Nowadays it is rare that anyone dies in their own home. It happens in hospitals, nursing homes and hospices but rarely in a home. It’s the same with birth. People used to be born and die sometimes in the same house and even the same room. Those days in America are long gone. While it is fantastic that we have so much life saving methods available in our modern world something is lost. We are shielded from death and it has become a culturally taboo topic as sex once was. When people observed birth and death as part of life from childhood I think they gave more consideration to the fragility of life and the reality of their own mortality.

Great grandmom

       Great-grandmom and me (really my step-Great-grandmom, Dutch’s mother)

The final divorce between Elle and George took awhile but there were no further attempts at reconciliation. Elle would live in the same house until her own retirement decades later.  The house had two apartments, upstairs and downstairs. I grew up living in the downstairs apartment with the sounds of renters upstairs.

Around that time Elle took me to stay with my grandmother Mildred for the weekend and soon I was taken there routinely every weekend. I wish I could recall a weekend in the apartment with my mom. I sort of liked going to Gran’s house for the weekend but usually I wanted to stay home with my mother. Naturally I kept such feelings to myself. I don’t know if my mother ever knew how much I wanted to stay with her.

There were many times I went to stay with George who ended up living most of his life with his parents where his alcoholic lifestyle was accepted. Once I started school I spent a good deal of time with them since Anna was available to care for me during the day. This is where I gained so many lessons in housekeeping and business savvy. Staying with Anna did not mean I had a good deal of time with my dad George since he spent most daylight hours sleeping.

Elle’s step-father Dutch had an elderly mother who Elle brought to live with us during the weekdays so she could watch me during the day. The only Great-grandmom I ever knew stayed with us until I finished first grade. She was given one of the two bedrooms that used to be mine and I had to sleep in bed with my mother. Giving up my room was not something I welcomed and I remember Great-grandmom and I arguing over whose bedroom it was. “It’s my room” I would say. Great-grandmom would respond with “No it’s my room, it’s mine.” Back and forth we’d go like not one but two children arguing over whose room it was.

Quiet though I was I must have been mean to Great-grandmom. Every morning before I left for school in the first grade she would coax and plead with me to eat my breakfast. She was the first amongst an array of people who took on the challenge of trying to get me to eat. Anna also became a crusader and told me thousands of times to eat in both English and Russian. So often I had little appetite and did not feel like eating. It may have had something to do with the availability of sweets. Given a choice I’d take the chocolate donut instead of the hot oatmeal. I knew no better.

It was very kind of Great-grandmom to come live with us during the weekdays and take care of me. I rarely, if ever, saw my mother before leaving for school in the morning. Thankfully Great-grandmom was awake and saw me off to school that entire first year of elementary school. She was also there in the evenings when my mom was either working her night job at the Bingo hall or out on dates.

Great-grandmom gave me a gift I still have. It is a King James Bible with a white leather cover. I remember how happy she was when she gave it to me. It was the only Bible I had growing up. I don’t recall any conversations about why the Bible was important enough to be a special gift to me. Mainly I just remember vexing her poor soul over my not eating and teasing her about the bedroom we both claimed as our own.

Multigenerational Divorce

               Phyllis Schlafly with President Ronald Reagan

I’d like to stand on a worldwide house top and yell so everyone could hear and really comprehend- Divorce sucks! It is never pretty. Though sometimes it is necessary, divorce never happens without splintering and wounding lives. Divorce is now a national travesty that undermines the very root of stability for any society. Where are values of lifelong commitment? I hope the next generation observes my generation to learn how they do not want to live. We’ve set a morally bankrupt example for personal integrity and family strength.

I hate divorce but it happened to my grandmother, my mother and me. I don’t believe in it except if necessary when there exists unrepentant adultery, abuse or abandonment. I bet that every couple still together experienced times when they wondered whether they made a mistake in the person they married, contemplated separation or divorce and did not love or even hated one another. Statistics clearly show that when couples weather such storms they do come out on the other side with stronger marriages. Statistics also show that couples who live together before marriage have a much higher divorce rate. Who promised happily ever after easy? If God says that “love is stronger than death” than why is there so much divorce? How do our hearts become so hardened?

I believe there is a lot to be said for doing what is right even when it is hard. That’s one reason I like the book Jane Eyre. In the story Jane does what is right even when it is unbelievably difficult. We are not much about that kind of morality nowadays. Have I exemplified such a standard? Far from it! I’ve failed miserably in this important area of life. Divorce has plagued my family for too many generations. It has brought untold heartbreak to my family, especially my own children.  Who we marry is the second most important decision of our lives, just second to what we do with our relationship with the living God. Deciding well with the help and counsel from those who love you is wise. Yet there is always risk in every life decision.

After George and Elle divorced I lived with my single mother and numerous stays with grandparents. I don’t know how many years I hoped and fantasized about my parents getting back together, as most children do. It is natural for the child’s heart to crave parental togetherness. Unquestionably, what is best for children are two parents together for life- a mother and a father.  It is ideal if the mother can be with her child and simply present and available. Someone needs to be there to take care of a child and in America today there is too often no one home at all. Children are farmed out to babysitters and daycare centers- forced away from their parents at such early ages. It makes my heart very sad because I’ve seen what it is like in the centers, however good they may be. I’ve seen the sad eyes of children who yearn just to be with mom or dad.

