This story is a unique one. This story took 10 years before all the facts were told, but it took another 10 years before the final piece was revealed. This story started so innocently and it proofs that one small meeting can really change lives.
First there must be told some background facts, so that the reader can understand how all the little parts do come into place. This story is a long one but I hope it will keep the reader interested.
It starts with my father. He was one of 6 boys. When he married my mom, he told us that he would like his children to be girls. The only problem was that was all he had- girls. Between two marriages, he sired seven girls. After a while he wished that he had at least one boy.
Dad was a motorcyclist. He loved to ride his Indian and later his Harley-Davidson. When I was young, he rode his motorcycle in the winter: during snow storms, ice storms, hail, and rain storms. I never thought it was unusual when I was young but of course it was. He had to ride in winter because my parents could only afford one car and Mom needed it in case of emergency. Dad loved to ride. He raced motorcycle, amateur status, and in his life time he won over 250 trophies. We had at one time over 10 motorcycles in the garage. Dad even held a dealership but he was never good at business. He was such a sucker for a hard luck story.
By the time I was eight years old, my dad taught my sister and I to ride motorcycles. This was his way of dealing with no sons. We started by riding a 125cc Adler around the parameter of the family garden. We lived in the country so that was nobody to complain about the running of motorcycles all day long. By the time I was a teenager, I was quite an accomplished rider and there was nothing I could not ride, except for dad’s Indian.
When the local police decided to add motorcycles to the department, they realized that none of their officers knew how to ride the 2-wheel vehicles. Since the police chief knew my father and his riding abilities, the chief asked dad to instruct his police officers, which he did.
From this contact, dad got involved with the department as a part-time officer. It was really cool to see dad leave for work in his uniform and a gun strapped around the waist along with the hand cuffs and all the other equipment required. The local amusement park was his beat. His job was to keep the young boys in line and to make sure that there was no damage to property and injuries to people. His primary duty was to keep the amusement park safe for families. Whenever he witnessed young boys starting to “go down the wrong path”, he took them under his wing. Once under his wing, he found ways to boost their self-esteem. He did this by bringing them out to the house. Dad was so successful in his way of helping young America, that when my father died, among the visitors to the funeral home were approximately 35 adult men. All came to give their respects to my father. These men were unknown to the family but not to dad. These young men had become pillars of their community and all were these boys that dad had taken under his wing. One man said to me that he would not have had the life he was living, nor his wife or his children if it was not for my dad. One boy even became an unofficial member of the family and still is to this day. But that was the kind of Marine that my father was.
These boys also made my sister’s and my day brighter too. We loved showing off in front of these boys, which was exactly what my father intended. When those boys saw my sister and me riding motorcycles, and they couldn’t, their male egos got a jolt. Thus dad would teach them how to ride.
My mother was a waitress by trade. It was though her job that dad was able to race. Her pay went directed to replacing broken parts on the motorcycles. Mom kept a small wooden box in the desk which would hold her loose change from her tips. It seemed like that box was always full. Mom was also a firm believer in not wasting anything. Since she had grown up during the WWII years she had learned the lesson of conservation of energy and money. She hated to waste electricity. But each time the family left for a night outing, wasting of electricity was bound to happen in the shape of the bathroom light. Due to sheer size of the family and not knowing who would be the last to use the only bathroom, the light was always forgotten to be turned off. This was much to my mother’s dismay. Whenever we turned into the driveway, mom would look up and see the light on. Mom would say in a semi-angry manner, “Why can’t you girls ever turn off the bathroom light!” My mother had a second rule when it came to lights in the house; “If you are not using the room, the lights should be off.”
Also part of this story included our pets. Our family dog was the protector of me and my sisters. He would even attach my father if he thought that any one of us was in danger. We also had many cats when I was growing up. I can’t remember a time when there were no kittens or cats around. Out of all the cats, they too were all female. Out of all the liters of kittens, only one male cat was born but my father gave it away not realizing it was a male. This is important since there is a cat included in this story. The name of this cat is long is forgotten, but the name given to the cat after this night will always be remembered as “Lucky”.
Also, another factor in this story is the era of the 1950’s. It is important to understand the times were much different that they are now. A young girl could go for 5 mile walks on a country road at night without any fear and people left their homes unlocked at all times. My parents never had any locks on any of their door until the 80’s. It was a safe time, an innocent time, but there were also troubled kids, who were given the labels of “JD’s”, (juvenile delinquent). The boys of that time perios were either jocks, brain kids or JD’s. You will get an idea of the types of boys by watching movies such as “West Side Story”, “The Lords of Flatbush”, or “Grease” or even the hit television show “Happy Days”.
Without any of these factors, this story would not have happened. All the pieces had to be there or the story would never have happened.
It was an autumn night and there was a party at the motorcycle club that my parents belonged to. The members were from several counties and even my father’s brother was a member of the club. That night my parents and all of us girls climbed into the family car. A friend of my parents was also invited to the party as a guest of my parents. I was at an age when a young girl feels that she doesn’t belong anywhere, so I did not want to go, but of course I did. To me the party was boring. When parent’s friend said he was leaving, I asked my parents if he could take me home. Since my parents were leaving within the hour, they said yes. I was very excited with the idea of having the house to myself. I would be home, with no sisters to bother me, and I could take a long hot bubble bath. I got home and headed straight for the up stairs bathroom, to prepare for my much anticipated bubble bath. I ran the water, poured the bubble bath and got into the tub.
As I was relaxing in the tub, the dog started barking in a very strange way. I had never heard him bark like that and never did again after that night. I ignored it and thought that he was barking at the moon since I could not figure out any other reason. He stopped barking for a little while and then started barking again. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps on the floor below. Now that was different. Since I was home alone, I had no idea who it could have been. Even though I was scared, I was not scared enough not to be curious.
I got out of the tub as quietly as possible, put on some clothes and proceed to go downstairs, turning on the lights as I went. There was no one I could see, but the dog was still barking. Since my father went deer hunting every November, I knew where he kept the shotgun. I also knew where the shotgun shells were kept, since I had seen him put them away for many years. The gun was kept behind the kitchen door and he shells in a high cupboard, away from little hands. I also thought that I knew how to handle guns. I was taught by the best teachers in the world: “Gene Autry”, “Lone Ranger”, and “Roy Rogers”. You got it; I got the shotgun and loaded it.
Now in doing this brave thing, I forgot why I was getting the gun in the first place. I only remembered that I needed it. As I tried to figure out what to do next, I sat down on the living room chair. Since the gun was heavy and cold, the gun was placed a sofa pillow and the pillow was on my lap. As I sat holding the gun on my lap, still trying to figure out what to do, a sound came from the front door that made me jump out of my skin. The front door was to my left so I turned my head to see the cat, later known as Lucky, though the front door window. Lucky had the habit of jumping on the screen door and climbing up the screen until someone saw him though the front door window. This was his way of letting us know that he wanted to come into the house. The window was located about 4 – 5 feet from the floor so the cat had to climb a bit. The cat jumping onto the screen was the sound that had startled me.
