Saturday, May 12, 2007
Back To The Time Machine.
I don't remember financial details but 1954 must have been a pretty good year for us. I know that in 1955 we got a new car and the new house and the pictures of that year showed a lot of travel. But, since it is Mother's Day this weekend, here are a few pictures of my Mama. As always click the photos for big.
In 1954 I was seven, my big sister was, I believe, fourteen and Mom was thirty-five.
It's time for a Mother's Day story about why my chin is lopsided to this day and has that scar. It was the summer before I started Kindergarten. No, Harv, I do not call that my senior year...had to be 1952.
One of the neighbors had a very tall tree that had, for some reason, a ladder leaned up against it. I do not recall what kind of tree, perhaps it had nuts. At any rate it did have the ladder. These were the days when small boys could roam the neighborhoods with nothing to fear but mean dogs or, worse, geese.
In those days there were Saturday Matinees at the local theater, we would walk there, a mile or so, in company with the bigger kids, each with our quarter for admission and a shiny dime for a soda and popcorn. There we would get our weekly ration of cowboys or pirate movies. I loved pirate movies...Mom loved getting me out of the house.
Back to the tree with the ladder. Since the tree was taller than the houses around the top of the tree made a perfect crow's nest. So I clumb the ladder to the top and put one hand above my eyes to shade them while I looked for enemy sails. Since I could see none I decided to try using my imaginary binoculars. Have I ever told you that it is a good idea not to hold both hands in front of your face while on top of a tall ladder?
Somehow I lost my balance and started downhill, fast.Since my hands were already up, they stayed up, higher because they hit the ladder. So did my chin. Ever run real fast with a stick alongside a picket fence? That is what it sounded like only it wasn't a stick or a fence. It was my chin and the rungs of the ladder. Fortunately my chin against the ladder must have slowed me down enough that I didn't break anything. My chin was bleeding like a stuck pig though and, like any brave five year old I ran home screaming for Mama. The Mama who had just swept and mopped. I ran in screaming and Mom hollered "Don't you bleed on my clean floor!" and hustled me, and my blood outside. Then she told me not to move, went inside and got the first aid kid and bandaged me up. All the while complaining how she'd never get those bloodstains out of that shirt.
She never did get those bloodstains out. That was also the last time I ever remember crying over a little blood. Well, a lot of blood, head and face wounds tend to bleed a lot.
In those days Dads tended to work, Moms took care of the kids. If I have any courage or pain resistance at all it came from my Mom. Happy Mother's Day. I sure miss you.
UPDATE:5/14/07: If you maximise the top left picture here you will see that my Mom was barefoot. In 1954. The durned old hippies didn't invent THAT, either.