A to Z Theme 2016

For my 2016 A to Z theme I used a meme that I ran across on the blog of Bridget Straub who first saw it on the blog of Paula Acton. This meme is a natural for me to use on my memoir blog. It's an A to Z concept and it's about me. No research and nothing complicated. I'm given twenty six questions or topics to discuss that are about me.

In April I kept my posts short and uncomplicated. In the midst of it all you might learn a few things about me that you didn't previously know.
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood memories. Show all posts

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Neighborhood (Elements of Memoir) #AtoZChallenge




        There's not of a much better setting for memoir than the old neighborhood.   Such a great cast of characters with so many stories to tell.  You've got your friends, your enemies, the good neighbors, and the crotchety old meanies.   A neighborhood is a place with character filled with characters.

       Whether you lived in a distinguished old neighborhood or a vast tract of cookie cutter houses, each neighborhood has something special to offer your readers--something to which they maybe relate or a place where they could only dream of having lived.  The sights, the sounds, the smells, and everything else that made your neighborhood what is was can turn a memoir story into a rich tapestry of memory.

     There are many neighborhood stories you might draw upon.   You can tell the nostalgia stories of growing up, changing neighborhoods to become the new kid on the block, or leaving the neighborhood where you spent your childhood years.

        The neighborhood doesn't even have to be your own.  Your best memories may have come from the old neighborhood where your grandparents lived or your cousin's neighborhood where you spent your favorite summer.

         Your personal story is interwoven with the setting of your story.  Take the greatest advantage of your story's setting.   Make the neighborhoods come just as alive as the houses in that neighborhood and the people in the neighborhood.   Take the reader back to your neighborhood so they can get a better feel for why you were as you were.

        What was most special about the neighborhood where you grew up?   Was your neighborhood a place of great stability or one with a highly transient population?    Do you still live in or near the neighborhood where you lived in your younger days?

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Memories (Elements of Memoir) #AtoZChallenge


     

      The term memoir as might be expected comes from the French mémoire which means memory. A memoir is in essence a particular memory or series of memories from a time of a person's life as opposed to an autobiography which covers an entire life or most of a life. The memoir is steeped in memories and the events, emotions, and reactions from others that relate to those memories.

     Memories are sometimes rather elusive and skewed when seen through the biased eyes of the one telling the story. Without journals or any aids from sources other than the memoirist's own mind, the memories are not always quite as remembered by others. This might work okay if balanced by some recollections of the ways others saw things, but if only relying upon the memory of the one telling the story then the faulty memories can lead to inaccurate story-telling.

     This consideration of the flawed story-telling can make the memoir an interesting perspective that is not quite accurate history. When composing a memoir the writer should engage in memory checks wherever possible though others who were present, reliable media accounts of the time covered, and any other resources that might test the accuracy of the story teller's memory.

      We know that memory can play tricks on us, deceiving us to believe the point of view that puts us in the most positive light if the story is about us. On the other hand, issues of low self esteem or other distorting factors can blow a story out of proportion to make things seem much worse than they were. Often our memory of what we think happened to us in the past is the story we have told ourselves for whatever purpose we are trying to achieve.  This is probably not the story we should tell in a memoir.

Do you think most of your memories of your own past are fairly accurate? Have you ever been told that things were not as bad in the past as you had thought they were? How far back can you remember with fairly assured accuracy?


Saturday, February 21, 2015

From the Cut Out Bins: Frank Sinatra

Nothing But the Best (album)
Nothing But the Best (album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The following is my response to Stephen T. McCarthy at Battle of the Bands.

      My parents had a nice little collection of albums prior to the time I started accumulating my own collection.  When I say little, I'm guessing that they might have had anywhere from 100 to 200 vinyl LP's at any given time.  The life of an album was probably relatively short-lived in our household because to be honest they didn't take the best of care of their records.

        When it came to buying records my father would go to record stores in search of very specific types of albums--invariably any sort of album that had to do with circus, carnival, or something that he construed to have something to do with show business.  He rarely looked for the typical pop albums as far as I can recall and for his specialty albums he would pay the market retail prices.

        On the other hand, my mother usually bought pop albums, hit compilations, or a variety of other albums that she found in the bargain priced bins in places like the supermarket or variety stores.  There were albums by artists such as Francis Bay Orchestra, Perez Prado, Ray Coniff, and many others whose albums somehow wound up being sold at discounted prices.  That's where she must have gotten the Frank Sinatra albums we had in the house prior to 1966.

         Looking on the internet now I can't seem to find any albums with all the songs as I remember them.  I find all the songs I remember, but not on the same album.  If I'm remembering correctly there was one album that consisted of Sinatra's older material such as "That Old Feeling", "Paradise", "The Nearness of You", "Laura" and some others.  Then there was the lusher material from the 50's such as "I Can't Get Started", "Moonlight in Vermont", "Try a Little Tenderness", "I Cover the Waterfront", and others that came from the Billy May/Nelson Riddle albums.  