Just as I was calming down, I saw a face in the living room window that was located in front on me. The face was that of a young boy, about my age. I think that I scared him as much as he scared me. Then the face was gone, I didn’t hear anything but I wasn’t going to open the door to let the cat in either. Instead I sat on the chair, holding the loaded shot gun, with the barrel pointing at the door. Then I started thinking, which is a dangerous sign as my family is always telling me. I began to wonder it the gun would work with the “safety” on. I remember dad always saying that the safety should always be on, unless you are going to shoot. I started looking for the safety. Why would I look for the safety? I really can’t tell you, but I just got curious. I found the little lever and then thought, “I wonder if the safety really works?”
You guessed it, I took off the safety. Now what should I do. Test it out of course. As the shot gun lain on the pillow, on my lap, I gently squeezed the trigger. The gun went off, and the cat yelled, and the glass on the front door shattered. Now I was scared. How in the world would I explain this one? Then the phone rang. It was the neighbor that lived up the hill, about a 5 min walk from the house. He had heard the dog barking, the lights off in the house, (except for the bathroom), and then a gun shot. I told him, quite nervously, that someone had shot into the house. (Big mistake) He said he would be right down. I realized very soon that before he left his house, he had called the police.
The neighbor got to the house and came in by way of the side door as was usual. The front door was only used on very special occasions. He inspected the front door and noted that the glass was on the porch and not in the house. He said, “Barbara, are you sure someone shot into the house, because it looks like the shot came from inside the house.” Of course he saw the gun on the floor where I had dropped it when I jumped out of my seat. I tried to explain, but nothing came out of my mouth. Just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a whole group of red lights showed up. The police had come in full force. I later learned that there were eight police cars parked outside of the house, all with the red lights running. The sheriff came in and started to ask me what had happened.
I told him, very nervously, that I was home alone, the dog was barking, I heard footsteps downstairs, got scared, got the gun. Then while sitting on the chair, I saw the face in the window. I scared me so much that I jumped up and the gun went off when it hit the floor. I did not mention about my curiosity and that I had taken the safety off. The part was not told for over 20 years. Now I thought I would go to jail. What to do? Run away was my only solution. I asked in my crying voice, if I could go into the other room. From there I would write a hasty note to my parents and run. I have no idea what I would have written because I never got the chance. Just about then, my parents with my sisters came home. Now I was going to get it. Jail was better than a spanking. I asked the sheriff if I could go to my bedroom up stairs and off I went, crying all the way. I got into my bed and hid under the covers.
Now, try to imagine what my parents thought. They come over the hill and look down at their house, (the house was located in a valley), saw police cars lining both sides of the road, red lights circling, and flashlight moving in the fields. They couldn’t have imagined what had happened since they were only 15 – 30 minutes behind me. When they got closer to the house and saw the front door smashed, glass broken and blood on the porch.
My father was greeted by the sheriff. I could hear my father calling for me and in the same breath asking what had happened. The sheriff explained the situation and dad headed for the stairs ready to give me a ‘talking to, both verbally and physically’. The sheriff stopped him and told him to leave me alone for while. I had taken a big shock and I had been punished enough. I fell in love with that sheriff for saving me like that.
The next few days, the front door got fixed, but the shot gun hole remained as a reminder as what can happen when children play with guns. In fact, 50 years after this incidence, a portion of that hole caused by the gun shot can still be seen. The shot was perfectly centered between the door and the door casing, approximately 8 inches off the floor. The blood on the porch was from Lucky. The shattering glass of the front door window had cut off half of the cat’s right ear. We learned this when the cat came home after 5 days in hiding. Lucky really earned that name when the following summer; my youngest sister dropped the cat out the upstairs window. She wanted to know if the cat would land on his feet. The cat was in hiding for 4 days after that one.
The story could have ended there, but it didn’t. The missing parts of the story took 10 years to come to light. At every family affair, such as Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, my father would offer a little more information on what really happened that night. He would add that for one year after the shooting, my father’s friends, including the friend that brought me home that night, would march around the house at midnight stating that they don’t dare go to the door or they would get shot.
What I didn’t know and what dad supplied was that one of the boys that dad had taken under his wing that summer was the boy in the window that night. At the time he had escaped from jail and was trying to get away. This was the real reason for the heavy police presence at my house that night. This fact was supported by my mother who had been stopped at a road block earlier that very same day. The police were searching all vehicles looking for the young fugitive. She had forgotten about that traffic stop until she was told that I had seen a face in the window. Since that boy had been to the house on several occasions, he knew the lay out of the house, where the money was kept, and that the bathroom light was usually on when the family was away. It was his footsteps that I had heard in the downstairs. He had heard me get out of the tub and left the house. He was waiting around; thinking that the lights would go out and he would get another chance to get the money.
When the cat jumped onto the front door screen, the boy jumped also. When he looked in the window and saw me with the gun on my lap, that had made him more frightened. About the time he had decided to leave, he heard the gun go off. He thought I was shooting at him and left fast. He ran to an uncle’s house and had decided to stop running from the police. He surrendered to the police within a few days. Now this explains how this story happened and of the little pieces except the final one.
Years later, as I was at home with my 3 year old daughter and 6 month old son, a group of men came to my home. My husband and I had joined a couple’s only motorcycle club many years before. As the months went by, the club changed from couples to singles. The club also changed in such a way that my husband and I decided it was not the type of association that we wanted and thus we discontinued our membership. The “colors”, which had the club emblem, was to be transfer back to the club and the men had come to get the “colors”. As one of the men were removing the stitching from the back of the jacket, I noticed a fellow that looked familiar. We didn’t say a word, but just stared at each other. Then, just before they left, we both was hit with a sudden realization. He was the boy that was in the window that October night many years ago.
There are two lessons in this story.
One – don’t keep any firearms in eye sight of children. Don’t let them see where you keep the guns or keep the ammunition. When they are old enough and they want to learn about guns, that they go to an instructor so they can learn the correct measures on gun safety.
Two – One simple, unrelated thing can bring about the most amazing situations. One small act can change a life forever. Therefore, everyone should realize that a simple act of kindness that lead to great things but the reverse can also happen. Therefore, let all of your actions come from an act of kindness.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Story of the Rat Girl
Story of the Rat Girl
As with many young children, they dream. Many dreams are forgotten, but some remain in your memories long after the children are grown. Sometimes, adults also have dreams that will affect their children. Such is this story.
