Hi. My name is Kris and I am 49, a grandma 6 times over, and a wanna be poet/writer. I don’t think I am very good but other people disagree with me, so I let them. I just try to put ‘on paper’ what I am feeling and thinking. Mostly feeling.
I started this a month ago, and it has kinda blossomed. I’m really not sure where all this has come from.
This page is gonna be just about me. My memories of growing up, the things that happened, to me and probably to Mike as well, and later on Ed too. Siblings seem to get into alot of things together! LOL But I think, at least for now, this will be all about me. It may not all be in correct chronological order, but I will try. Not that anyone cares, but I do.
I guess I should start at the beginning. I was born in Chicago, on January 29th, 1958. Cook County Hospital. My mother was Virginia Rhea Dore – later Yohn – last Rose. She passed away when I was 25, right before my 26th birthday, on January 9th, 1984. My Dad is Earnest Leon Yohn. He is 77, and lives in Marshall Arkansas.
I lived for 13 mos in Chicago, then my Mom seperated from my Dad, and moved back to Denver, and moved in with her Great Aunt Vina. We lived there for two months, until after my brother Michael was born in March of 1959. Then when my grandparents figured out my Mom was back in town, they insisted she move back in with them. The story I got from both parents was my grandparents didnt much like my dad, especially my grandfather. He was a wealthy man, for the time, and he worked for a company that no longer exists called Midwest Oil Company. I don’t know what he did, but I do know that we weren’t hurting for anything. My mom, me, and Mike all shared a bedroom at the top of the stairs. I remember my grandma, who didn’t like me, and my grandpa, who I loved with all my heart, and who was always nice to me. Even when my grandma wasn’t.
We lived there 5+ years. When we first moved into their house, Mike was a tiny baby. When we moved out in 1965, I was 7. Ya know whats funny is I do have some good memories from then. Not many. I don’t have alot of memories and mostly the ones I do remember are not good. But there are a few I remember that were and are good. I remember sitting on my grandpa’s lap, and him reading me and Mike stories. My Mom told me this one time I remember, I was only 3, which means Mike was 2. Pretty early to have a memory, huh? I also remember Mike climbing the fence at the northeast end of the back yard, and me telling him to get down, repeatedly, and him not doing so, and getting busted spanking him while he was still on the fence. I remember my grandpa’s back yard garden, which took up half of the back yard. And my grandma’s rose garden, which wa a great big circle in the middle of the other half of the yard. She must have had 20 rose bushes in that garden, all colors. We had 6 trees in the back yard. Big trees. 2 catalpa trees at the far end, an apple tree by the rose garden, a pear tree by the south fence, a cherry tree at the top of the vegetable garden, and a plum tree by the north fence.
I remember BBQ’s on the back porch, and it was huge! We had a full table set up out there with Mike’s highchair on one end, and a bar stool for me. We had a great big old Weber grill. And I remember Grampa barbequeing hamburgers. It was all enclosed like the huge wrap around porches they have on the houses down south. Which figures, cuz Grandma was born in Clark County Tennessee, into a family of moonshine runners, which is another story.
The bad thing is as pleasant as these memories sound, they almost always ended in some kind of a drunken fight between grampa and my moms’ brother, Bill. One of the things I also remember is that both grampa and gramma always had a shot glass going. I know it was whiskey, and given my grampas roots, I’m willing to bet it was a very good Irish Whiskey. Those glasses went every where with them. They didn’t down them like I would do a shot – they sipped them, non stop. I don’t ever remember them going empty. Sometime in his youth, my uncle Bill started sneaking glasses of the whiskey. By the time Mike and I were living there, all 3 were full blown alcoholics. Which I found out later was the main reason my mom didn’t want to live there, and had chosen to move in with her Great Aunt Vina. From the stories I was told, my grandfather was a very big bully, and commanded that my mother come home with his grandchildren. He might not have been nice to his own children, but he doted on his grandchildren.
Every memory I have of my Uncle Bill ends in disaster. I don’t really think he meant to be mean to us, but being an alcoholic, he didn’t even notice. That BBQ I was telling you about earlier…. well it ended in a big ass old fight between grandpa and uncle Bill, with grandma in the middle defending ‘poor Billy.’
I also remember one time that grandpa wanted something from Bill. I don’t know what it was, but Bill’s room was in the basement. This house was a huge tri-level. Grandpa had been hollering at Bill for something, and finally, he went down the stairs to the basement room where Bill was. Suddenly Bill started yelling and screaming – and crying – and thats where that memory ends. I recall him yelling “No, daddy – please no daddy.” Then it’s like a door slammed in my mind and I don’t remember any more.
I remember, I think, Michael’s second birthday. The reason I say I think is, I have this picture in my mind of him sitting in his highchair in his little blue footed pj’s , all these presents stacked high on the highchair tray, (now mind you, this was one of the old fashioned wooden highchairs!), and he picks up one of the presents in his chubby little hands, and the next thing we know, he’s on the floor, in a pile of wood and birthday presents wrapped in white glittered tissue paper, with the silliest look on his face. Then his mouth opens and he screams! I am pretty sure this is a memory cuz there is too much detail. But I also remember a picture my mom had of him in that highchair, with all his presents on the tray. But I remember him falling! And I also remember getting spanked and put to bed, by my grandma becuz I laughed. Now ya know, 3 yr olds think alot of strange things are funny. They laff at things adults would never laff at. But in ‘61, in my house, that didn’t fly. Not for me anyway.
I don’t remember Christmases, but I do remember a picture my mom had of us one Christmas morning. I think I was about 4, or going on 4, and Mike about 3. I was always dressed in dresses, and usually the layered, pinafore style dresses with all the chiffon. Thats how I was in this picture. Mike was in his pj’s. Now, this is the perspective from the picture. The tree must have been at least 6 or 7 feet tall. Big huge fat thing, with the great big lights that most people used to use for outdoor lights. We couldn’t get any closer than 4 feet or so to the tree. And the packages were stacked up against the wall behind the tree to the window sill, because there was a great big picture window behind the tree. This display took up one whole wall of the living room!! I do remember mom telling me that 90% of what was in that picture was for me and Mike. There were some things in the foreground of the picture that were not wrapped. Too big to wrap. One was a doll house for me, that was every bit as tall as I was. A wooden doll house. With furniture! The one I remember for Mike was an Army jeep. The kind with the foot pedals in it that you pushed back and forth like bike pedals, green, with the M.A.S.H. symbols all over it, and he was sitting in it, and I was in front of the doll house looking down inside of it. My Grandparents were not stingy when it came to Christmas apparently. That would had to have been my last Christmas with my Grandpa. Christmas of ‘62.
Jack Kennedy was shot in November of 1963, and I remember that becuz we were watching it on the news on TV, and Walter Kronkite was talking about it. I remember grandpa complaining about something. My Mom was very upset over it. He was mad at my Mom. I learned later that even tho we are Irish thru and thru, I think it was him that didn’t like Kennedy, and my Mom did. My grandpa was the kind of man that believed you lived in his house, you better have his views on everything, or you didn’t live in his house. Mom told me that he even tried to tell her how she was to vote! My mom was a rebel! (DUH!) She argued with him about alot of things. It’s funny that I remember this as my last memory before he died. I don’t have an explanation for that. On December 12th, I believe it was, my grandpa died. It was actually the first overdose I know of in our family, albiet an accidental one. He had been on somekind of narcotic, probably seconal which was so popular back in the 60’s, to help him sleep for whatever reason, and between them and the whiskey, he overdosed.
You might think I am crazy here, but I swear this part is true. I remember hearing his last breath. They used to call it a ‘death rattle.’ It’s a funny sounding exhale. Literally like a rattle of air escaping the lungs. I remember Mom and I both sat up in bed at the same time. (We shared a bed.) She bolted from the room, and I just sat there. Mike was asleep in his crib. I remember grandma crying, and mom yelling at her to call the police, and her yelling at grandpa to wake up. Then again, the door shuts in my mind. I don’t remember the funeral, or anything else after that.
For the next 14 mos, living in that house was pure hell. In many ways, now, I can understand why my mom did what she did in December of ‘64. But all my memories of the next 14 mos were awful.
