My parents almost never used physical discipline on us. When we were really young, my mother would slap "our little hands", as she put it, whenever we didn't listen to her and were in danger of hurting ourselves. That couldn't have happened very often because I don't remember any of it, not just about myself but also about my younger siblings. My father would threaten to spank us when we didn't behave, but I can remember only one time when he actually did. My older sister still talks about it, mainly I think because she wasn't on the receiving end and always complained that the rest of us were spoiled.
It happened one summer day after one of those wonderful trips to the lake where we went swimming and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. On rare occasions after these swimming trips we would stop at the Dairy Joy for cones on the way home, always a real treat. This day we didn't. When I realized that we weren't going to stop, I started asking why. Pretty soon my two younger sisters joined in and before long we had turned the request into a monotonous chant. We kept it up even after our father told us several times to stop. Finally, he told us if we didn't stop at once, we would all get a spanking when we got home. Well, by that time, we were enjoying the noise we were making and couldn't stop. I think none of us thought he would really spank us.
We arrived home and unloaded the car. My father went into the house and we were told to go to our bedroom, which the three of us shared. When we got there, he was sitting on one of the beds. He told my two sisters to leave the room and wait in the hall. Then he proceeded to put me over his knees and give me a spanking. I was so shocked and angry I cried even though it really didn't hurt. When he was done, I think he spoke to me but I don't remember what he said. All I remember is the ignominy of the situation, and the wish that the whole day had never happened.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
The Day I Lost Santa Claus
I remember vividly the day I finally realized there was no Santa Claus. I don't remember the circumstances leading up to the discovery but I'm sure it was probably a series of little things. I do remember coming downstairs early one Christmas morning and asking my mother if I was right that there really isn't a Santa Claus. She must have decided that I was old enough to learn the truth and told me that yes, I was right. I was happy at the time because I felt grown up and would be able to join my older sister and brother in keeping the secret safe from my younger siblings. It wasn't until we were looking forward to Christmas the next year that I realized what I had lost.
As I watched my sisters and brother anticipating the arrival of Santa, I felt estranged from them and from all of the joy and excitement of Christmas. It wasn't the thought of receiving presents under the tree that kept Christmas so joyous and magical; it was the thought of Santa Claus coming to our house in the middle of the night and leaving us gifts that only he knew we wanted. Without that magic and mystery Christmas seemed kind of flat and uneventful. Thinking about the birth of baby Jesus as the real reason for being joyful didn't impress me either. I guess even as a child I wasn't really a religious person; Santa was more exciting and wonderful than Jesus could ever be.
It wasn't until my husband and I had a child of our own that I was able to recover some of that feeling. Telling her the story of Santa Claus and seeing her excitement at Christmas made even the fact that she would someday feel the loss that I had felt worth the price. And she has now repeated the whole process with her son, and I know she is dreading the day when he too will suffer the loss of Santa Claus.
As I watched my sisters and brother anticipating the arrival of Santa, I felt estranged from them and from all of the joy and excitement of Christmas. It wasn't the thought of receiving presents under the tree that kept Christmas so joyous and magical; it was the thought of Santa Claus coming to our house in the middle of the night and leaving us gifts that only he knew we wanted. Without that magic and mystery Christmas seemed kind of flat and uneventful. Thinking about the birth of baby Jesus as the real reason for being joyful didn't impress me either. I guess even as a child I wasn't really a religious person; Santa was more exciting and wonderful than Jesus could ever be.
It wasn't until my husband and I had a child of our own that I was able to recover some of that feeling. Telling her the story of Santa Claus and seeing her excitement at Christmas made even the fact that she would someday feel the loss that I had felt worth the price. And she has now repeated the whole process with her son, and I know she is dreading the day when he too will suffer the loss of Santa Claus.
Monday, November 14, 2011
The School Dilemma
Recent incidents have reminded me of my days spent at school. Even though when I was young teachers were educated to teach their students certain things, the organized school system, whether public or private, failed most of the time. Granted I did learn to read and write, but I would have learned that anyway from my mother. I learned algebra and geometry and enjoyed learning them, but the only time I have ever used them was in helping my daughter with her school work. I studied biology and chemistry and loved those subjects but I've never really needed them in my adult life. And because I love to read and I love to learn, I have taught myself more about those various subjects than I ever learned in school.