As with many children, when I had a bad dream, I sought the comfort of my mother. Therefore when I had a bad dream, I would go downstairs to my parent’s bedroom and climb into bed with them. I would try to get between both of them; there no bad dreams could find me. But this action was filled with its own peculiar dangers. If I climbed into the bed on my mother’s side, she would wake up quickly and off to my own bed I would go. Many times, the trip to my bed would occur before the effects of the bad dream had worn off. Then, not only would I be scared in my own bed, but I would feel that mother did not want me. She had left me to the affairs of the monster that was out to get me.
My objective for the best case scenario was to climb into my parent’s bed on my father’s side. He was a much heavier sleeper and it would be hours before my mother even was aware I was there. When mom would take me to my bed, the bad dreams were gone and I could feel asleep quickly and happily.
One night I had a very bad dream. What is was I no longer can remember. I certainly did not want to go back to my bed too soon, so my only option was to craw into my parent’s bed from my father’s side of the bed. My father was sleeping on his back with his left leg raised and bending at the knee. It made the leg look like a mountain under the sheets. I thought this was great because it would give me a good hold to use to get into the bed. The problem was that Dad was dreaming also.
His dream was just as bad as my dream. He was dreaming that he was somewhere and that a rat was crawling up his leg. Unfortunately, when the rat started to climb up his leg, it was the same time I was climbing into his bed using his elevated leg to pull myself up.
Dad woke up suddenly, grabbed the rat and threw the rat violently against the wall. But I was the rat. Yep, Dad grabbed my by the arm and tossed me against the wall. I hit the wall about 2 feet from the floor and slid down to the floor. I was shocked to say the least. I started crying and saying, “Daddy”. He immediately was wide awake and realized that it was his little girl climbing up his leg. He got out of bed and comforted me. After making sure I was alright, I asked him why he threw up against the wall. He told me that he thought I was the rat.
Mom woke up and back to my own bed I went. I didn’t mind going back to my own bed now. For some reason, climbing into my parent’s bed was just as scary as my bad dreams. That was the last time that I ever crawled into my parent’s bed again.
Lesson: Dreams can affect your children well into adulthood. Always try to listen to the child’s dream and find a way to explain the dream so that the fear will vanish. Do not believe that a child’s fear is a small thing. It can haunt them for the rest of their lives. Do not belittle their experience, but try to change it into a positive remembrance.
As with many young children, they dream. Many dreams are forgotten, but some remain in your memories long after the children are grown. Sometimes, adults also have dreams that will affect their children. Such is this story.
As with many children, when I had a bad dream, I sought the comfort of my mother. Therefore when I had a bad dream, I would go downstairs to my parent’s bedroom and climb into bed with them. I would try to get between both of them; there no bad dreams could find me. But this action was filled with its own peculiar dangers. If I climbed into the bed on my mother’s side, she would wake up quickly and off to my own bed I would go. Many times, the trip to my bed would occur before the effects of the bad dream had worn off. Then, not only would I be scared in my own bed, but I would feel that mother did not want me. She had left me to the affairs of the monster that was out to get me.
My objective for the best case scenario was to climb into my parent’s bed on my father’s side. He was a much heavier sleeper and it would be hours before my mother even was aware I was there. When mom would take me to my bed, the bad dreams were gone and I could feel asleep quickly and happily.
One night I had a very bad dream. What is was I no longer can remember. I certainly did not want to go back to my bed too soon, so my only option was to craw into my parent’s bed from my father’s side of the bed. My father was sleeping on his back with his left leg raised and bending at the knee. It made the leg look like a mountain under the sheets. I thought this was great because it would give me a good hold to use to get into the bed. The problem was that Dad was dreaming also.
His dream was just as bad as my dream. He was dreaming that he was somewhere and that a rat was crawling up his leg. Unfortunately, when the rat started to climb up his leg, it was the same time I was climbing into his bed using his elevated leg to pull myself up.
Dad woke up suddenly, grabbed the rat and threw the rat violently against the wall. But I was the rat. Yep, Dad grabbed my by the arm and tossed me against the wall. I hit the wall about 2 feet from the floor and slid down to the floor. I was shocked to say the least. I started crying and saying, “Daddy”. He immediately was wide awake and realized that it was his little girl climbing up his leg. He got out of bed and comforted me. After making sure I was alright, I asked him why he threw up against the wall. He told me that he thought I was the rat.
Mom woke up and back to my own bed I went. I didn’t mind going back to my own bed now. For some reason, climbing into my parent’s bed was just as scary as my bad dreams. That was the last time that I ever crawled into my parent’s bed again.
Lesson: Dreams can affect your children well into adulthood. Always try to listen to the child’s dream and find a way to explain the dream so that the fear will vanish. Do not believe that a child’s fear is a small thing. It can haunt them for the rest of their lives. Do not belittle their experience, but try to change it into a positive remembrance.
Story of the Adopted Sister
Story of the Adopted Sister
Again this is a story that stretches over many years. Like many family stories that there is not one version but many. I will attempt to tell my story but also from my sister’s point of view as I remember it.
When I was 6 years old, my sister Patricia, (or Pat as she likes to be called) entered the family unit. As far as this 6 year old understood, she was just there. I don’t remember any advanced notice of a baby coming, Pat was just there.
The next year when I was 7 years old, my mother was pregnant for the 4th time. Like the year before, there was no advance notice that a baby was coming into the family unit and again I was too young to notice any physical difference in my mother.
One Sunday morning I came downstairs to start my morning routines. Since it was Sunday, Dad was always up early to get to the races or in the winter, working on the motorcycles. Today Dad was not up! Usually on the weekend I would make Dad his morning coffee prior to him heading off to the garage. Making coffee for Dad amounted to heating water in the tea kettle and pouring the water into a cup with 1 teaspoon of instant coffee. Dad has so used to instant coffee that he used to say that instant was much better that perked.
Well Dad was still in bed, but Mom was not there. She was not anywhere. Now I began to get scared because this was not normal and children need to have a normal routine or they will get scared. I woke Dad and asked him, “Where’s Mom?” His reply was, “Some woman had a baby and she did not want it. So your mother went to the hospital to pick it up.” I couldn’t understand why it took Mom 3 days to pick up a kid that someone didn’t want. Even through I remember asking Dad why Mom wasn’t home, I don’t remember any answer to this question. Most likely, Dad didn’t know why to answer it, so he just changed the subject or simply ignore the question. Therefore this is where the story of the “Adopted Sister” found its beginning.
As I was the eldest child, it was my duty to help keep my sisters in line, to protect them from harm and to set a good example. Since my mother worked as a waitress at night, and my father spent most of his waking hours in the garage, I was in charge of my sisters during our home life. That included after school and weekends when Mom was not in attendance. My father only came into the picture of raising a child when there was fighting or other disagreements. My mother was not aware of this situation until we were grown. Mother never realized how little my father did. She never realized that it was me that raised my sisters when she was not around. In reality, Mom gave me the principles that would shape my life and in turn I passed these ideals down to my sisters. It is a hard thing that a parent sets a child to be the adult for their younger siblings. I was in charge of disciple, encouragement, and to set up examples of responsibilities.