Remember me telling you that my grandma didn’t like me? Well, it was true. The reason is rather silly to my way of thinking, but thank God, I’m not my grandma. She didn’t like me because I was a girl. Her experience with childbearing had left her rather tainted. She had 3 children. One she miscarried, late in the pregnancy and it died. I cannot remember if that one was before or after my mom, but I think it was before. Then came my mom, and Bill was last. My mom was in such bad shape when she was born that they gave her last rights at birth. She was not expected to live. If either of you girls every wonder where your stubborness comes from – you can attribute an awful lot of it to your Grandma Rose. Heather, you said I was a fighter? Here was the families true fighter! Grandma Lucille had been on some kinda drug in her early pregnancy with mom to alleviate morning sickness. The FDA wasn’t around in 1936, so no one really knew anything about this drug. Later they found out that it caused birth defects. When grandma Rose was born, she had two thumbs on her right hand, no hard palet in her mouth, no gums in her upper jaw for teeth to form from later on. This was called a cleft palet and hairlip. And she was RH- for blood type. In 1937, they couldn’t deal with this. She was expected to die. She told me they did do a complete blood transfusion immediately after she was born, because of the RH- factor in her blood. That’s how they fixed that back in ‘37. Needless to say, my grandmother couldn’t take her home from the hospital. The only child she was able to bring home from the hospital as normal was my uncle. My mother spent the first lik 12-18 mos in the hospital, undergoing surgery after surgery, to correct her cleft palet, and hairlip, the double thumbs, the curve in her spine, and something with her sinuses. Finally, at 12 mos old, she was fitted with her first denture, and sometime after that allowed to go home once she had learned to eat on her own. This was the child not expected to live. I can’t help but think what would have happened if grandma had gotten her way at the time, because Mom told me that grandpa was the one who told them to do whatever was necessary to try to save her life. Grandma apparently didn’t care, because the story I got from Mom was that she didn’t even come visit her much in the hospital, until it was determined that she was going to live. None of us would even be here, if not for my grandpa and his determination.
So when mom had me, another girl, I was of no importance. But Grandma did have the grace to show up at the hospital when I was born, and in one way I am glad she did. Mom was gonna name me after my great great grandmother, who was Carrie Ethel. The one thing I know that my grandmother did for me was get mom to change my name. She picked Kristine. My mom chose Lucille, thinking it would mollify her mother about the fact that I was a girl, since Lucille was her given name. I don’t know how it made her feel for my first year of life, but I know that after Mike came, it never made a difference again.
That last 14 mos we lived in her house after grandpa died, I remember many things. She was a very wealthy woman after grandpa died, and she blew it all within approximately 10 years. I remember mom saying she redecorated the house 3 or 4 times. I know that she bought Bill several very sweet nice cars, all of which he wrecked in a drunken stupor. I remember fights between my mom, my uncle, and my grandmother. Some were very viscious! I remember one where I walked into the kitchen – I have no idea why – but Bill had my mom and my grandmother both in headlocks, and they were both bleeding, from the nose and the mouth. The next thing I remember is Mike and I sitting in the back yard, at the very back of the back yard, our arms wrapped around each other crying cuz we were scared. I vaguely remember Mom telling us to get out of the house. The neighbors that lived behind us came to the fence and talked to us, and I know we told them what was going on, but nothing was ever done, that I recall.
I remember getting in trouble after Mike and I were playing tug of war with my jump rope. He pulled the rope out of my hands, leaving minor rope burns on my hands. I remember that they didnt really even hurt that much. My grandmother was watching us out of the kitchen window, and for some reason, felt that I had hurt Mike. We both got brought inside, and I remember being taken upstairs to her room. Now my grandmas room was very nice, and very fancy. She had a big bed, and huge furniture in her room. She had a great big long dresser on the wall opposite the foot of the bed, and on that dresser was one of those old style glass dome clocks. I remember she loved that clock. I got a spanking with her gold gilt hair brush, the kind that had the big oval heads and were about 6 inches across. (Like Rose had in Titanic.) And I remember I made her mad cuz I wouldn’t cry. She kept spanking me, until finally my mom came in and made her stop! Mom told me to go to my room, and I did, but as I left her room, I walked right up to that gold dome clock, and just reached right out and swept it off her dresser as I went past it and glass went everywhere! Mom talked to me about it later – she never ever yelled at me for that – but I remember her telling grandma that I had already been punished enough, and she wasn’t going to do it again.
Another thing I really remember well was a morning when I was 5, and I had just started kindergarten. As I recall, I didn’t like school all that well at the time. Matter of fact I hated it. I don’t remember why. But mom had left for work, and I don’t know where grandma was, but good old Uncle Bill was there that morning, to make Mike and I breakfast.
I suppose I should preface this and tell you that sometime after Mike was born, I started doing this really weird thing. When mom was home, I was fine. Didn’t matter who else was there with us, as long as she was there too. But the minute I heard the door shut behind her, I would get sick. I don’t mean I faked it either. As soon as I knew she was gone, my head started hurting and I got literally sick to my stomach to the point of vomiting. I would get short of breath, everything. They had taken me to the doctors office several times, and of course found nothing wrong with me. I couldnt explain it. I didn’t know then what it was. Now I know it was a panic attack. Provoked by fear. I even remember wrapping my arms around mom’s neck in bed, and crying and holding onto her beggin her not to leave.
January 15th, 2008
So here’s Bill in the kitchen makin us breakfast. I was used to a bowl of cold cereal, or eggs, or maybe pancakes. For some reason that morning, Bill had decided to make a variety of things for us to eat. I remember the waffle iron on the counter, and eggs on the stove, but the one thing I couldn’t stomach was grandma’s damn fried mush. If you don’t know what it is, it’s a southern thing. You make cream of wheat, or grits if you have them, then spread them out in like a square pan. like a brownie pan. then you refrigerate it overnight. Then next morning, you cut it into squares, just like we would refrigerator cookies, and you fry it in bacon grease. She served it with syrup. It was the grossest thing they ever made me eat! Well, here I am, already sick to my stomach with a huge headache, and he informs me that I have to eat everything he has made me. Mike got his choice. I remember the eggs, that was ok. The waffle iron made the 4 square waffles at once so I only got one of those, and that wasnt so bad. But the mush was the last straw. I couldn’t eat it. I told him so, and got slapped for it, and was then told that I would eat it or else. He gave me a huge piece too. The smell turned my stomach! Two bites later, he got all that I had eaten back. For which I got in trouble also. And then I went to school. Funny thing was, you would have thought I liked school cuz it got me out of the house! I still don’t remember why I didn’t like school. Something that still gets me to this day tho, I had like a 9 or 10 block walk to school. It was a straight shot, but still a long walk for a 5 year old. I remember being scared to walk it alone. I do not have a memory of anyone walking with me at any time. I am sure someone had to have, in order for me to know where to go. That makes sense to me. But I don’t remember anyone ever doing that! And I remember being scared for a long long time, to make that walk alone. And I did it every day. Maybe that’s why I didn’t like school. I don’t know.
I do have one memory that still can make me laff tho. I know it was on Easter morning. We were all getting ready to go to church, and here I was, all dressed up in a very pretty white Easter dress with all the fancy trimmings! I had a little hat that had the same white material on it, and I had the cutest little drawstring purse, with little white lace gloves that buttoned at my wrist. All of this had little pink and I think red flowers all over it with green leaves and stems. This was embroidered into the material too. Not just glued on like it would be now. On the bottom of the dress, on the brim of the hat, the sides of my purse, and even on the backs of the little lace gloves. I had white patent leather shoes on, the kind with the strap across the top of your foot. My hair was long then, Grandma hadn’t decided to cut it yet. It was all curly in little ringletts all over my head, and somewhere either Mike or I have a picture of me in this outfit. I had a sprinkle of freckles across my nose, just like Devin does now, and yes I was cute! I remember the look on my face in that picture and it reminds me of Savannah and the way she will smile at me. Just Cheesy!! It’s one of the few pictures of me that I really did like.
Well, I don’t know how this happened, or what fool let a little girl all dressed in white out the front door without keeping an eye on her, but someone did. The street we lived on was Otis in Wheatridge. We were the second house from the corner, and the corner house was Vic and Elsie Ginthers. Yes I remember them very well! Really cool people and I liked them! Back in the day, they didn’t have things like a fertilizer spreader. Everyone on our block would get a load of manure delivered to their house and you got out there with a shovel and a rake and spread it by hand!! Vic and Elsie already had their load. It was a big one cuz we all had huge yards then. Well, here I am, standing outside with no one watching me, and this LOVELY pile of manure just calling my name! I don’t remember walking over to it, but I do seem to remember most clearly, the scream from my mom when she came out the front door, and saw me sitting on top of that LOVELY pile of manure!! I also remember Vic and Elsie came running out their front door to see what all the comotion was, and even tho he was laffing so hard I don’t think he could breathe, he managed to get me down from the pile, without getting too dirty himself, and then I don’t remember anything after that. I remember saying something along the lines of “look mama! mud pies!” It would have been bad enough if it had been mud, but no – it had to be manure! I am sure I don’t want to remember what happened after that! LOL
I have a couple other memories that I have no time line for. One was Mike in the back yard, playing with his big old fire truck. It was a big one! We had a sidewalk that ran all the way down the back yard to the ash pit, where we used to burn our trash. No such thing as a trash service back then. He took off from the back porch, bent over with his hands on either side of the truck, and pushing it down the sidewalk at full speed. I think he was around 3. I know it was before grandpa died. He hit a bump in the sidewalk, and the truck flew out of his hands, his face went down, and I don’t know how far his face slid on the concrete. But I remember how his face looked after. He was one huge scab for weeks. His forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. I remember he had trouble eating. I also remember if it hadn’t been for Grandpa, who was outside with us when it happened, doing something in his garden, I would have been blamed for that too. Grandma tried. They got into a big fight over that, because Grandma insisted it must have been my fault, and Grandpa knew better. I remember that.