          I'm thinking that there were some compilations that were available then that are not available now.   On the other hand my memory could be just totally faulty about this, but I'm not positive about this.  The way I played those albums the song line-ups should be etched in my memory, but then that was 50 years ago and a lot of memory could be blended in with all the other albums between then and now.

          Seriously though I played the heck out of those Sinatra albums in my junior high school days. I probably listened to them more than my mother did.  In quiet times when I was alone and in a contemplative mood I'd put on one of the Sinatra albums and immerse myself in the words and music.  Sometimes I'd concoct secret agent movies in my head using the songs in the imaginary soundtrack.  Some of those plots I wrote down and probably still have them somewhere in my old papers.

           At this time I was also listening to a lot of Tijuana Brass, Beach Boys, and Jan & Dean so to lump Sinatra into my adolescent listening schedule was saying a lot about the nature of the guys music.   For me a lot had to do with Sinatra's phrasing.  He sang lyrics with such style that it was almost like a melodic conversation.   He was telling me something in song and waiting for my response.  The sound of the orchestral arrangements didn't hurt either.  I'd always had an appreciation for good arrangements and Sinatra had some of the best behind his vocals.

          No, I can't ever knock Sinatra because he kept me company and enchanted me for many hours of my younger days.   Sinatra was like a cool uncle who made movies that I liked.  I still have a distant memory of going to the theater when I was about 6 years old to see Sinatra's film The Joker Is Wild and hearing the beautiful song "All the Way".  That was one of my favorite songs when I was a kid and it's always haunted me.  That movie made me melancholy whenever I thought back on it.  And I thought Sinatra was the best--even better than Elvis who was all the rage at the time but didn't have the cool urban hip of Sinatra.

        I wish I could find those Sinatra albums that my mother had--the same songs in the same order. I probably have all the songs in the compilations that I currently have in my CD collection, but I want to go back and have that same exact listening experience.   Then again, if I heard it would I remember?

         Did you appreciate Frank Sinatra when you were a kid?   Do you have a favorite Sinatra film?  What music from childhood haunts you the most?

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Margo's Gift

Hand-made dolls.
Hand-made dolls. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

      Celebrating might not be exactly the way I'm looking at it, but I've got a birthday coming up on Friday January 30th.    That next year of my life seems to come along annually on that same date and I haven't figured any way to slow down my aging process.  I won't say how old I'll be on this next birthday, I'll just say it's an age that I once considered old.  Funny, it no longer seems old to me anymore.   My body might be creaky now, but my mind still seems young as it ever was though maybe a bit more wary and conservative.

       My wife is planning on taking me out for dinner for my birthday.   That's it--no parties for me and that's fine with me.  When I was a kid I expected a birthday party.  After I entered adulthood the parties were kind of cool if they happened, though to my recollection I don't think there were many of those.   Now a birthday dinner with my wife is enough.

       Thinking back on birthdays I was remembering parties that I had when I was a kid.   I recall having them, but I don't remember any of them specifically and I don't remember any of the gifts that I received at those parties.   Well, there was this one birthday.   It was my thirteenth birthday if I remember correctly.  We were living in Crown Point, Indiana and I was in junior high school.

         During that time of my life I didn't have too many close friends and most of my school friends didn't live in the neighborhood where I lived.   Several friends and school chums were invited to my birthday party, but only a handful showed up.   One of those was a cute blonde girl who lived in a house on the next street over from where I lived.  I could see her house from my bedroom window.  Her name was Margo.

        Margo must have gone to the same school that I did, but actually I don't know.  I didn't know Margo that well, but I wanted to know her so I told my mother I wanted to invite her to my party.  From what I'd heard, Margo came from a blended family.  She had a step-sister who was about the same age as she was but that girl was kind of mean so I avoided her.  But Margo seemed sweet, quiet, and intellectual.   Maybe it was the glasses she wore that made her seem smart, but I couldn't say for sure whether she was smart or not.  All I knew was that she was cute.

          On party day I was thrilled to see that Margo was among the few guests who showed up.  Trying to remember now I don't recall anything about what we did at that party or who else was there.  I just remember Margo.   Being very shy with girls, I'm not sure that I even spoke to Margo, but I was thrilled to have her at my party.

          Then came time for me to open my presents.   Now so many years later I couldn't tell you what gifts anyone gave me except for the gift from Margo.  No one said anything at the time, but I'm sure the other kids thought it was an odd gift.  Later my mother pointed out what a weird gift it was and that essentially her mother must be pretty cheap to have sent along such a gift with her daughter.  To me though it was a wonderful gift.