My main responsibility was to keep my sisters in line with my mother’s wishes and to keep them from harm. At times I was told to have my sisters perform some minor tasks and it was my responsibility to have the tasks completed. Many times this was a Herculean task to complete. Janet, being the youngest, was the hardest to keep “in line”. She was so small and fearless. Each time I had any problems getting her to mind me, I would tell her that she was adopted, that her real mother did not want her, and that Mom picked her up because she was sorry for the baby nobody wanted. Then I would add that if she didn’t do what I said, we would call the police and take her away because she was only adopted.
You should understand why this story was believable. Janet was different from the rest of us. She didn’t look like my other sisters and me. Her hair was darker and very straight. She was fearless and the rest of us of timid. Janet grew up believing she was different and thus she must have been adopted. Her belief in what I told her concerning the “adopted baby” continued for years.
On day, my mother overheard me telling Janet that she was adopted. Mom immediately drew me aside and asked where I got this crazy story. I told her what Dad had told me on the day that Janet was born. Mom was shocked as anyone might have been. She was upset that Dad has told me such a thing and immediately set out to correct any misconception. She took down Janet’s baby book from the shelf and proceeded to instruct both Janet and myself on this error. Mother proofed to both myself and Janet that she was indeed my true sister and not adopted. Although I never used this “adopted” threat again, the damage had been done in Janet mental makeup.
Years later, for unrelated reasons, Janet had to go to mental therapy. The doctors felt that child abuse had to occur in Janet’s childhood. The only evidence that the doctors could find child abuse was the way I threaten Janet with the idea that she was been adopted. Therefore I was entered into her medical chart of the mental abuse and the villain as myself even though I was only a child at the time of the abuse.
Lesson: Be very careful in what you tell a child. A child can not tell the difference between a joke and the truth. Children take all that is said to them as the truth. A misjudgment in relating facts to a child can affect them even into adulthood.
Again this is a story that stretches over many years. Like many family stories that there is not one version but many. I will attempt to tell my story but also from my sister’s point of view as I remember it.
When I was 6 years old, my sister Patricia, (or Pat as she likes to be called) entered the family unit. As far as this 6 year old understood, she was just there. I don’t remember any advanced notice of a baby coming, Pat was just there.
The next year when I was 7 years old, my mother was pregnant for the 4th time. Like the year before, there was no advance notice that a baby was coming into the family unit and again I was too young to notice any physical difference in my mother.
One Sunday morning I came downstairs to start my morning routines. Since it was Sunday, Dad was always up early to get to the races or in the winter, working on the motorcycles. Today Dad was not up! Usually on the weekend I would make Dad his morning coffee prior to him heading off to the garage. Making coffee for Dad amounted to heating water in the tea kettle and pouring the water into a cup with 1 teaspoon of instant coffee. Dad has so used to instant coffee that he used to say that instant was much better that perked.
Well Dad was still in bed, but Mom was not there. She was not anywhere. Now I began to get scared because this was not normal and children need to have a normal routine or they will get scared. I woke Dad and asked him, “Where’s Mom?” His reply was, “Some woman had a baby and she did not want it. So your mother went to the hospital to pick it up.” I couldn’t understand why it took Mom 3 days to pick up a kid that someone didn’t want. Even through I remember asking Dad why Mom wasn’t home, I don’t remember any answer to this question. Most likely, Dad didn’t know why to answer it, so he just changed the subject or simply ignore the question. Therefore this is where the story of the “Adopted Sister” found its beginning.
As I was the eldest child, it was my duty to help keep my sisters in line, to protect them from harm and to set a good example. Since my mother worked as a waitress at night, and my father spent most of his waking hours in the garage, I was in charge of my sisters during our home life. That included after school and weekends when Mom was not in attendance. My father only came into the picture of raising a child when there was fighting or other disagreements. My mother was not aware of this situation until we were grown. Mother never realized how little my father did. She never realized that it was me that raised my sisters when she was not around. In reality, Mom gave me the principles that would shape my life and in turn I passed these ideals down to my sisters. It is a hard thing that a parent sets a child to be the adult for their younger siblings. I was in charge of disciple, encouragement, and to set up examples of responsibilities.
My main responsibility was to keep my sisters in line with my mother’s wishes and to keep them from harm. At times I was told to have my sisters perform some minor tasks and it was my responsibility to have the tasks completed. Many times this was a Herculean task to complete. Janet, being the youngest, was the hardest to keep “in line”. She was so small and fearless. Each time I had any problems getting her to mind me, I would tell her that she was adopted, that her real mother did not want her, and that Mom picked her up because she was sorry for the baby nobody wanted. Then I would add that if she didn’t do what I said, we would call the police and take her away because she was only adopted.
You should understand why this story was believable. Janet was different from the rest of us. She didn’t look like my other sisters and me. Her hair was darker and very straight. She was fearless and the rest of us of timid. Janet grew up believing she was different and thus she must have been adopted. Her belief in what I told her concerning the “adopted baby” continued for years.
On day, my mother overheard me telling Janet that she was adopted. Mom immediately drew me aside and asked where I got this crazy story. I told her what Dad had told me on the day that Janet was born. Mom was shocked as anyone might have been. She was upset that Dad has told me such a thing and immediately set out to correct any misconception. She took down Janet’s baby book from the shelf and proceeded to instruct both Janet and myself on this error. Mother proofed to both myself and Janet that she was indeed my true sister and not adopted. Although I never used this “adopted” threat again, the damage had been done in Janet mental makeup.
Years later, for unrelated reasons, Janet had to go to mental therapy. The doctors felt that child abuse had to occur in Janet’s childhood. The only evidence that the doctors could find child abuse was the way I threaten Janet with the idea that she was been adopted. Therefore I was entered into her medical chart of the mental abuse and the villain as myself even though I was only a child at the time of the abuse.
Lesson: Be very careful in what you tell a child. A child can not tell the difference between a joke and the truth. Children take all that is said to them as the truth. A misjudgment in relating facts to a child can affect them even into adulthood.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Story of a Child in 2 parts
Meaning of a Child’s Death - Part I
This is a story that is very difficult for me to write, but it is worth sharing. The events have shown me God’s love and his willingness to get his message to us, even if it takes years.
I have always been afraid of dying alone. I am the eldest of 5 girls, and have very seldom been alone. As an adult, being alone is part of living, but I was always uncomfortable with that situation. There always had to be someone with me. Why? I was afraid of dying alone. Several nightmares confirmed this fear and as the years went by, it became stronger. My favorite aunt, who lived in California, died while grocery shopping. Then my favorite uncle, who lived in Massachusetts, also died alone while at a Car Dealership. These 2 deaths only added ‘fuel to the fire’. The idea of facing life alone was too great, and I established relationships just to be NOT alone.