Something else I don’t have a time line for, but that I am pretty sure it happened sometime after grandpa died. I had long hair. Long hair like Vannies’, or Emilys’. I loved my long hair. I know grandma had wanted to cut it when grandpa was alive, and I remember him saying he didn’t ever want my hair to be cut. Well, I don’t remember how it all came about, but I do remember that she was mad at me again. This was nothing new. But I didn’t get a spanking this time, which was really weird. Instead, we were leaving. We got into her car, and away we went, me, Mike, and Grandma. We walked into a beauty salon, the old style kind; and I knew. Without a doubt, I knew what she was gonna do. I cried, I kicked, I screamed, I ran out of the salon once. It didn’t do me any good. They held me down. After they cut the first several locks, I quit fighting. What was the point. When we left that salon, my hair was about 3 inches long all over my head, including bangs. I bawled thru the whole thing. It was my punishment, and she knew this would hurt me more than any spanking ever could. When we got home, I went straight to my room and laid on the bed and wound up cryin myself to sleep. I woke up later in my mama’s arms, with her telling me not to worry, it would grow back, trying to convince me it was cute. All the things you would say to a child in this situation. I was crying again. I knew she meant well. She did. She couldn’t undo it as much as she wanted to. So she was tryin to lessen the severity of what had happened.
I looked like Mike with just a little bit longer hair. You couldn’t lessen that. Not to a little girl, who had no self esteem. And growing up in her house like I had, it was impossible for me to have any self esteem. I didn’t know that then, or for a very very long time to come. But I know it now, and have for some years. This has stayed with me for most all my life. I am better now about it, than I ever have been. But I’m amost 50! And this had to have happened when I was about 5 or 6? But the worst thing is she laid a groundwork, that would affect me all my life. To some extent it still does. I used to always think I was of no importance. I was no good. To anyone. I’m talking 2nd, 3rd, 4th grades. I had trouble making friends, I was a major bookworm! I was a very quiet girl. I kept to myself alot. I was not outgoing at all. I didn’t do well in school until like 3rd grade, and I know that was because of my teacher. When I used to get into fights, Uncle Mike can tell you, I was fearless. I was out for blood. Inside I was scared to death, but outside, I was a mean little girl when someone pushed me. When I did get into trouble, I always had an I don’t care attitude. I can remember lots of spankings, or punishments that were imposed on me that I just didn’t care about. Always I was scared, but I never let it show. I learned that very early.
I remember falling out of the apple tree too. This was a complete accident, but if I had been the adult in the situation, I would not have allowed a 3 or 4 yr old that high in the tree. I was outside with grandpa, pickin apples out of the tree, and it was a tall tree. Kids always think things are bigger than they are, cuz they are small. But this was a really big tree, even grandpa couldn’t come close to getting to the top of it. That’s why they had me out there. I climbed up the ladder, then into the tree itself, and just kept climbing. You know how kids are, no fear. I didn’t have any. I just kept climbing. We got alot of apples from that tree that day, I just kept pickin em and tossin them down to grandpa. I don’t recall if anyone else was out there with us or not. Years later, I went back to the house to see it, and that apple tree was still huge! The top of that tree was at least 30 feet in the air. I am sure it got taller in the mean time, but so did I. So it’s all relative. Anyway, I kept going out on smaller and smaller branches to get the apples for grandpa, and suddenly one snapped. Some memories you always remember in slow motion. This is one. I swear it took forever to get down to the ground. I don’t remember how many branches I hit on the way down, but it was alot. I don’t remember hitting the ground, but I do remember suddenly seeing grandpa’s face slowly coming into focus, and him picking me up and running with me. I remember I couldn’t breathe. Then I remember the hospital. Then I remember being home. Amazingly, I didn’t break a single bone. Just scratches and bruises and such.
Mom told me later that I fell about 20 feet or so. No wonder I’m afraid of heights. When I was about 12 or 13, grandma re-told me the story of me falling. I remember her telling my mom, after I had left the kitchen, and she thought I was out of hearing range, that the only reason I didn’t get hurt worse was because I was evil, and satan was protecting me. She told Mom I was just like her, and no good. She also told mom it was my own fault, that I should have known better. This is my grandma, sitting in my Moms’ house, saying these things to her about her and I!! Mom and her got into a huge fight over that, and grandma got ordered out of our house. She didn’t come back for a very long time.
I didn’t see my grandma again until you were like almost 2 yrs old, Heather. Then it was only cuz she was dying, and she was trying to get into heaven. I was 18. She didn’t even know you existed til you were over a year old. Mom didn’t wanna tell her, cuz it would just be one more thing that she would put me down for and we both knew it. But there is more to it than that.
Heather, I told you how I came up with your name. Heather, for a friend of mine in school and the flower; Danielle from the lady in my room with me. Renee was from your Auntie, that none of us have ever known. Her name was really Michelle Renee, but for some reason, to me, she has always been just “Renee.” I am gonna jump around a little bit here, but I think you need to know this story. I don’t think I actually ever told you all this. Parts of it maybe, but not all.
I was born in 1958, and your uncle Mike was born in 1959, March 25th. There is a secret here that I don’t think I ever told you. It doesn’t make as much difference now, as it did back in the 50’s and 60’s. Then, a woman was disgraced and made an outcast if this happened to her. So when it did, it was covered up as much as possible, and hidden from everyone as long as possible.
I seriously hope this isn’t going to change your mind about anything. I really dont think it will. But if I am going to be honest here, I might as well tell it all.
Your Uncle Michael and I are both illegitimate. Uncle Ed isn’t. Mom was married to his dad when he was born. The story I got from Mom and Dad, was pretty much the same. Mom started dating Dad the year she graduated high school in ’56. After she graduated, apparently her and grandpa got into an arguement about my dad. He didn’t want Mom dating him, and he expected to be obeyed. This went on most of the summer. In the fall of ‘56, my dad decided to take a job he’d been offered driving a truck, and the companies headquarters was in Chicago. He told mom he was going and she made the decision to go with him. She left Denver, without even telling her family that she was going or saying goodbye.
Once they were in Chicago, apparently shortly after they arrived, she found out she was pregnant. In the latter part of ‘56, she had an accident and fell down some stairs. She miscarried. Then in May of ‘57, she got pregnant again. This time with me. The pregnancy was apparently uneventful, until her 8th month when she became toxemic.(sp?) She had become alergic to shell fish, and didnt know it. She went out to dinner with Dad, and had shrimp. By the time she got home, she was so sick, Dad had to take her to the hospital. The toxemia was discovered and she was in labor, and I was born a month early, weighing 4lbs, 13 1/2 oz. They weren’t married, but she went into the hospital under the name of Virginia Yohn, and I was born Kristine Lucille Yohn.
When Mike was born in Denver, in March of ‘59, he was born Michael Patrick Yohn. They still were not married. But when push came to shove, she did file for divorce, claiming that her marriage licence had been misplaced in the moving. Apparently back then they wanted proof you were married and of course nothing was computerized, so it required actual documentation. She produced records from the hospitals, which they accepted as proof of the marriage. My grandparents never knew that she hadn’t been married to my dad. Dad even told me that.
After she had Michael, sometime in ‘59, she met another man she started dating. I used to know whole his name, I don’t anymore. I’ve forgotten. His first name was William. Thats all I remember. They had planned on getting married. Apparently, Grandpa liked this one, cuz he went all out for the wedding. The wedding was supposed to be in May. The story I got from Mom was that approximately two weeks before the wedding, she found out she was pregnant again. Her version of it was that she wasn’t worried, because her and Bill were getting married, and by the time everyone found out it would be a moot point. She told him, and he appeared to be happy about it. She saw him the night before the wedding, they went out to dinner, etc, etc. Mom said he kissed her bye at the house when he dropped her off, told her he loved her and would see her the next day, obviously. That was the last time she ever saw him. He never showed up at the church. Literally left her standing at the alter. I have a picture of the guy. He was military, cuz he’s in a uniform. Not bad looking. But a schmuch!