However, unlike today my teachers believed they were teaching my schoolmates and me important stuff that we would never learn otherwise. Those were the good old days when the choice of curriculum wasn't led by the various standardized tests administered by the State. Teachers and administrators had more freedom to design their own classwork and decide what they believed was important for their students to learn in each subject. I received a fairly well-rounded education and graduated satisfied that my teachers and I had done well.
It was only years later that I realized I would have been better educated if I had been homeschooled or at least given more freedom to pursue in more detail subjects I was really interested in. I know now that it is impossible to educate students by giving them a little of this and a little of that and consider it done. Most students give up from boredom or a lack of understanding, and either fail or go on to graduate not knowing they have been given little opportunity to really learn. Who knows what our country would be like now if teachers had been educated in learning and then had been allowed to teach their students how to learn.
However, unlike today my teachers believed they were teaching my schoolmates and me important stuff that we would never learn otherwise. Those were the good old days when the choice of curriculum wasn't led by the various standardized tests administered by the State. Teachers and administrators had more freedom to design their own classwork and decide what they believed was important for their students to learn in each subject. I received a fairly well-rounded education and graduated satisfied that my teachers and I had done well.
It was only years later that I realized I would have been better educated if I had been homeschooled or at least given more freedom to pursue in more detail subjects I was really interested in. I know now that it is impossible to educate students by giving them a little of this and a little of that and consider it done. Most students give up from boredom or a lack of understanding, and either fail or go on to graduate not knowing they have been given little opportunity to really learn. Who knows what our country would be like now if teachers had been educated in learning and then had been allowed to teach their students how to learn.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Holidays
Thanksgiving was always a popular holiday in my childhood home. My mother spent the day before cooking and baking while we were in school. Then that night she would bake a few more pies and prepare the turkey for the oven. I liked to sit and watch her preparations and learned most of my cooking techniques not from actually cooking myself, but from watching my mother cook. Later, when I was older, I made a few pies, cakes and brownies but no actual meal preparations. It wasn't until I was married that I started cooking for real. Even with that lack of experience I resisted my husband's attempts to turn me into a cook like his mother. She was a good cook but nothing like my own mother. I made do with some of my mother's recipes, a few cookbooks, and most important of all, the original 1940's Betty Crocker Cookbook used by my mother. I loved that cookbook; I still do. It's not in great shape, but I have all the pages complete with my mother's notes. When the publishers came out with a reprint, I bought a copy.
Thanksgiving morning we all were on our best behavior. The delicious smells coming from the kitchen were enough to remind us to help our mother all we could for we wanted nothing to go wrong with that wonderful food. The table in the dining room, which had been transformed from a place to do homework to a beautiful setting for my mother's wedding china and tablecloth, became the favorite room in the house. We constantly checked to make sure everything was as it should be.
When I was young, it was usually just our immediate family with once and awhile a grandparent or two. Later, after my sister went to college, she would bring home boyfriends to share our meal. This made the holiday all the more exciting. The boyfriend of the day was always the one she was going to marry. We always looked forward to her coming home from college to be with us once again.
I tried to carry on the Thanksgiving tradition after I had my own family but it was never the same. I was usually working and only had the holiday itself off, plus I really didn't enjoy cooking, especially large holiday dinners. I felt guilty about this and kept trying to please but after my daughter grew up and left home, I stopped bothering. My husband and I were usually invited to dinner by others and sometimes we went and sometimes we didn't. At other times we went out for dinner with my in-laws to a restaurant but they and my husband would always bemoan the fact that there weren't any leftovers. I finally started hating the holiday because it seemed that everyone around me only cared about the food and forgot about the thanksgiving part. Now I ignore the whole day whenever I can.
Thanksgiving morning we all were on our best behavior. The delicious smells coming from the kitchen were enough to remind us to help our mother all we could for we wanted nothing to go wrong with that wonderful food. The table in the dining room, which had been transformed from a place to do homework to a beautiful setting for my mother's wedding china and tablecloth, became the favorite room in the house. We constantly checked to make sure everything was as it should be.
When I was young, it was usually just our immediate family with once and awhile a grandparent or two. Later, after my sister went to college, she would bring home boyfriends to share our meal. This made the holiday all the more exciting. The boyfriend of the day was always the one she was going to marry. We always looked forward to her coming home from college to be with us once again.