Then one day my sister became pregnant for her third child. The family was happy and the pregnancy was uneventful. Everything was normal, or so we thought. The child was born with multiple deformities. The top of her skull was missing; she had an extra finger, heart deformities, and other birth defects. The doctors were amazed that the child had not been aborted in the first trimester, or that there were no warning signs or symptoms during the pregnancy. They were also amazed that the child was delivered at full term. Just to have the child living and breathing astounded them.
The first time I met this frail infant, I felt a bond with her. She had a presence that connected the two of us. While I carried her in my arms, she became part of my body. She and I had formed a bond that no one could explain or understand. Her life was meant to be short, and she died at the age of 25 days.
But my witness to God’s love was in her death. Please understand that I do not believe in coincidence. I was at the hospital when she died. She was having trouble breathing and a flow of oxygen over her nostrils was her only comfort. Mother and Father were upset of course, but they watched for any discomfort and quickly sought to solve it.
After a brief period of time, I felt that I had to make the room ready. Something was coming and I needed room for them. I pushed all the unnecessary furniture in the corner of the room. I felt compelled to make the room ready. Soon everyone, with the exception of the parents, was standing up against the wall. All felt the need to get as far from the child as possible, without leaving the room. We were the witnesses. Soon Beings in glowing white robes stated to arrive. There were so many of them that I could feel the pressure of being pushed into the wall. (Like a crowded concert and not enough seats.)
Then two of the white Beings started to form some type of a physical body. I felt that one of the beings was female, perhaps the child’s grandmother. She had been the mother of my now grieving brother-in-law. She had died when her son had been an infant himself. The other was an older male, my grandfather and great-grandfather to this child. The emotion of Love was so great; I thought it would crush me. If love could become be described as fog, this was an intense and crippling fog. Then the grandmother bent forward to receive the child. This was the moment when the life force of the child ceased to be. She lifted the child into the air, and in that movement, the child grew into 3-year-old child. As she was placed on her feet, with one hand with the grandmother and one hand with the great-grandfather, she turned to face my grieving parents and uttered “Mommy, why are you crying? I’m with Grandma.” With that the 3 figures drifted away and shortly after that, the other beings left also, but leaving behind an aura of love.
This should be the end of the story and I thought it was for years, but that was not to be. Five years later, I purchased for my sister a figurine of an angel in blue holding a baby. I immediately thought of that young niece of so long ago. As I was driving home with the purchase, a story kept repeating over and over in my head. It was the story of the child’s death, but through her eyes. I was so driven, that upon immediately reaching my home, I taped recorded the story. Writing the story would take too long and I was so driven.
In addition, during this same this time I had started mediation classes for the purpose of understanding God’s will and to get to know my Guardian Angel. Three days after the purchase of the figurines, I attended a mediation class. The focus of the mediation was to meet your Guardian Angel. During the mediation, I saw my grandfather standing in front of a wall of Sweet Peas. These flowers I had always associated with him. Then, stepping out behind him was my Guardian Angel. Then I knew who the Guardian Angel was. Information flooded into my mind with such a fury, that I was overpowered. I broke my mediation and ran out with tears of joy and shaking from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.
My guardian angel had become one with the child. That was the reason for the child reaching full term. The child was given life in order to give life and hope to me and to others that would care to listen to the story. I was meant to be in her presents when she died. My witness to the
transformation to the spiritual world was to teach me that no one ever dies alone. Even when there is no family in attendance, there are still those who love them standing next to them. They were the family members who had already transcended life, and with their love, would assist others to reach the light of God’s love.
Now I am no longer afraid to be alone, because now I understand that I am never alone. I now believe that God’s messengers are always with me. My faith in the existence of God will always be there to give and share their love and support when ever it is required and accepted.
Janelle's Story - Part II
There once was a little girl. She was so little. She couldn't walk, she couldn't talk, and she couldn't see very well. She had a feeling that there was a great adventure waiting for her. She wanted to see the trees and the flowers. She wanted to see her Mom and Dad a little clearer, but somehow it all didn't seem to matter. She had a great brightness, and a great spirit about her. She could sense everything. She knew her mother's loving touch; her daddy loves kisses, even her big brothers' protectiveness to keep her safe. When she was hungry she got fed. She wasn't sure just how, but she was satisfied. She felt loved all the time. So much love but yet it was not quite enough. There was something missing.
She knew there was a great adventure that she was going to be going on, but she didn't know when. She kept thinking soon...soon. Her mommy had many sisters. She never got to meet them all, but there was one aunt she liked. When her aunt held her, she felt safe and comfortable. Almost like Mommy but not quite. The aunt wore a big hat that would shade her from the bright sun, but she could still feel the wonderful warmth on her face. She wanted to laugh and run and play but she couldn't because she wasn't big enough. Then she noted she had other drawbacks. Her little body just didn't want to do certain things. Once in a while she found pain or she had trouble getting the air in to breathe. Mommy and Daddy were always there to help her get through the bad times.
One day she got very sick, and her parents took her to this big building. It was strange but as long as Mommy & Daddy were there, that was the main thing. She always felt safe with them. At times she would get very sleepy. She didn't know why, but she got very sleepy. She could tell Mommy and Daddy was crying at times but didn't know why. She knew she was in their arms. Every once in a while she had trouble breathing. Then miraculously, she felt a little breeze and she could breathe better. She also noticed that every time she had trouble breathing, Mommy and Daddy would get very upset.
Eventually the breathing got better, and then she would be sleepy again. She could always hear her Mommy and Daddy crying in the background. She couldn't figure out why. She was just sleepy and she kept remembering the adventure she was going on. Mommy and Daddy were not alone. There was Mommy’s sister. This time her aunt was not wearing the big hat. There was also Daddy’s brother. He seems quiet and only talked to Daddy in hushed tones. Both her aunt and uncle had brought someone else with them too. The four people were guarding her but she didn’t know from what or from whom.
But now other people were coming into the room. These people were different. Now she suddenly noticed that the room was getting crowded. These other people that were coming to see her were brilliantly white. Almost like the sunlight she felt on her face on that summer's day when she was outside. These people kept talking to her. They told her of the great adventure and how much they loved her. They started telling her their names, but she couldn't remember them all. She didn't recognize them. She noticed that somehow they were always seemed to be able to talk to her even when her eyes were closed. The funniest thing was that she was able to talk to them, also. She didn't understand that, but she knew she was finally going on her big adventure.
Then all of a sudden two light beings came towards her. These people were a little brighter than the rest. These two people gave her their names, she recognized them. One said she was the grandmother and the other said he was the great-grandfather. He looked old and wise. He was much older than her Mommy and Daddy, and even her uncles. He didn't say much just says, "I'm your grandfather." He was very quiet but when he looked at her, she could tell he was so gentle. She thought, "This must be a Grandfather."