Now she is faced with a dilema! In 1960, women did NOT have babies out of wedlock. She had a job, working for some department store in Denver. I don’t remember who, exactly, but J. C. Pennys and May D & F comes to mind. Anyway, she worked til she was about 6 mos or so, then got fired. Back then they could fire you for that kinda stuff. Not that anyone would have known she wasnt married, but they didn’t want her disgracing the store! She was doing the whole pack it into a girdle type thing to hide it, but my mom was a tiny little thing when she was in her 20’s and I imagine it would have showed pretty quickly. She was like 5′2″ and 98 lbs! I remember her telling me that. Abortion was not an option, it was illegal. Not that I really think my mom would have done that anyway.
So of course, grandpa finds out, and all hell breaks loose. This is the only story I have about him that makes me wonder what kind of a man he really was. The fights and the alcohol were typical of the time, and maybe this was too, but all I can think about is this was ALSO his grandchild! What was he thinking????
Anyway, when he found out, he gave mom an ultimatum. She would either give the baby up for adoption, and not in Denver, where God forbid anyone they knew might find out about the child. If she did not, he would take her to court as an unfit mother and take Michael and I away from her. I don’t know if this was a possibility in 1960 or not, but it apparently worked. When she was 8 mos pregnant, which would have been about the first of October or so, she went to Santa Barbara, California, to stay with a friend of hers who lived out there. She had the baby there, and gave her up for adoption. She was born Michelle Renee Yohn, at Santa Barbara County Hospital, on November 4th, 1960. (Now you know why Hannah’s birthday is so very special to me, Heather) Back then I guess they let you name the child, and fill out a birth certificate even when adopting them out.
I found all this out when I was pregnant with you, Heather. Mom and I were having a heart to heart one night, and I had broke down crying, telling her I was so sorry for letting her down. I was so sure that she was so disappointed in me. I didn’t realize what all had happened with mom back then, and why she wouldn’t be disappointed in me. Basically, when she told me she wasn’t upset with me, I didn’t believe her. That’s when she told me this whole story. That’s why, according to her, what ever I wanted to do was ok with her, and why she said she would never try to make the decision for me. You were right about her councilling me about abortion, but I don’t think it was what she really wanted me to do. She did want me to have all the information I needed to make an intelligent, informed decision. I only know that when she was telling me this story, she broke down and cried too. She also told me that she had found out about a year after she gave Michelle up for adoption, that grandpa could certainly have tried to do what he threatened, but that it probably wouldn’t have worked out the way he wanted it to. Laws and attitudes were starting to change, and while it might have been really hard for her to fight it, she could have and probably would have won. The thing that she said really got to her the most though was the fact that she knew at the time if she had fought it and won, grandpa would have put her out of his house, and on the street if necessary, and she wouldn’t have done that to Michael and I. At the time, she didn’t make hardly anything for money, and she knew she would not have been able to support us properly. She told me also that she was actually getting some money from my dad for us, but that Grandpa never let her keep it. It all went to him every month, because in his mind, he was our sole support. So sometimes I think that even though my grandpa loved me and Mike very much, he was definetly a control freak, and didn’t actually make my mom’s life any easier, even though he did take care of us.
After I found my dad and my older brother and sister when I was 38, I learned some other things too. According to Dad, he tried to find us and have contact with us, right up until ‘66. That’s when he said we just kinda disappeared. Which actually makes sense, since mom remarried in ‘64 and moved out of the house. We were adopted by Ed in 67. Grandma returned all his mail so he didn’t know what happened to us. He told me that he did get to see us once, in court, in ‘63, right before Christmas I guess, ’cause he had presents for us, and grandma made mom refuse them. I don’t remember this at all. But he described both of us very well, so I have no doubt that it’s true.
I am certain that all the controling, and manipulation is exactly why she married Ed’s dad in ‘64 when he asked her. She actually told me when I was pregnant with you that she didn’t marry him for love, she did it to try to give us a better life. He had a good job, at a bank in downtown Denver. And he told her he would buy her a home, and provide for us like we were his own. Which he initially did.
I don’t know when mom met Ed’s dad. But I do know where. She met him at at bus stop. See, she took the bus to and from work, and apparently, every where else she needed or wanted to go, because the only one who deserved a new car every 6 mos or so was her brother. So she had to take the bus. There were two cars at the house, and grandma hardly ever went anywhere, but mom couldn’t use her car to go to work either. So she rode the bus. Well, Ed’s dad did too. So they started talking and eventually he found out where she lived and worked and all that. Mom said they went on a few dates and then he asked her to marry him. She hadn’t even known him 3 months, but she said yes, and they were married like two weeks later. She married in secret. She didn’t want my grandma to know. Or anyone else for that matter. Not til she was ready to tell them, but my grandma figured it out anyway.
In February of ‘65, we moved out of my grandma’s house, and into the house that Ed bought for my mom, at 7080 Clay St, in Westminster, where we would live until the fall of ‘75.
There’s a footnote here, if you’re interested. Apparently, he attempted to have a house built for my mom. The house still stands. I don’t know the address, but it’s south of 88th ave on McKay Rd. It was on the east side of the road, and it was a huge house! I would recognize it again if I saw it. I remember being taken there once, with Mike and Mom, so he could check on the construction. This was right around Christmas time, cuz it was snowing. It was after mom married him, and she married him on December 10th, ‘64. I don’t remember anything but the outside of the house, and I remember thinking that it looked like a castle. To a little girl, who had never had her own room, this place seemed magical. And I was promised my own room. I remember being told that my room was very big, and I also remember that the front of the house had a lot of windows. Big ones. But thats about all I remember.
Then, the next thing I knew we were moving into the ranch on Clay St. I asked mom years later why we didn’t move into that other house and all she said was that it got too expensive and it wasn’t even finished and they couldn’t afford it anymore. Too bad. The princess lost her castle. Years after that, when I was an adult, I used to drive by that house once in a while just to look at it. The owners had made a few changes, and of course landscaped the lot. They put up a nice stone half wall on the street side with a wrought iron gate. The driveway was about 100 feet long. It was really a nice house. Didn’t look so much like a castle anymore, but I used to always wonder how different my life would have been if I had grown up in my castle.
Oh well. Enough time spent feeling sorry for the loss of something I never had. LOL
Anyway, in Feb. ‘65 we moved into the ranch. Well, I did have my own room. So did Mike. I don’t remember the actual move. I do remember the first day that we actually lived there though. Ed’s dad had a car. Why he was riding the bus when he met my mom, I don’t know. He had a 1958 Chevrolet, I think. I know it was black, and had the big fins on the back end. It was the first car I had ever seen that had a push button transmission. Ed’s dad was handicapped. He had been in a car accident when he was 13, and the car rolled. He was thrown half way out of the car in between rolls, and got basically crushed in the door jam on the last roll. He lived, but his right arm and hand were useless, and his right leg had a brace on it, from the shoe to his knee. So he couldn’t operate a manual transmission like everyone else, so he had this car ordered special, with a push button transmission. There weren’t a whole lot of automatics back then either. Anyway, he picked us up at grandma’s house. I do remember the goodbyes. Grandma was crying, and basically the only one she was sorry to see leave was Mike. She hugged him, and cried, and picked him up. Mom she did give a half hearted hug to. Me, well mom pushed me over to her to give her a hug goodbye. She pushed me away and told me to get into the car. So I did. Bye grandma!
Anyway, we got to the new house. Now we had had several talks with mom and Ed about what it was gonna be like living together as a family, once the secret was out that they were married. One of the things that he had insisted on was that we were to call him “dad.” Or daddy, or father. Some version thereof. Whatever. I didn’t much like him, even in the beginning. Maybe it was just because I didn’t know him and therefore didn’t trust him. But whatever the reason was, I was continually proved accurate in my opinion of him. Right from the very first day in our new home. Mom walked in first. She had on a pretty white flower print dress, with a hat. One of the wide floppy brimmed kind. I walked in behind her, Mike was behind me, and Ed came in last. The house was already set up, furnished, everything. I was excited, I’ll admit it. I was standing in the middle of the living room, and the first thing Mike said when he came in and looked around was something to the effect of “Wow this is neat – or cool – or nice (something like that) dad.” I was standing not 3 feet from him. I heard him perfectly well! I know that is what he said. You may think this next is an exaggeration, but I swear to you it is not. Without saying a word, Ed sat on the arm of the couch, picked him up by one arm, flipped him over his knee, and proceeded to smack him 3 or 4 times really hard! Ed was 6′1″ tall, and a big man – 200 lbs. Very strong in his left side, to make up for the inability of his right side I’m sure. Mike screamed! Mom had walked into the kitchen, and came flying out and snatched Mike out of his hands. Immediately she started yelling at him not to hit her son, what did he think he was doing? yada yada. He is yelling back at her at the top of his lungs – “I told them to call me dad! He called me Ed!” Mike and I are both crying by now, and we are both yelling that he did say ‘dad’ not ‘Ed’ but no one is listening to us. These two adults are screaming at each other, the front door is wide open, and this is how all our new neighbors met us. No wonder I didn’t want to go out and make friends with anyone!! It was a long time before Mike and I came out of my room. We had been together so long, in the same room, it was normal for us to be together. We both ran down the hall and my room came up first, so that was where we landed. Sometime later, Mom came and got us both. We went out to the living room, and he was sitting on the couch. Mom made us both go over to him and he apologised to us both. I don’t think either of us believed him, but I know now that Mom had made him do it. He was only doing it to make her happy. Something else I realize now that I probably didn’t then is that Mike had to be in some kinda shock. He NEVER got in trouble like that, and even when he did, it was never ever a punishment that severe. I know as a little little kid, he got away with mostly everything. I don’t ever remember being mad at him about it, only grandma. So I’m sure this was a complete shock to his poor little mind.