I tried to carry on the Thanksgiving tradition after I had my own family but it was never the same. I was usually working and only had the holiday itself off, plus I really didn't enjoy cooking, especially large holiday dinners. I felt guilty about this and kept trying to please but after my daughter grew up and left home, I stopped bothering. My husband and I were usually invited to dinner by others and sometimes we went and sometimes we didn't. At other times we went out for dinner with my in-laws to a restaurant but they and my husband would always bemoan the fact that there weren't any leftovers. I finally started hating the holiday because it seemed that everyone around me only cared about the food and forgot about the thanksgiving part. Now I ignore the whole day whenever I can.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
A Mother's Stories
My mother didn't always have children's books around when we were little, so she would tell us stories. Some stories she made up; others were based on her childhood. One story in particular she told us as a way to teach us how to take care of each other in times of possible danger.
She had two younger sisters, just as I have, and they would go places together at a very young age. They lived in a small city, and were told by their father to go outside and play whenever he saw them hanging around the house. So,they spent their days traveling around the city streets meeting friends and other people.
One day they met an old man who asked them if they wanted some candy, and all they had to do was go to his house with him. My mother knew better and took her sisters away from him. One day they met him again and he asked if they would go to his house to get some treats. The younger of the two sisters said she would and started off with him. It took all my mother's strength to drag her away. Naturally this sister was angry at my mother and said she could do whatever she wanted. So my mother took them home and waited for their father to get home from work. She told him about the man and how her sister wanted to go with him. My grandfather became very angry and told them never to go near that man again because he was a very bad man and would hurt them if he had the chance. So from then on her sisters paid attention to what she said.
My mother told different versions of this story every so often to make sure we remembered. She also let us have a treat every night from the corner store before we went to bed so we wouldn't be tempted by strange men offering us candy. I don't know if this story was true or not but at the time I believed every word and apparently my sisters did, too.
When my youngest sister was first starting school and walking by herself sometimes, she was passed on the street by a man. At the same time her teacher had been warned about a man trying to lure kids. My sister somehow heard the adults talking about him and connected the man who passed her on the street to this man the teacher was warned about. She was very frightened but didn't tell anyone. She had a few nightmares
but after awhile, she forgot about it. Later, when she was an adult, she went for some therapy and this whole incident came back to her.
So, what does this mean? I've never been able to decide if my mother was right in her methods or if she should have been more discreet and less descriptive in her story-telling. I certainly don't blame her for my sister's buried fear, and I know my sister doesn't. When it comes right down to it, my mother's story was probably not the cause of my sister's reaction at all.
She had two younger sisters, just as I have, and they would go places together at a very young age. They lived in a small city, and were told by their father to go outside and play whenever he saw them hanging around the house. So,they spent their days traveling around the city streets meeting friends and other people.
One day they met an old man who asked them if they wanted some candy, and all they had to do was go to his house with him. My mother knew better and took her sisters away from him. One day they met him again and he asked if they would go to his house to get some treats. The younger of the two sisters said she would and started off with him. It took all my mother's strength to drag her away. Naturally this sister was angry at my mother and said she could do whatever she wanted. So my mother took them home and waited for their father to get home from work. She told him about the man and how her sister wanted to go with him. My grandfather became very angry and told them never to go near that man again because he was a very bad man and would hurt them if he had the chance. So from then on her sisters paid attention to what she said.
My mother told different versions of this story every so often to make sure we remembered. She also let us have a treat every night from the corner store before we went to bed so we wouldn't be tempted by strange men offering us candy. I don't know if this story was true or not but at the time I believed every word and apparently my sisters did, too.
When my youngest sister was first starting school and walking by herself sometimes, she was passed on the street by a man. At the same time her teacher had been warned about a man trying to lure kids. My sister somehow heard the adults talking about him and connected the man who passed her on the street to this man the teacher was warned about. She was very frightened but didn't tell anyone. She had a few nightmares
but after awhile, she forgot about it. Later, when she was an adult, she went for some therapy and this whole incident came back to her.
So, what does this mean? I've never been able to decide if my mother was right in her methods or if she should have been more discreet and less descriptive in her story-telling. I certainly don't blame her for my sister's buried fear, and I know my sister doesn't. When it comes right down to it, my mother's story was probably not the cause of my sister's reaction at all.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Dark to Light
When I was in third grade, my friends and I sometimes walked home from school. This school was near the library and close to the town center. I lived the farthest away and my friends left me one by one as we walked. The last part of the trip I walked alone but it was very comfortable for me because I knew most of the people in the houses along the way. This was not true for the very beginning of the trip.
The school was set a ways back from the street with a long driveway to the sidewalk that led to Main Street. Unfortunately for me there also was a path which went through the woods to Main Street. I don't know if the town created it or if it was a private drive but most of the kids used it. The first time I walked the path was a time when the weather was overcast and dreary. My friends assured me that it was perfectly safe and they had walked it many times. What they didn't tell me about was the haunted house located in the middle of the woods.