They sat a little while and they talked and her grandmother told her more of the adventure she was going on. Her grandmother also told her of all the love she had. Then her Mommy and Daddy started squeezing her so tight. She could hardly breathe. She was so sleepy. Her parents were crying and she could still hear her grandmother and all these other brilliant people talking with her, and giving her their love. They even showed her pictures of what she was going to be doing. On her adventure she would be able to walk, to talk, and even sing. Not only would she be walking, she would be able to fly. She would see the birds. Since she had never seen birds, the ideas of flying with birds were so wonderful.
Then all of a sudden, Grandmother looked down and said, "Time to go." Her grandmother picked her up and a miracle happened. All of a sudden she started growing. From the moment her grandmother touched her blanket and began to cradle her, she got bigger. Her legs got stronger. The little hat that Mom had on her head even got bigger so she could wear it. All of her clothes changed from the little blanket that she had around her, the T-shirt she wore, or what ever else she was wearing to something brilliantly white. Her clothes were becoming just like those of the beings who had been telling her of the big adventure.
Then, suddenly her grandmother put her down. The grandmother held her with one hand and her grandfather held her other hand. Their hands were so soft and tender and she was so excited. She was finally going on the big adventure. She was going to be able to walk and talk and sing! Then she remembered Mommy and Daddy. She turned around and looked at them. Mommy and Daddy were crying so hard and she did not understand why. So she said to Mom, "Mom, why are you crying? I'm with Grandma." And with that she turned around and went with Grandma, Grandpa and all the loving beings that had been there came too.
This is a story that is very difficult for me to write, but it is worth sharing. The events have shown me God’s love and his willingness to get his message to us, even if it takes years.
I have always been afraid of dying alone. I am the eldest of 5 girls, and have very seldom been alone. As an adult, being alone is part of living, but I was always uncomfortable with that situation. There always had to be someone with me. Why? I was afraid of dying alone. Several nightmares confirmed this fear and as the years went by, it became stronger. My favorite aunt, who lived in California, died while grocery shopping. Then my favorite uncle, who lived in Massachusetts, also died alone while at a Car Dealership. These 2 deaths only added ‘fuel to the fire’. The idea of facing life alone was too great, and I established relationships just to be NOT alone.
Then one day my sister became pregnant for her third child. The family was happy and the pregnancy was uneventful. Everything was normal, or so we thought. The child was born with multiple deformities. The top of her skull was missing; she had an extra finger, heart deformities, and other birth defects. The doctors were amazed that the child had not been aborted in the first trimester, or that there were no warning signs or symptoms during the pregnancy. They were also amazed that the child was delivered at full term. Just to have the child living and breathing astounded them.
The first time I met this frail infant, I felt a bond with her. She had a presence that connected the two of us. While I carried her in my arms, she became part of my body. She and I had formed a bond that no one could explain or understand. Her life was meant to be short, and she died at the age of 25 days.
But my witness to God’s love was in her death. Please understand that I do not believe in coincidence. I was at the hospital when she died. She was having trouble breathing and a flow of oxygen over her nostrils was her only comfort. Mother and Father were upset of course, but they watched for any discomfort and quickly sought to solve it.
After a brief period of time, I felt that I had to make the room ready. Something was coming and I needed room for them. I pushed all the unnecessary furniture in the corner of the room. I felt compelled to make the room ready. Soon everyone, with the exception of the parents, was standing up against the wall. All felt the need to get as far from the child as possible, without leaving the room. We were the witnesses. Soon Beings in glowing white robes stated to arrive. There were so many of them that I could feel the pressure of being pushed into the wall. (Like a crowded concert and not enough seats.)
Then two of the white Beings started to form some type of a physical body. I felt that one of the beings was female, perhaps the child’s grandmother. She had been the mother of my now grieving brother-in-law. She had died when her son had been an infant himself. The other was an older male, my grandfather and great-grandfather to this child. The emotion of Love was so great; I thought it would crush me. If love could become be described as fog, this was an intense and crippling fog. Then the grandmother bent forward to receive the child. This was the moment when the life force of the child ceased to be. She lifted the child into the air, and in that movement, the child grew into 3-year-old child. As she was placed on her feet, with one hand with the grandmother and one hand with the great-grandfather, she turned to face my grieving parents and uttered “Mommy, why are you crying? I’m with Grandma.” With that the 3 figures drifted away and shortly after that, the other beings left also, but leaving behind an aura of love.
This should be the end of the story and I thought it was for years, but that was not to be. Five years later, I purchased for my sister a figurine of an angel in blue holding a baby. I immediately thought of that young niece of so long ago. As I was driving home with the purchase, a story kept repeating over and over in my head. It was the story of the child’s death, but through her eyes. I was so driven, that upon immediately reaching my home, I taped recorded the story. Writing the story would take too long and I was so driven.
In addition, during this same this time I had started mediation classes for the purpose of understanding God’s will and to get to know my Guardian Angel. Three days after the purchase of the figurines, I attended a mediation class. The focus of the mediation was to meet your Guardian Angel. During the mediation, I saw my grandfather standing in front of a wall of Sweet Peas. These flowers I had always associated with him. Then, stepping out behind him was my Guardian Angel. Then I knew who the Guardian Angel was. Information flooded into my mind with such a fury, that I was overpowered. I broke my mediation and ran out with tears of joy and shaking from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.
My guardian angel had become one with the child. That was the reason for the child reaching full term. The child was given life in order to give life and hope to me and to others that would care to listen to the story. I was meant to be in her presents when she died. My witness to the
transformation to the spiritual world was to teach me that no one ever dies alone. Even when there is no family in attendance, there are still those who love them standing next to them. They were the family members who had already transcended life, and with their love, would assist others to reach the light of God’s love.
Now I am no longer afraid to be alone, because now I understand that I am never alone. I now believe that God’s messengers are always with me. My faith in the existence of God will always be there to give and share their love and support when ever it is required and accepted.
Janelle's Story - Part II
There once was a little girl. She was so little. She couldn't walk, she couldn't talk, and she couldn't see very well. She had a feeling that there was a great adventure waiting for her. She wanted to see the trees and the flowers. She wanted to see her Mom and Dad a little clearer, but somehow it all didn't seem to matter. She had a great brightness, and a great spirit about her. She could sense everything. She knew her mother's loving touch; her daddy loves kisses, even her big brothers' protectiveness to keep her safe. When she was hungry she got fed. She wasn't sure just how, but she was satisfied. She felt loved all the time. So much love but yet it was not quite enough. There was something missing.
She knew there was a great adventure that she was going to be going on, but she didn't know when. She kept thinking soon...soon. Her mommy had many sisters. She never got to meet them all, but there was one aunt she liked. When her aunt held her, she felt safe and comfortable. Almost like Mommy but not quite. The aunt wore a big hat that would shade her from the bright sun, but she could still feel the wonderful warmth on her face. She wanted to laugh and run and play but she couldn't because she wasn't big enough. Then she noted she had other drawbacks. Her little body just didn't want to do certain things. Once in a while she found pain or she had trouble getting the air in to breathe. Mommy and Daddy were always there to help her get through the bad times.