That day did set a precedent for us in that house though. We learned very quickly that Ed had a very hot temper that took nothing at all to set off. A look, a word, a gesture, and that man would blow like a dynamite stick. I wasn’t kidding either when I said he was strong. He was strong as an ox.
Ok, so here we are, February of ‘65, in a new house, and now a new school. I didn’t want to go. Go figure. I remember my first teacher at my new school. Mrs. Woods. 2nd grade. (Funny, I remember my kindergarten teachers face, but not her name. I don’t remember anything at all about 1st grade. Nothing. Not even my teacher. Nor do I remember anything about the first half of second grade at that school.)Mrs. Woods was a bitch. Pure and simple. I don’t really know if the school I went to when I lived at grandmas was a poor school or not. Doesn’t seem like it should have been considering where we lived was a ‘rich’ neighborhood. I don’t know. but I do know that Mrs. Woods made sure that everyone in my new class knew I was way behind them, and that my grades were poor from my other school. So right off the bat, everyone thinks I am stupid. She made a habit of pointing out all my mistakes, and making me feel stupid in front of everyone. I only remember one person in that class with me, and her name was Janet Poole. She sat next to me. (I went all the way thru high school with her, and she and I never got along. She used to tell people even in high school how stupid she thought I was in grade school. By then I didn’t care tho.) God I hated school. I failed her class that year. I got all F’s in my final report card but there was an extra reason for this. Our last day of school was only to pick up our report cards, turn in any books we still had and that was it. The only rule they had was that we – the girls – were not allowed to wear pants on our last day. It had to be a dress or skirt. I don’t know why. It was stupid. If we didn’t all our grades were F’s. They didn’t like us to wear pants most of the time anyway, but when it was cold out they didn’t complain. We just couldn’t wear jeans. So why we had to wear a dress the last day I couldn’t tell ya, or why I actually wore pants I don’t know. But I did. I wound up in the principals office over it. She would not give me my report card! And she wouldn’t let me leave either. They called my mom at work, she had to take off, go home, get me a change of clothes, bring them to school; I had to go change, then they gave her my report card and let us leave. What a crock of shit. Seriously! My mom hated that woman. She pitched a total fit over the report card and fought it with the school board. They finally agreed to let me go into the 3rd grade on the condition that my grades improved. If they didn’t they were gonna hold me back at the end of the next year. But my 3rd grade teacher was Mrs. Brinkmeyer, and I loved that woman!! She is the one who turned school around for me. Her and a girl named Sharon Kelley.
Mike made friends real easy that first year we lived there. Within the first month we lived there, he got into a huge fight with one of the neighborhood boys. Brian Harrington. After that, he was in like Flynn. He was friends with all the boys in the neighborhood. Brian, Steve,David, Brad, and Mark Kelley. Marks mom was Betty Kelley. She was a devout catholic woman, and a very good christian woman. She and her husband Bob, had 5 kids. Mike, Sharon, Mark, Diane, and Patrick. She was the first woman to come to our house and introduce herself to mom, and all the rest of us. I was a shadow, staying in my room almost all the time I was home, reading everything I could get my hands on, from school or anywhere else for that matter. I would come out at dinner, and eat, help do the dishes, and then sit for an hour or so to watch TV cuz it was the ”family” thing to do. I was usually back in my room before 9pm, with a book plugged into my face. I was the type of kid that read under the covers with a flashlight. I remember hearing my mom telling Ed and Mrs Kelley that she was sure I would come out of my shell eventually. I just needed some time. I do not remember who watched us that first summer in the new house, but I know we didn’t go anywhere to be babysat. I remember a girl who used to watch us sometimes, and I liked her. Her name was Karen Russell and she lived a block over. She was a teenager. Maybe she watched us during the days that summer, I’m not sure. I know mom worked. Anyway, this must have been on a weekend cuz mom was home, and she had finally had it! She wasn’t gonna let me stay in the house any longer. I was told I had to go outside and get some fresh air and sun. I wasn’t allowed to come back home for a least a couple of hours. When I left the house, I had a paperback book shoved down the front of my pants and it was mid morning. I sat for a while on the front porch. Then she saw me and got mad at me. She came out on the front porch, and told me to go walk around the block or something. Go make some friends like Michael!! So I took off walking. The next block over was a park, on Canosa Ct. I went to the park, found myself a comfortable spot on the grass under a tree, and sat down and opened my book. I was there a little longer than a couple of hours apparently. The next thing I knew, Michael was yelling at me that I better get home, cuz I was in trouble. I don’t know how long I was there, but it was roughly mid afternoon. When I got home, Betty was there with Sharon.
Mom was really upset with me, specially when she realized I had a book!! Well, duh!! I lived life vicariously through other peoples stories. I was probably the only second grader who had a 5th grade reading level. Let me tell ya, I could tear through some books. Anyway, Betty had brought Sharon over to meet me. I think her and mom had been talking about me.
At first it was kinda awkward with her, but she was pretty cool, and after a few weeks we were pretty inseperable. I had never really had friends at my other school. There were girls I talked to at school but I didn’t have one friend that I hung out with, that came to grandma’s house. I wasn’t allowed to. I never went to anyone else’s house either. So this was a really new thing for me, having a real friend. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to be a friend.
That summer I learned alot. Sharon became my first and best friend. I got introduced to the rest of her family, and exposed to things I didn’t even realize existed that summer. Camping, boating, roller skating, actually playing outside with other kids. All this was totally new to me. I learned games like ”mother may I,” ”hide and seek.” I had my first sleep over. I went on my first sleep over too. She helped me with school stuff that I had problems with. Math was my worst! She taught me a few tricks and after that, it all fell into place for me as far as school went. Every subject. That girl changed my life in one summer.
April 17, 2008
Well, It’s spring again. Which in my case, means heartache. Particularly in April. April 2002, my ex husband did some really stupid stuff, broke my heart. April 2004, the first guy I fell for after my divorce, Ron Levasseur, broke up with me because he fell in love with me. (His words not mine) Now here it is April 17, and 9 days ago, Alan, who is someone I thought was completely and totally different just did the same thing to me. He got too close, exposed himself too much, felt things he wasn’t ready for, so he broke up with me. I guess it’s fair to say that April is just not a good month for me. I love Spring, it is my favorite time of year. But apparently it is not a ‘good’ time of year for me.
It snowed last night really good here, and it kinda matches with my mood. Cold, miserable, withdrawn, gloomy.
But my oldest daughter, Heather, found this page last night. 
I never thought she would really be interested in all this mundane stuff about my life as a kid, but apparently she is. I am happy about that. She wants to know more about her mama. Ok, I can handle that. She wants me to update this, and this will help me keep my mind off of more painful things right now. So I am happy to accomodate her. On with my story.
This was the summer of 1965. We had moved into the house on Clay in February, and I had managed to somehow survive 3 1/2 months of that awful school, Skyline Vista. Then this girl comes into my life, who lives just down the street. Her name is Sharon Kelley.
I knew who she was cuz Mike had been hanging out with her brother Mark. But I was this little introverted book worm, who didn’t know what a ‘friend’ was, let alone how to be one. I couldn’t even hardly talk to people. Mike was my only friend. He and Mom were all I had ever had, and to be honest I was used to that. I have never been one who adapted to change well, even tho over the years I have learned to accept it. In somethings you just have no choice.
I am certain that Mom and Betty conspired against me. My Mother was trying to undo everything that had been done to me in her own way. I am sure, looking back, that they saw a little 7 yr old girl who was painfully thin, rather mousey, very quiet, and withdrawn. I hardly ever said much. I remember that. I know I didn’t argue too much with Mom then, because she was in my eyes, everything! When she was upset with me I was very upset. It was quite important to me that she not be mad at me, cuz in my mind, someone who was mad at me didn’t like me anymore. So I didn’t rock the boat much back then.