If anyone understands that there are times and situations that require children to be separated from parents it is I. It happened to me and then my children when I became a single mother. I had to work and leave them. There was no alternative but to become a careerist.  I am just saying that when it is not necessary any child will fare better just being with mom.  This is not complicated. I know the arguments. I would never condemn or point any fingers since they would only point right back to me and my own failures. My personal failures do not diminish the timeless truths about what is best for children and families. I pray that the scourge of unnecessary divorce stops in my own family, in America and the rest of the world. Divorce always brings sadness and severing of lives and it is most definitely a dirty word.

Back on top of the house I shout that parenting the next generation is the highest calling one could have! For women who want to be mothers and have a vital, meaningful career- look for role models of women who have “done it all” but not all at the same time.  We have seasons of our lives.  Regardless of what you may think of her views, Phyllis Schlafly, named one of the 100 most important women of the 20th century by the Ladies' Home Journal, and was the 1992 Illinois Mother of the Year, is an interesting example of a woman who has done much of it “all” as a world changing woman but not all at the same time. She stayed with her six children, got a law degree and much more. I need to say that if all I ever did as an adult was give birth to my children that would be enough- enough that is meaningful, life giving and intrinsically important and valuable. Motherhood is enough! Maybe part of the family splintering is the result of parents stressing and exhausting themselves trying to be and do everything. Radical as it may sound, even without children, being a faithful, loving, supportive wife is enough!  See Phyllis’ bio at http://www.eagleforum.org/misc/bio.html

Memories of Mom and Dad Together

Dangerously standing up in my carriage- asserting myself early onJ I wanted to stand up and be counted!

Sadly, by Mother’s Day of that coming year George left Elle and me for good. After that I would never again experience what it was like with a mother and father together except when visiting the homes of friends. I do treasure a few memories of them together before their final separation that would lead to their divorce sometime between my third and fourth year of life..

There are a few snapshots in my mind of my mother being home and preparing supper for our family. I loved her being there. I remember having the chickenpox and her being there while I recovered on the sofa. I would stare at mom in the kitchen as she was busy preparing food and cleaning up the dishes. I loved the feeling I had just watching her being there. Having my mom nearly would become one of the obsessions of my childhood. I craved being near to her and was painfully homesick whenever I was apart from her. It would take many decades into adulthood before I found adequate strength to detach enough to stop craving my mother’s love and acceptance. I simply cannot understand a child who does not long to be close to their mother (regardless of the circumstances) since that was always my default mode and my mother was so often my world.

There is a strong memory of George my dad coming home from work and me jumping on his lap as he sat on the sofa. When he got home from work I was so happy and wanted to be with him more than anything. I’d sit on his lap bouncing or try to open his falling eyelids with my little fingers. George’s eyes kept closing and I hated that. “No no Daddy! Don’t go to sleep” I said. “I’m not going to sleep just resting my eyes” he would say. Sometimes he would bounce me on his knees to nursery rhymes. He was fun and made me laugh and feel so happy. No one could ever be afraid when on Daddy’s lap! He must have been so tired after working a long day at the steel mill at a job he probably hated. Unfortunately he didn’t keep most of his jobs for very long. His artist personality but mostly his drinking interfered with anything routine except time in the bar in the evenings.

I also recall times when Elle and George yelled at each other and he threatened to throw an old time radio at her. I think I usually started crying when they argued. I just wanted them to stop. I loved it when there was peace and harmony in our home. The surroundings were irrelevant. All that mattered was the two people so important to me- mommy and daddy.

A little child cannot understand why conflicts or arguments happen but they do have feelings about them. I believe that parents would do well to have their arguments and express conflicts when they have privacy apart from the children observing them. Watching conflict only makes a child feel insecure, afraid and the seeds of anxiety can be born before anyone knows it is happening. Children cannot comprehend adult conflicts and do best when they are protected from them as much as possible.

Three Years Old

                 The house Elle & George bought just before I turned three.

When my mother Elle tried to make things work out with George they returned to live with George’s parents Anna and George Sr. Elle worked during the day so Anna took care of me while tending to her household duties and helping my grandfather run the grocery store. My mother had tried to breast feed ne but it didn’t last long when she became so ill. I commend her for trying but wish I had been able to continue with the more natural way of feeding. I breast fed all my children while making every effort to eat well for their nutrition’s sake. I believe it significantly contributed to their health and well being. I wanted to do the very best for my children in every way I possibly could.

George decided he wanted to return to school and study art so Elle supported him in his ambition because he was a gifted artist. I remember watching him paint and draw. He mostly did oil paintings. When Elle discovered that George wasn’t faithful in either his work or studies with college she became increasingly frustrated and moved out again on her own with me.

George pleaded with Elle to get back together and finally she told him that she would do so only if they bought a house of their own. She wanted no more moving from apartment to apartment or back with his parents. George agreed and they bought a row house in the city. They moved in and got the place mostly ready and brought me from staying with my grandmother Mildred on Christmas Eve not long before my third birthday. It isn’t easy to bring back memories from our earliest years but I do recall being there in that house on that Christmas Eve. There were no curtain son the windows yet and my mom had draped some sheets on the front windows.

I was unaware of all the drama between Elle and George. I do however remember on that one Christmas Eve I felt really happy about both of them being there- all of us together. I can still feel those indescribable feelings of security, comfort, stability, strength and much more happening inside me with both of them present in my life and present together. I believe all children benefit more than we can know from having both parents with them and together. The value of this should never be diminished. It cannot always be this way in our broken world but it is certainly the ideal best for any child and they way we were designed to grow in families. That was a happy Christmas for me as a very little girl.

             Kitchen in that first house- with a gas stove!