One day she got very sick, and her parents took her to this big building. It was strange but as long as Mommy & Daddy were there, that was the main thing. She always felt safe with them. At times she would get very sleepy. She didn't know why, but she got very sleepy. She could tell Mommy and Daddy was crying at times but didn't know why. She knew she was in their arms. Every once in a while she had trouble breathing. Then miraculously, she felt a little breeze and she could breathe better. She also noticed that every time she had trouble breathing, Mommy and Daddy would get very upset.
Eventually the breathing got better, and then she would be sleepy again. She could always hear her Mommy and Daddy crying in the background. She couldn't figure out why. She was just sleepy and she kept remembering the adventure she was going on. Mommy and Daddy were not alone. There was Mommy’s sister. This time her aunt was not wearing the big hat. There was also Daddy’s brother. He seems quiet and only talked to Daddy in hushed tones. Both her aunt and uncle had brought someone else with them too. The four people were guarding her but she didn’t know from what or from whom.
But now other people were coming into the room. These people were different. Now she suddenly noticed that the room was getting crowded. These other people that were coming to see her were brilliantly white. Almost like the sunlight she felt on her face on that summer's day when she was outside. These people kept talking to her. They told her of the great adventure and how much they loved her. They started telling her their names, but she couldn't remember them all. She didn't recognize them. She noticed that somehow they were always seemed to be able to talk to her even when her eyes were closed. The funniest thing was that she was able to talk to them, also. She didn't understand that, but she knew she was finally going on her big adventure.
Then all of a sudden two light beings came towards her. These people were a little brighter than the rest. These two people gave her their names, she recognized them. One said she was the grandmother and the other said he was the great-grandfather. He looked old and wise. He was much older than her Mommy and Daddy, and even her uncles. He didn't say much just says, "I'm your grandfather." He was very quiet but when he looked at her, she could tell he was so gentle. She thought, "This must be a Grandfather."
They sat a little while and they talked and her grandmother told her more of the adventure she was going on. Her grandmother also told her of all the love she had. Then her Mommy and Daddy started squeezing her so tight. She could hardly breathe. She was so sleepy. Her parents were crying and she could still hear her grandmother and all these other brilliant people talking with her, and giving her their love. They even showed her pictures of what she was going to be doing. On her adventure she would be able to walk, to talk, and even sing. Not only would she be walking, she would be able to fly. She would see the birds. Since she had never seen birds, the ideas of flying with birds were so wonderful.
Then all of a sudden, Grandmother looked down and said, "Time to go." Her grandmother picked her up and a miracle happened. All of a sudden she started growing. From the moment her grandmother touched her blanket and began to cradle her, she got bigger. Her legs got stronger. The little hat that Mom had on her head even got bigger so she could wear it. All of her clothes changed from the little blanket that she had around her, the T-shirt she wore, or what ever else she was wearing to something brilliantly white. Her clothes were becoming just like those of the beings who had been telling her of the big adventure.
Then, suddenly her grandmother put her down. The grandmother held her with one hand and her grandfather held her other hand. Their hands were so soft and tender and she was so excited. She was finally going on the big adventure. She was going to be able to walk and talk and sing! Then she remembered Mommy and Daddy. She turned around and looked at them. Mommy and Daddy were crying so hard and she did not understand why. So she said to Mom, "Mom, why are you crying? I'm with Grandma." And with that she turned around and went with Grandma, Grandpa and all the loving beings that had been there came too.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Grandpa's Funeral
My grandfather, John Albert Jensen, was a farmer and a member of the Masonic Lodge. He lived with his wife and sons outside of Geneva, New York. He died on September 28th, 1951. I have just turned 4 years old at the time of his death. For years I had related this story to my cousins and siblings as this was the only memory I had of this man who was my grandfather.
I went to the funeral home where my grandfather laid in state and where the family members would come together and reminisce about his life. I was brought before the casket that held my grandfather. The casket was long (at least to me) and was made of a beautiful wood. In later tellings of this story, I associate the length of the box to the height of Abraham Lincoln. (What a strange association!) It was a dark wood and very shinny. I wanted to touch it. It was smooth and cool. Then my mother picked me up and let me look inside. There was a man asleep in the box. I was told that it was my grandfather. I recognized him, but I didn’t understand how I knew him. Since my parents had told me who he was, I accepted it. I didn’t feel sadness or happiness, just a child’s wonder.
Being a small child, I was instructed to remain in my seat where I had been placed. I am sure that this was my mother’s way to keep me quiet and out from under her feet. I was an obedient child and always did what my mother instructed, or at least most of the time.
I sat in the 3rd chair from the end. There was a long line of chairs and there was nothing to do, so I looked around. The chairs were of the same dark wood as the casket. The tops of the chair backs were slightly darker. Now I know that was from people touching the chairs. The backs of the chairs was open with a scroll pattern. The chair backs were comfortable for adults but not for children. The seats were cushioned with a red material. The seats were brocade but I don’t remember the accent color. The walls of the room were also red but they looked like a cloth type with velvet like feel to the touch. It was somber and the room had a feeling of soothing nature, like a church. It was a place where people talked in hush tones.
The wall also had lighting fixture that to my mind did not give off much light. You certain couldn’t play or working on any coloring books. I didn’t have any toys so there no lose in that activity. All the light was going up to the ceiling like mixing bowls but smaller. At the head and foot of the casket were two lamps, one at each end. There also gave off little light since all the light was aimed at the ceiling. There were flowers around the casket. They were the only thing that was light and pretty in the room, except for the wall paper.
Over the years I told this story to my cousins, because they never knew their grandfather and I was the only one to have any memory of him. I must have been between 10 and 13 years when my mother happens to hear me tell this story. After the story was completed, she pulled me aside and asked how I knew of the funeral. I told her because I was there. She then informed me that I never WENT to the funeral parlor. I asked her if the description of the room and of the casket were accurate. She said yes. I asked her then how I knew these things. She answered that I must have overheard it. I asked her if people would talk about the lighting, lamps, and chair descriptions and she answered probably not. I then asked her “then how did I know all this?” My mother just walked away.
As I grew into an adult, I realized that in the days prior to the 1970’s, it was not considered proper to take small children to a funeral, even when the decreased was a family member. Since I was 4 years, it would have been completely accurate and correct for me not to have been there, so I did I know how a funeral home looked like. My first funeral home experience (after my grandfather) was in 1963 when my uncle had died. It was here that I fully realized that my recon- collection of my grandfather’s funeral were indeed correct.
So I question you: How did I reflect the tone and atmosphere of a funeral home at the age of 4 years when I was not there.