Sharon on the other hand, was the total opposite of me! Man, what a combination that must have been! LOL She was outgoing, sometimes loud and boisterous, always seemed to be outside playing, getting the other kids into games that everyone could play, organizing things, making them into teams and things. I used to sit on the porch and watch. I can remember her trying to get me to join in a few times, and I would just shake my head, and go hide inside. This is probably one of the reasons that Mom and Betty hooked us up! She was good for me, even tho at the time I fought it very hard. It was safe inside my shell. I didn’t want to come out. She forced me to.
That first afternoon that Betty brought her very loud and outgoing daughter to our house, Sharon played by my rules. We went into my room, she got to see all my books, which even then I had a boatload, it was the only thing I really enjoyed. That did’t take too long tho, and then there was nothing to do anymore. We didn’t have TV’s or stereos in our rooms then. I didn’t even have a transistor radio til I was 10! That was a huge thing then too, let me tell you. If you had a little battery operated transistor radio, AM only, you were COOL!! I wasn’t. So she took me to her house. There was 7 people living in her house, and her parents were very strict!! A VERY Catholic house, there were rules I had never dreamed of, chores! Oh my Lord! We didn’t have chores! (I blame this part on Betty. I don’t know if she hadn’t shown my Mom how she ran her house, that we would ever have had chores, but believe me, by the end of that summer we did! YUK!!) Each one of the Kelley kids had their own chores, except Patrick, who was very little, toddler little. Diane was like 5 I think, and even she had her own chores to do! Sharon was my age, a few months older, and she had like 2 chores she had to do alone, and then several that all the kids had to participate in. I don’t remember exactly, but they were things like, she had to maintain her own room, make her bed, keep her clothes neat, toys put away. That kinda thing. Then the chores they all had to participate in were weekend things, like one weekend they would wash all the walls in the house, the next weekend they would do all the floors in the house, the next weekend it would be yardwork, outside. They had a rotating schedule too on things like the dishes every night, and who fed the animals, who set the table, who took out the trash. The thing I seem to remember the most is that they all did this without prompting or being pushed to do it. It ran like clockwork. The Kelley house always did, or so it seemed to me. The things they had to do were just amazing to me. But they always got them done quickly, and were outside playing as quickly as possible. I learned a few valuable lessons from the Kelley parents. Like, if you are gonna spend the night there, expect to be included in the chore list, and no getting out of it! You couldn’t just say, ok I’m going home now. Betty wouldn’t allow it. If Sharon had a chore that she had to do, say before breakfast, I had to help her and if I didn’t, I didn’t get breakfast, and I wasn’t allowed to come back to their house either, for a while. I learned this one very quickly. It worked well on me too, because I had found a friend and I didn’t want to let go of her. She was like a life line for me, and I so enjoyed her company, and that of her family that I would do anything that made her parents happy too, so that I could keep coming back.
Once those chores were done however, it was our time, and man did Sharon have an imagination! She loved to play games, and organinze things, and one of her favorite games to play all summer was ‘School!!’ Yeah, you heard me right, school. She loved to be the teacher, and Diane, Pat, and I were her students. She was a natural born teacher, and it was what she became as an adult too, I was told. This little girl taught me more about school, and how much fun it could be to learn, in one summer, than I had learned in all my 3 years previously. It was a really good thing that I had learned how to read so well, it was really the only thing I had picked up, and why I don’t know. But if it involved reading, I was all over it, and that summer she showed me that everything you learned came right back to reading. She turned everything into a story for me, and once she did that, I was inhaling everything I could get my hands on. Even math. Math was by far my worst subject. I hated it, I didn’t get it, didn’t even wanna try.
Back then, all of our work was done on mimeographed sheets of paper. It was a really silly machine that you had to pour ink into, and you had to set your page just like it was a mini little print press, and then you turned this great big handle on the side, and after you loaded it with paper, it would crank out one copy of your project, whatever it was, for every turn of the crank. Well the teachers would print out bunches of these and Sharon had started collecting the extras. She brought them home all year long from school, and stashed them, so she would have papers to play school with. Stuff for every subject. (We didn’t have workbooks!)
At first I did it just to humor her. I don’t think she realized that I didn’t get what she was doing. She got mad at me cuz I wasn’t playing one day, and somehow her Mom got involved. If I remember correctly, she was actually yelling at me, and I was leaving. Betty came to see what all the commotion was about, and Sharon told her I wasn’t playing right. It took a little bit, but it finally came out that I really didn’t know what she was doing. I didn’t understand the stuff on the paper. I know there was a kind of conference with Betty and my Mom, and shortly thereafter, Sharon became my tutor! She showed it to me the way she understood it, and somehow, somewhere, something she did clicked. Suddenly, I GOT IT!! All of a sudden everything started to make sense. This was really life changing for me.
We spent hours in her basement that summer, playing and learning at the same time. We spent alot of time out in her back yard and at the park, doing the same things. By the time fall rolled around and we were getting ready to go back to school, I was actually kind of excited! My third grade teacher was Mrs. Brinkmeyer, and she was my other turning point. Sharon had opened me up that summer, and then Mrs. Brinkmeyer just poured more in!
Third grade was I think the first year of my school life that I actually enjoyed, and Mom was happy with my progress. I was making GOOD grades, which had never happened. My teacher didn’t complain about me, I wasn’t in trouble all the time, and I looked forward to it. Plus that year I branched out and got 3 new friends. Toni and Lorraine Santoya, and Karen Butcher. Karen was a little tiny thing like me, kinda washed out in the face and shy, stringy blonde hair, and she had just come to Skyline that year. Toni and Lorraine had always been there, but this was the first time I had been in their class. I do not know what these two girls, who were twins, saw in me, cuz they were Mexican, and like almost the only ones we had in school. But they took me under their wing, along with Karen, and we became the 4 musketeers of Mrs. Brinkmeyers class. (Sharon was in another class, not mine)
The one thing I remember bad about third grade didn’t happen to me, it happened to my brother Mike. He was in second grade, and his class was right across the hall from mine. His teachers name was Mrs. Meyers. This day she had on the prettiest white pinafore dress. It was spring time, and I remember thinking she looked very pretty. She was a very nice lady, and I liked her. ( I remember wishing she had been my 2nd grade teacher, not Mrs. Woods.) Anyway, the bell rang for recess, and the rule was in our class, that we filed single file out the door to the playground. We had doors on our side of the building that led straight out to the playground. Mike’s class was on the other side of the building, and they had to go out into the hall, and out one of the main doors. They were supposed to do the whole single file thing too, but for some reason this day they didn’t. I think Mike was sitting towards the back of the class, and somehow he got ran down, in the rush to get to the hall way. All the doors in the school had these brass plates on all the corners, top and bottom. Somehow, Mike got not only run down by all the kids, but he got rammed into the bottom brass plate on the door, right smack in the middle of his forehead. Apparently, there was enough force behind it that when he hit, it just split his forehead wide open, down to the bone. It was a huge gash! It went from below his one eyebrow on the left side, up into his hairline. I had not made it out the door of my room yet, when I heard a scream.
I really don’t remember how I got into the interior hallway of the school. I remember seeing Mrs. Meyers, standing in the hall, holding Mike’s head against her pretty white pinafore dress, and for some reason the whole front of her dress was completely red!! I could still hear his voice, even though his face was buried, and it sounded like a scream from the worst horror movie you have ever seen! I don’t know how in the world I knew it was him I heard scream. I just did. Some sibling connection I suppose. I was screaming at him, trying to grab him from his teacher, and my teacher, Mrs. Brinkmeyer, and the custodian of the school, Bernie, and some other people were there. There was lots of yelling and I remember arms grabbing at me and pulling me away from Mike, and all I wanted to do was get to him to make sure he was ok, which obviously he wasn’t. He must have heard my voice in the middle of the din, because he turned around and looked right at me. You can put any special effect you want in a movie, and it will never be as scary as seeing your brother look at you with blood all over his face, with a HUGE expanse of white skull staring at you. I blacked out.
The next thing I remember, is someone’s voice, an adult, saying she needs to go home. Then I am home, and so is Mike, and he is on the couch in the living room, and obviously drugged to the max. He is laughing, and he has this great big huge Frankenstein scar on his forehead. I remember crying, and saying that he was gonna look like the monster in the movie forever. I never really like that movie after that. But he survived, and the scar finally went away. I think he still has just a tiny bit of it that shows if you look for it. He literally grew out of it. But that was a harrowing experience. We may have fought alot, but he was my brother, and I loved him.