Because the day was so dark, the woods were even darker than usual, and scary. It was hard to believe we were in the center of town. If it hadn't been for the path, I would have been lost. It wasn't long before we reached the house. It was black and run-down with the trees and shrubbery looming over everything. I wanted to run but my friends were acting as if nothing was wrong and I decided I couldn't let them know I was afraid. So, I kept walking and talking and looking everywhere but at that house. Before long we reached the street and safety. Even though I vowed never to walk that way again, every time my friends wanted to walk home, I walked with them and they always took that path. After awhile I got to used to walking past that house, too, but I never forgot how scary it was.
When my daughter was planning her wedding, we decided to have the ceremony in my home town. The caterers we were using said they had a victorian style house not far from the church that they used for special events. We went to inspect it and it was beautiful with indoor and outdoor spaces for entertaining. While I was looking around, I felt a strange wave of emotion pass over me. On closer inspection, I realized that this beautiful victorian house filled with light and beauty was the same dark ugly house, that dark and run-down haunted house, that used to frighten me when I walked that path through the woods to reach the safety of Main Street.
The school was set a ways back from the street with a long driveway to the sidewalk that led to Main Street. Unfortunately for me there also was a path which went through the woods to Main Street. I don't know if the town created it or if it was a private drive but most of the kids used it. The first time I walked the path was a time when the weather was overcast and dreary. My friends assured me that it was perfectly safe and they had walked it many times. What they didn't tell me about was the haunted house located in the middle of the woods.
Because the day was so dark, the woods were even darker than usual, and scary. It was hard to believe we were in the center of town. If it hadn't been for the path, I would have been lost. It wasn't long before we reached the house. It was black and run-down with the trees and shrubbery looming over everything. I wanted to run but my friends were acting as if nothing was wrong and I decided I couldn't let them know I was afraid. So, I kept walking and talking and looking everywhere but at that house. Before long we reached the street and safety. Even though I vowed never to walk that way again, every time my friends wanted to walk home, I walked with them and they always took that path. After awhile I got to used to walking past that house, too, but I never forgot how scary it was.
When my daughter was planning her wedding, we decided to have the ceremony in my home town. The caterers we were using said they had a victorian style house not far from the church that they used for special events. We went to inspect it and it was beautiful with indoor and outdoor spaces for entertaining. While I was looking around, I felt a strange wave of emotion pass over me. On closer inspection, I realized that this beautiful victorian house filled with light and beauty was the same dark ugly house, that dark and run-down haunted house, that used to frighten me when I walked that path through the woods to reach the safety of Main Street.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Big Girl Hair
My mother decided one day to take my younger sisters and me to a salon to get our hair cut. I'm not sure why but it may have been that she was tired of combing three heads of long hair and braiding or otherwise styling those three heads for school and church. So one summer day we set off on the local bus for the big city.
The salon wasn't exactly downtown but it was clean and probably inexpensive, and it was on the busline. All three of us had hair below our shoulder blades which had never been cut except for trims by our mother. We couldn't wait to have our long braids cut off. Sometime during the process, the hair stylist talked my mother into having our hair permed. Whatever she did was alright with us. We were happy enough just being there and having someone besides our mother wash and style our hair.
When it was all over, we admired the beautiful new hairdos. I'm sure they looked delightful in the salon, but after the days went by, they changed into strange-looking hair mops. By the time school started, I'm sure my mother wished she had never had it done. Our school pictures show us with hair styles that clearly reflect the attempt my mother made to make us look presentable. We all laugh about those hairstyles now, but at the time we knew we were both beautiful and stylish.
The salon wasn't exactly downtown but it was clean and probably inexpensive, and it was on the busline. All three of us had hair below our shoulder blades which had never been cut except for trims by our mother. We couldn't wait to have our long braids cut off. Sometime during the process, the hair stylist talked my mother into having our hair permed. Whatever she did was alright with us. We were happy enough just being there and having someone besides our mother wash and style our hair.
When it was all over, we admired the beautiful new hairdos. I'm sure they looked delightful in the salon, but after the days went by, they changed into strange-looking hair mops. By the time school started, I'm sure my mother wished she had never had it done. Our school pictures show us with hair styles that clearly reflect the attempt my mother made to make us look presentable. We all laugh about those hairstyles now, but at the time we knew we were both beautiful and stylish.
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