Lesson: Children are extraordinary creatures. If they need to experience something in life, they will do so with complete accuracy, even when they are not there.
I went to the funeral home where my grandfather laid in state and where the family members would come together and reminisce about his life. I was brought before the casket that held my grandfather. The casket was long (at least to me) and was made of a beautiful wood. In later tellings of this story, I associate the length of the box to the height of Abraham Lincoln. (What a strange association!) It was a dark wood and very shinny. I wanted to touch it. It was smooth and cool. Then my mother picked me up and let me look inside. There was a man asleep in the box. I was told that it was my grandfather. I recognized him, but I didn’t understand how I knew him. Since my parents had told me who he was, I accepted it. I didn’t feel sadness or happiness, just a child’s wonder.
Being a small child, I was instructed to remain in my seat where I had been placed. I am sure that this was my mother’s way to keep me quiet and out from under her feet. I was an obedient child and always did what my mother instructed, or at least most of the time.
I sat in the 3rd chair from the end. There was a long line of chairs and there was nothing to do, so I looked around. The chairs were of the same dark wood as the casket. The tops of the chair backs were slightly darker. Now I know that was from people touching the chairs. The backs of the chairs was open with a scroll pattern. The chair backs were comfortable for adults but not for children. The seats were cushioned with a red material. The seats were brocade but I don’t remember the accent color. The walls of the room were also red but they looked like a cloth type with velvet like feel to the touch. It was somber and the room had a feeling of soothing nature, like a church. It was a place where people talked in hush tones.
The wall also had lighting fixture that to my mind did not give off much light. You certain couldn’t play or working on any coloring books. I didn’t have any toys so there no lose in that activity. All the light was going up to the ceiling like mixing bowls but smaller. At the head and foot of the casket were two lamps, one at each end. There also gave off little light since all the light was aimed at the ceiling. There were flowers around the casket. They were the only thing that was light and pretty in the room, except for the wall paper.
Over the years I told this story to my cousins, because they never knew their grandfather and I was the only one to have any memory of him. I must have been between 10 and 13 years when my mother happens to hear me tell this story. After the story was completed, she pulled me aside and asked how I knew of the funeral. I told her because I was there. She then informed me that I never WENT to the funeral parlor. I asked her if the description of the room and of the casket were accurate. She said yes. I asked her then how I knew these things. She answered that I must have overheard it. I asked her if people would talk about the lighting, lamps, and chair descriptions and she answered probably not. I then asked her “then how did I know all this?” My mother just walked away.
As I grew into an adult, I realized that in the days prior to the 1970’s, it was not considered proper to take small children to a funeral, even when the decreased was a family member. Since I was 4 years, it would have been completely accurate and correct for me not to have been there, so I did I know how a funeral home looked like. My first funeral home experience (after my grandfather) was in 1963 when my uncle had died. It was here that I fully realized that my recon- collection of my grandfather’s funeral were indeed correct.
So I question you: How did I reflect the tone and atmosphere of a funeral home at the age of 4 years when I was not there.
Lesson: Children are extraordinary creatures. If they need to experience something in life, they will do so with complete accuracy, even when they are not there.
Introduction
There have been many stories in my family, and many from my experiences. My family have told me that I should write a book, but that seemed too hard. Then there was a problem of publishing. As I go through life, I have come to realize that these stories have life messages: some serious, some funny, and some entertaining. My grandmother and great aunt have related stories as a child and many have been forgotten. These stories are to keep daily events alive for my grandchildren, nieces and nephews, and future generations.
This is important as my family have been in this country since the 1690's, and for my children, whose father's family has been here just as long. The family has had heroes in the French and Indian wars, the Revolutionary War, and in the Frontier West, as well as in the last hundred years. My mother's family is kin to Buffalo Bill Cody of which my grandmother has a strong family resemblance.
Now I would like to introduce myself and my family unit. My father was the 2nd son of 6 boys. My mother was the youngest of 4 children. My father was married prior to WWII and had 1 daughter. Uncharacterist for the times, my wife divorce him to marry someone else. Since WWII was happening, my father gave up his daughter and left for war. During the war years, he met my mother. After his return from the Pacific, he married my mother. Together they had 6 more daughters.
There was myself, Terry, Patricia, Janet, Kathleen, and Cindy. What was interesting was that the arrivals of us girls are in set of 2's. I and Terry came first. Five years later was Patricia and Janet. Five years later came Kathleen (who had died after a few hours) and lastly but not the least Cindy.
Another unique quality was the children of my mother's and father's siblings. They all have either all boys or all girls. There were no mixed sex siblings in this generation. This gave me a funny outlook on family units. I grew up thinking that a family that had both boys and girls in it was very strange and unnatural. Hense the mind of a child will adopt to any situation that they are living in. A child was except anything as normal when they are brought up in a specific environment. Maybe that is why children in an abusive family become abusive in adulthood, children in a violent environment will be violent in adulthood, etc.
Any way these stories will not be in chronologic order. They are true and not taken from any books or writings. My fondest hope that my sisters and other will be motivated to add their unique point of view on the story or add their own.
My goal is to write 100 stories at least 1 per week. This will take some time and I hope it will be enjoyable.
This is important as my family have been in this country since the 1690's, and for my children, whose father's family has been here just as long. The family has had heroes in the French and Indian wars, the Revolutionary War, and in the Frontier West, as well as in the last hundred years. My mother's family is kin to Buffalo Bill Cody of which my grandmother has a strong family resemblance.
Now I would like to introduce myself and my family unit. My father was the 2nd son of 6 boys. My mother was the youngest of 4 children. My father was married prior to WWII and had 1 daughter. Uncharacterist for the times, my wife divorce him to marry someone else. Since WWII was happening, my father gave up his daughter and left for war. During the war years, he met my mother. After his return from the Pacific, he married my mother. Together they had 6 more daughters.
There was myself, Terry, Patricia, Janet, Kathleen, and Cindy. What was interesting was that the arrivals of us girls are in set of 2's. I and Terry came first. Five years later was Patricia and Janet. Five years later came Kathleen (who had died after a few hours) and lastly but not the least Cindy.
Another unique quality was the children of my mother's and father's siblings. They all have either all boys or all girls. There were no mixed sex siblings in this generation. This gave me a funny outlook on family units. I grew up thinking that a family that had both boys and girls in it was very strange and unnatural. Hense the mind of a child will adopt to any situation that they are living in. A child was except anything as normal when they are brought up in a specific environment. Maybe that is why children in an abusive family become abusive in adulthood, children in a violent environment will be violent in adulthood, etc.
Any way these stories will not be in chronologic order. They are true and not taken from any books or writings. My fondest hope that my sisters and other will be motivated to add their unique point of view on the story or add their own.
My goal is to write 100 stories at least 1 per week. This will take some time and I hope it will be enjoyable.
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