Third grade was great! I had fun, I think I blossomed that year. The turtle lost her shell. She also found out she wasn’t quite as big a chicken and afraid of the world as she thought. I also learned that year that I could be tough if I had to. I was 8 years old, and it was after school was out for the summer, and I don’t remember who this girl was, but I got into my first fight. I don’t even remember who or what it was over. I know I was at the park, and Karen was there, and a few other kids that I went to school with, and Sharon of course. This girl started picking on me, and I don’t know why. I remember trying to walk away, because I didn’t want to argue with her. I remember grabbing Karens hand and saying lets go, Sharon on the other side of me. Back then, girls held hands all the time. This girl wouldn’t let me leave. Mike tells this story like I was some tasmanian devil tearing this girl up, not being afraid of anything, and having everyone be afraid of me!! He swears all the boys in the neighborhood after this would tell him, I don’t want your sister mad at me! That’s not at all how I remember it! I was TERRIFIED!! Maybe that’s why I was so mean about it, because I was scared. I don’t know. I know I beat her up pretty good, and Sharon ran and got my Mom, (our house was closer than hers), and of course her Mom was there with my Mom, and they came running. I remember everyone stood up for me, and told them she started it and was picking the fight with me. She had a bloody nose, and I had alot of her hair in my hands. I split her lip and I blacked one eye. I do not remember the actual fight itself, I just remember the aftermath. Both of my girlfriends, Sharon and Karen, were looking at me a little funny, and standing kinda away from me, like they thought I would turn on them. I remember turning around, away from everyone, and walking home, leaving them all at the park to straighten out the mess and clean it up.
Looking back on it now, I was probably trying to release some of the anger I had been holding onto from all kinds of things in my life. My grandmother, my uncle, my grandpa dying, the mean and hurtful things I had experienced. It probably just all came boiling to the surface, and she wound up on the receiving end of things. It’s also probably why I don’t remember the exact fight. I have always had the ability to block the things I don’t want to remember.
I don’t know what happened after I left. I remember Mom and Betty and Sharon coming back to the house. They all came into my room, cuz I was just laying on my bed. Mom sat down with me, and then I was crying, and Sharon was telling them both that I was tryin not to fight her, but she wouldn’t let me. I don’t think I ever got into real trouble over that. I know I had a whole new reputation in the neighborhood after that. Suddenly there were alot of people that wanted to be my friend and that hung around me all the time, but I stuck with who I knew, Sharon and Karen, and the Santoya twins.
That summer, Mr and Mrs Kelley took Mike and I with them on alot of trips. We got introduced to camping, and water sports, like boating and water skiing. We both got to fish for the first time. We got to go to the mountains!! Oh my word, this was a very eye opening summer again with the Kelley family. We had never done any of this stuff!! Before this summer, Mike’s and my only experience with the mountains was in the back seat of our Uncle Bill’s ‘64 Impala convertible, driving up and down Lookout Mountain, which was then a very steep and curvey road, at what seemed to be a very fast speed, while he was drunk. We sat on the floor in the back seat, trying to hide. Remember, back then, there were no seat belt laws, and everyone drank and drove. Where Mom was when this happened I don’t know, but I KNOW he was drunk, and drinking, because there were beer cans in the back seat, on the floor with us, and he was adding to them as we went. I also remember him singing, a beatles song. I think it was ‘All you need is love.’ Anyway, that was the only memory I have of the mountains until we went that summer with the Kelleys. I can’t imagine taking 7 kids camping, or fishing, or boating and water skiing, but they did, and we loved it! These people were quickly becoming my second family. I could go to Betty just like she was my Mom, and Bob Kelley, their dad, was infinetly easier for us to talk to then our own step father, Ed. I idolized these people, and I loved them all like I had never done with anyone in my life to this point, that wasn’t family. Or maybe I should say that wasn’t my Mom or Grandpa.
I don’t remember if it was during my 3rd grade year, or the fall of the beginning of 4th grade, but I think I was still in 3rd grade when this happened. One of the things that the schools used to do every year was test us on our sight and hearing. The first year we were at Skyline Vista, when I was in 2nd grade, and Mike in 1st grade, we missed this test. So my first one was in 3rd grade, and I got the hearing test. Mike got the eye test. They sent a note home to Mom that he needed to have his eyes checked. In due course, it was determined that he a SLIGHT asitgmatism. Ok, cool. They got him glasses. No big deal. Except he didn’t like to wear them. LOL We had this big huge old TV set that was so popular at the time. It was a Magnovox. Funny the things you remember! Anyway, it was one of the ones that had a stereo set up in one side, the phonograph on the other side, with the TV in the middle. It had like a 25 inch screen, which was the biggest you could get back in the day, and It was literally like a status symbol. Every night, after dinner was done and so were the dishes, we were allowed to watch TV until 8:30. Then we had to go to bed. What sucked about this was we always got the first half of some show we wanted to watch, but never the second half. It was years before I got to see the last half of all the Bonanza shows, or The Rifleman, or Father Knows Best, or Car 54, where are you? LOL But this night, there we are sitting right up in front of the TV. We literally sat like 3 feet away from it, on the floor. It was color, and COOL!! Mom was always telling us to sit back, but we had both grown used to sitting close enough to see it. After Mike got his glasses, he realized he could sit back and see it too. I, on the other hand, could not. I think Mom thought I was sitting up front just cuz Mike was, and now that she had fixed his reason for doing it, I no longer had a reason either. Well, I couldn’t see it either, but I had had the hearing test not the eyes. Just out of curiosity one night, I asked him if I could look thru his glasses. They were the big old black framed ones that all the men wore back in the 60s. He hated them, and had no problem with a reason to take them off. So I put them on. Now mind you, they didn’t make a big difference, but it was different. I turned around and told Mom that I could see better with them on than with them off. Basically what I got for an answer was to give Michael back his glasses and quit playing with them, and no I wasn’t going to get my own glasses cuz I didn’t need them, I just wanted them because he had them. OK. No problem. I was doing good in school, and even though when I read, I literally had the book in my face – there was no reason to think I did need glasses, really. I mean, nothing that was glaringly obvious. That all changed when I went to 5th grade. But lets re-visit 4th grade for a minute.
My fourth grade teacher was Mrs. Lurvey. What a doll of a woman! I started the year out having a little bit of trouble in her class, but then I got moved to the front of the class, to be closer to her so she could keep a better eye on me, and I miraculously improved. My behaviour and my grades! She was an awesome teacher, and she is the one who introduced me to BIOGRAPHIES!! WHOA!! Suddenly my whole reading world revolved around history!! I voraciously read every one they had at the schools own library, then Mom got me a real library card! LOOK OUT! Kristine was in hog heaven. I was by far still more active and involved with my friends and school activities, but no one had been able to breed the reader out of me. I still found the time, and now I had a whole new area to explore. No more little kids stories and all that baby stuff, we are on to the real world and history! Didn’t matter to me whose history, just so long as it was history.
Now we move back to the 5th grade. EEEEEEEEEWWWWWW!! A MALE teacher??? oh yuk! No one liked them and the 5th grade had two of them. Mr Gable, who reminded me of a Nazi, and Mr. Setter, who reminded me of the dog! Very nice, but man could he snap and bite! And he had somewhat longish hair, as was not very accepted in the workplace yet, it is only 1968 after all, and when he would turn his head really quickly, his hair would flop to one side or the other of his face, like an irish setters ears will do. LOL But as long as you did your work, and weren’t a goofoff, he was a cool teacher. It just took a while to get used to a male teacher. Well, this was the first time I had ever been put to the back of the classroom, since Mrs. Woods class in 2nd grade. By now my last name was Rose, no longer Yohn. We got adopted the year before by Ed. So I wasn’t at the end of the list anymore, but Mr Setter had a thing about everyone being seated in alphabetical order. So I was in the back row, 2/3 of the way across the class room. 2nd to the last row. I couldn’t see a darn thing, except what was outside the window right behind me, and a couple of people sitting next to me.
