went near the calves, there was no problem or danger.
If it was raining hard, our father would sometimes take us to school with the horse and buggy, since our car could not traverse the road without getting stuck in the mud. The horse had no trouble going up the hill in the morning, but when we were picked up after school the horse slipped and slid going down the steep hill, its back legs almost going out from under it, which was very frightening.
One summer my father bought a pony for us. It was spotted brown and white and very gentle. I learned to place the saddle on its back and tighten the cinch. We would even ride it backwards hanging onto its tail. When I would ride the pony down the road, I would have to coax it to go, but when I turned it around to come back, it was all I could do to keep it trotting rather than galloping as fast as it could as it headed back home. It was impossible to make it go on past the driveway. No matter how tight the reins were pulled to keep its head straight, into the driveway it would turn.
When school was out for the summer, we rarely saw our friends except on Saturday night in town unless we should happen to ride our horse over for a visit, which Barbara and I decided to do one sunny afternoon. The friends lived two miles away, and we made it there without incident. After a fun-filled afternoon, we mounted the pony and started home. As usual, the pony was happy to be going home and took off in a gallop. I knew our friends were watching us go galloping off, and I was feeling proud of the way I could handle the pony. All of a sudden something on the side of the road frightened the pony, and it came to an abrupt halt. Barbara, who was riding behind the saddle with her arms around my waist, started to fall off the pony. She hung on tightly to me, and we both ended up in a heap on the ground, with me no longer proud of myself but very embarrassed. We could see our friends still standing in their yard watching us. Neither Barbara nor I wanted to get back on the pony. Instead, we walked, leading it all the two miles home.
We loved to sit in the shade of our house on a summer evening when the sun was low in the west and shell peas or snap beans with our mother. This was a special time for us when she would tell stories about her childhood in Illinois. Summer was always a busy time for our mother with all the work in the garden, canning its produce, along with raising chickens, while still finding time to plant flowers along the garden fence and meet the family’s many needs. Having her sit still, even though she was working with the peas and beans, was a real treat for us, and we hung onto her every word as she mesmerized us with her stories. Times like this with my mother as well as my car-free days were about to end because of events beyond control.
CHAPTER 3
Life in our country home was happy and peaceful until my father became ill and was hospitalized. During his week-long stay in the hospital, his thyroid was removed. When he was released, my mother went alone to bring him home, as I was in school. That day when I came home from school, I found my father pacing from room to room, talking nonstop. The quiet, gentle man I had known and loved so much was replaced by one who was extremely agitated and so unlike my father. He did not sleep for three nights and talked constantly. My mother could find no way to settle him down.
On the fourth day, ignoring my mother’s pleas, my father left the house and began walking towards town, a two-mile walk. After a little while, we got in the car to go look for him. As we passed the cemetery just outside of town, we saw him sitting on the ground by his parents’ graves with his head buried in his hands. We parked the car and walked over to where he was sitting. The expression on his face was that of deep pain, and his eyes were wet with tears when he lifted his head as we approached. My mother gently took his arm and in a soothing voice coaxed him into the car. Without a word he did as she asked.
When we arrived home, he went into the house and sat down in his favorite chair, where he silently remained for the rest of theday, refusing to join the family for supper. It was as though a switch was thrown which transformed him from the excited, agitated man of a few hours ago, into this zombie-like man before us. The next day my mother took him to the doctor, who recommended he be hospitalized. The diagnoses the doctor eventually gave my mother was that a chemical change in his brain had occurred when his thyroid was removed causing him to develop a mental illness known as Manic-Depressive or as it was later called, Bi-Polar, something not easily controlled in the 1940s.
When he came home after a few weeks in the hospital, the extreme mood swings continued. He no longer was able to work and was put on disability. Eventually he was placed in a Veterans’ Hospital and was there more than he was home. His absence and the loss of my sense of security left me confused and bewildered. How could someone I loved so much be taken from me? How would my life be affected? In a sense, I lost my beloved father at the tender age of twelve. This loss affected my future in unforseen ways,
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The small town we lived near had few opportunities for employment; therefore, it was necessary for our family to leave the farm and move where employment was available for my mother. The decision was made to sell our home and move to a city twenty miles away where there was an opening for a Telephone Operator. Before she was married, my mother had worked in that position in Chicago. Since she was experienced in that field, she was hired immediately after applying for the job. She contacted a realtor, and soon a “For Sale” sign was placed in our yard. Fortunately, it was not long before a buyer was found. Soon after our house was sold, one was located not far from a parochial school as well as close to the business district.
A few days later we all piled into the car and drove to the city to inspect what was to be our new home. As we pulled up in front of the house, there was suddenly a loud clap of thunder followed by sheets of rain. Quickly running toward the house, we ducked onto the porch where rainwater dripping from us created puddles around our feet. Standing there watching the raindrops cascade in torrents from the sky, we were each full of trepidation, fearful of the unknown we were facing.
The gloominess of the day reflected the anxiety our changing world was creating. Since our mother would be working, no longer would she be waiting for us with warm cookies after school. We wouldn’t be going to sleep in our familiar beds. Old friends would be left behind and new ones need to be made. Being the oldest, I would have the responsibility of looking after my brother and sister when our mother was at work. However, we realized this new world must be accepted as our mother was our only source of income, and it was here we must live. We were determined to work together to maintain the happy home we had been fortunate enough to have thus far and to accept the fact that we would no longer have our father present like he had always been before. As determined as we were to cope with the changes in our lives, it was difficult for us to understand why this calamity had befallen our family.
Gradually, I adjusted to the routine of my new life living in town, no longer surrounded by open fields nor walking on a dirt road to school, and no longer having my mother at home waiting for me when I arrived. But life was good. I had made new friends at school and like my teachers. I enjoyed being able to walk uptown to the grocery store whenever something was needed. There was a bathroom in the house, a luxury none of us had ever before experienced. Until we got a water heater, the water for baths had to be heated on the stove and carried to the tub.
Right after we moved into our new home, my sister and I decided it would be fun to give our little brother, Joey, a bath. “Let’s fill the tub all the way to the top like Dagwood always does in the funny papers. Barbara, go tell Joey to take off his clothes and come take a bath.”
She found Joey outside with a little boat he was floating on water in a hole he had dug in the ground. “Joey, Marcie has the tub filled with water. How would you like to take a bath? You really look like you need one. You’ve never had a bath in a big tub like this before. We filled it all the way to the top.”
“Let’s go. I’ve been wanting to get in that tub.” He jumped up and headed for the house. When he got inside he quickly stripped off his clothes. Barbara and I lifted him up and plunged him into the water.
“Yow!! This water is ice cold; let me out!” Joey started scrambling to get out of the water.
“No, you need a bath. Sit down and let us wash you off.” I pushed him back into the water. “You’ve seen Dagwood in the funny papers, haven’t you? He always sits way