Anyway, one day, he is sitting at his desk, talking about something, and then he says we have to copy down what he is going to write on the chalk board. OK. So he gets up there, and I can see him grab what I assume is a piece of chalk off the chalk tray, and he starts making motions as if he was writing something on the board. I see evveryone around me start writing stuff on their papers, but I see NOTHING on that board. I see him, hes fuzzy, but he’s there. Dark pants, white shirt, tie. Big green chalk board behind him, totally blank. He is one of these teachers that keeps checking on his students to make sure they are complying. He turns around to look, and there I sit, doing nothing. Knowing me, I probably had a cocky grin on my face too, cuz I think he;s messing around. He stops right in the middle of his writing, looks me square in the face, and asks, “Miss Rose, are you going to start copying down what is on the board?” ( I will never forget this as long as I live!) I just smile, and say, ’yes sir, Mr Setter, as soon as you quit playing around and really write something on the board.” Now, because he has stopped his writing, everyone else has too, so they are all paying attention to this conversation. As soon as this is out of my mouth, the whole classroom starts laughing. I am not trying to be funny, (a little cocky maybe). but they think I am. Now he’s upset. ”Miss Rose, stop playing around and copy down this work on the board.” Ok, now I am feeling just a little defensive cuz the joke isn’t funny anymore, so i get mouthy. “I’ll stop playing around when you do, Mr. Setter.” I know I said this with attitude. LOL ”Miss Rose, stand up.” Great now I’m in trouble, and I figure I am going to the principals office. So I stand. He just stares at me for a few minutes, and of course the whole class room is dead quiet now. Finally, he tells me that I am to walk slowly forward, until I can see writing on the board. I start to stomp to the front of the room, because I am really irritated now cuz I feel like I am the butt of some joke only I don’t get. Immediately he barks out the command to STOP!! Slowly, he says. He’s looking at me funny. I gotta tell ya, I really didn’t like being the center of attention like this, but I did what he said. I walked slowly towards the front of the room. I was the sixth chair in the row, by the back of the class room, there was only 1 other row to the right side of me. 6 rows across and 6 desks deep. 36 kids, approximately. All our classes were like this then. I walked forward and finally stopped at the very first desk. I was about 6 feet or so away from the chalk board, and amazingly, there WAS writing on that board. I couldn’t read it, but by God I could see it!! He asked me if I could read it and I told him no, but then I apologised, because I told him I could see that he had been writing on the board. He was very nice by now again, and he told me it was ok, and that I was to walk forward again slowly, until I could read what he had written without squinting my eyes. I was standing about a foot away from the chalk board when I could actually read clearly what he had written. I felt really stupid. I remember tearing up, cuz I figured everyone would make fun of me, and here he was showing my weakness to the whole class. I was very embarrassed. Well, He had me to sit at his desk for a little bit, and copy down all that he had written on the board. He finished what he was writing, telling everyone else to finish too. Then, when we were done, he had my put all my stuff back in my desk, and he physcially walked me down to the office.
Mom was called, and I was sent home with a big old note in an envelope for her. I thought I was in trouble. I really thought at the time, I had been kicked out of school!! I was scared, I was afraid to go home cuz I thought Mom would be mad at me, and I KNEW Ed would be pissed off. It was a terrible day!!
Well, when I got home, I went into my room and curled up with a book. Mom got home shortly afterwards, and man, was she on a roll!! Holy Lord was she mad!! She was ranting and raving about how they didn’t know anything at that school, and how I didn’t need glasses. I got in alot of trouble for causing so much trouble in class, and getting sent home, and her having to take off work! But aparently, one of the things that they required before I was to be allowed back into school was a thorough eye exam. She was mad because it meant she was gonna have to take another day off work to accomplish this, and because Ed was going to be upset over the expense. He didn’t mind spending his money on him or her, but on Michael and I it was another story. I found out years later that he threw a huge fit over Michaels first pair of glasses a couple of years before. So anyway, the next day we are downtown Denver, on 16th, getting my eyes checked. It was an intimidating experience, because I had never been behind any of these machines before. Remember me saying I got the hearing test at school? Well, I got that test every year, I never got the eye exam. If I had they would have caught this sooner. And the machines they used to check your eyes in the 60’s are nothing like what they use now let me tell ya!!
When we were done, it was just me and the doc in the examination room, he called Mom into the office, and asked me to go wait in the outer waiting room. Ok. I did. At first, I heard my Mom’s voice raised, like she was yelling at him, then it went real quiet. A few minutes later, my Mom comes out of his office, and the look on her face scared me. She looked at me like she thought I was gonna die or something. Then suddenly, she has her arms around me, and she is crying. She sat down in the chair next to me, and she just cried. Finally, the doc guy brings her some tissues, and tells her, not to worry, we can pick out frames today, and I will have glasses in a week. Now, my first thought is that i don’t want to wear glasses, and I very adamently tell him so! But then he reminds me that I liked being able to read the sign on the wall from all the way across the room, and he was right, I did. I let Mom pick out my frames, and we left. I couldn’t go back to school for a week. lol
In case I lost you here, they would not let me back in school without my glasses. Flat refused. I think it was stupid to not let me back in, but they wouldn’t, so I had a weeks vacation.
The day we went back downtown to get my new glasses, I was excited. I didn’t want to wear glasses, and I knew I was gonna get the whole 4-eyes thing, but I was excited cuz I knew I was gonna be able to see!! What I never realized was how much I had missed. I just figured it would help a little bit for school work and everything. I didn’t know how much of the world I had truly missed. They put those glasses on me, and I walked outside, and saw a world I had no idea had existed before. I could always hear it, I just never realized what I hadn’t seen before. I thought everyone saw the same way I did, and why would I not? I knew no differently.
Mom and I had like a 6 block walk to the bus stop. I think it was probably the longest, and most enjoyable six block walk of my life. I flat could not get over it. I saw colors, and details, signs, things in windows, people, vehicles, like I never had before. I found out for the first time that day that people could and did actually see trees as branches with leaves, not just big green lolly pops. Grass was individual blades, not just a green carpet. I saw detail from what was for me, and incredible distance, and things I had never been able to see before at all, like bill boards. Somethings you just can’t get close enough to when you are near sighted. The bus ride home was simply amazing. I couldn’t quit looking at EVERYTHING!! And I remember telling Mom about it all. Every last thing. About half way home, I looked at Mom and she was crying again. Not sobs or anything, she was just watching me, and there were tears running down her face. I remember hugging her, and thanking her for my new glasses, and telling her over and over how much I liked them, and I meant it too. I didn’t care anymore that the other kids would call me 4-eyes, or other names. It didn’t matter. Now I understood what it meant to take something for granted. I had a whole new world in front of me, and I was enjoying it immensely! The other kids wouldn’t understand because they for the most part saw just fine, and couldn’t imagine what it meant to not be able to see. I on the other hand, understood it all too well.
Years later, when I was a teenager, and wanted my first pair of ‘cool glasses,’ I think I was like 14 or so, Mom was already divorced from Ed, and didn’t have the money for them, but she sold a couple pieces of her own jewelry, to a friend of ours, to get the money to buy me the glasses I wanted, cuz she understood that this was important to me. AFter I had them, and she was certain that I was happy with them, we talked about that first pair I got, and the ride home. I asked her why she was crying that day, when I was so happy. I didn’t get it. I remember her telling me that she was very happy that I was getting to see the world finally. But she felt so terrible, because all this time she had remembered that first time when I told her that Mike’s glasses had made it better and she had ignored me. Of course she had no idea. She felt terrible about letting me go all those years with out them, when it might have made a difference in my school alot sooner, like first or second grade. The doctor had told her that most likely I had been born myopic, and having never seen better, I didn’t know the difference, so naturally never knew to complain. Which of course is how you find out about most things with children, they complain about them. I didn’t know to complain.
This is one of those things that I am pretty sure she had a really hard time forgiving herself for, and that I never held against her – EVER!! She told me she felt as though she had really screwed up as a parent by not checking this out. Oh Well!! Sh*t happens. The one thing it did do was teach me not to take things like this for granted, and to be more vigilant about them. And she had learned alot through the experience too.
I don’t know how strong Hannah’s glasses are, or how badly she needed them, but the one thing I can say is I am glad she got them when she did, and Im glad you picked out frames that fit her face. Unfortunately, when Mom picked out mine, they didn’t have a great selection for kids, and the whole ‘cat eye’ thing was the style. Mine were blue plastic, wide cat eye frames, with rhinestones up on the outer corner of the frames, kinda like an Elton John type thing. But, to be honest, I didn’t care. I could see, and that was all that mattered. And back then, they could correct my eyes to 20:15. Now, if I’m lucky, they can correct them to 20:50. So, for a very long time, I didn’t care how I looked, it was what I looked at I cared about.
Well, it is Thursday, and I have to bowl tonight. 4 more weeks til I can move. Then I guess I’m coming home. I’ve been gone 6 yrs. Time for a change.
More Later.
Wow. I just devoured that! Keep writing! Tell me more!
You know, I see similarities between you and Hannah here. Interesting!
I could write alot about this post, but it’s kinda late and I need to wrap up my night. I didn’t even know this post existed, but now that I’ve found it, I really do hope you’ll update it. Keep it going….
**Funny sidenote–I thought that Great Grandma & Grandpa were from Cook County Ireland, but I bet I got that wrong, They were from Ireland, but it was YOU that was born at Cook County Hospital in IL…That’s funny~