         What I found in the crudely wrapped package that Margo handed me was a simple little homemade doll made of cloth with a face drawn on it.  It was almost more like a beanbag than a doll.  I think it's quite possible that Margo had made it herself since it was so simple.  The doll was accompanied by a "birthday card" that was a piece of white paper with a message scrawled in various colors of crayon.

             To my recollection the message said something to the effect of:

               This little man will always be with you
                To bring you luck and protect you.
                 Always keep him near.

          For years I did have that little man and the card.   I've since lost track of the doll and the card.  The doll is probably gone, but I have a feeling that the card remains somewhere among my packed away momentos.  Most importantly I remember that cute girl who gave me the gift.  She is only a vague memory since I don't know that I ever saw her again after that.   I'm not sure what happened to her--I think she moved away a short while after that party.

          That little man stayed near for a good while.  I can't say that he gave me good luck or protected me in any way, but I've had a blessed life.    And that little man has always been with me in my memory.   Maybe a dumb cheap gift in the eyes of some, but it was a meaningful gift to me.

Thanks to Angela Brown for reviving this memory for me.

          What gifts have been the most memorable to you?     Has there been a person who meant something special to you whom you never got to know like you might have liked to?    Have you ever given another person a homemade gift that may have seemed strange to others?   

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Curiosity Kid (Part 4) -- Sexcapades

Girl in shower
Girl in shower (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


       What child doesn't become somewhat preoccupied with the topic of sex?   For that matter does that preoccupation ever go far from our minds in adulthood?   We look at the sexual content of much popular entertainment as well as the sexual fixation of the advertising industry.   Sex is and has always been on the human mind from the earliest years until the day we die.

       Sexual curiosity came to my childhood as far back as my earliest memory.   I suppose much of it is built into our genetic make-up and is fueled by what we see and hear all around us.   I remember puzzling allusions by adults to mysteries I could not comprehend, but I knew it all had to do with physical relationships and attributes of the human body.   Bit by bit I began to grasp some of the esoteric jokes and conversations that I would overhear from the adults and that even some of my peers would occasionally bring up.

       Always hoping for a glimpse of the hidden parts of especially the opposite sex I kept my eyes open just in case something might be revealed to me.   I would be titillated by the spinning ice skater, not realizing that I was not seeing the woman's undergarments but only a part of her costume.   When my mother would take me into the ladies room rather than send me alone into the men's bathroom, I would hope that just maybe I would see into one of the occupied stalls.  One of the heights of my kindergarten year was when Ruth Springer was removing her snow suit (anyone remember snow suits?) in the cloak room and she accidently pulled down her painties exposing her little bare bottom.   I'd never thought too much about Ruth before that day and from then on had a newfound respect for her.

       I went through the "You show me yours and I'll show you mine" phase through which many little kids pass.   A friend and I might hide in the living room curtains stripping down to our underwear until my mother wanted to know what we were doing and we'd hurriedly pull up our pants, emerging to announce innocently, "Nothing".    The curtains gave a false sense of security to us mischievous children, but my mother was not fooled by any of it.

       One of the milestones of my sexual awakening in childhood came when I was about five.  My mother used to bathe me and my sister, who was a year younger than I, together from the time we were babies.   I never gave this any of that much thought because she was my sister and I had no prurient interests in her--she was like my buddy and co-conspirator.  Taking a bath together was just a part of sibling life.  Then came a turning point in this activity.

        We were visiting my grandparents in West Virginia and my eight year old female cousin was also visiting at the same time.  My cousin held a certain intrigue for me, she being an "older women" so to speak and a girl who I found kind of cute.  We rarely saw each other since we lived some distance apart, but when she was around I wanted to be in her company as much as I could.

       When the time for baths came my cousin and sister headed toward the bathroom and I was right behind them only to be stopped at the door by my grandmother.  Peering around the door into the long bathroom where water was running into the big claw-footed bathtub, I could see my cousin and sister giggling and preparing to take off their clothes.  My grandmother stepped between me and the view and shut the door behind her.  It was made clear to me on that day that boys and girls did not take baths together.  No communal baths ever took place for me after that day.  I'm sure my mother and her mother had a discussion about it.   On that day one of the great mysteries and desires of my childhood would remain a mystery.

       Did you ever play "doctor" or other games related to sexual curiosity?   Did you take baths with siblings?     Do you think sexual curiosity is learned, innate, or a bit of both?



Saturday, November 1, 2014

Encounters with Death

English: Calvary Cemetery, Queens, New York.
 Calvary Cemetery, Queens, New York. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


        Since today is known as Day of the Dead in some cultures and we're in the scary Halloween season, I've been running a series of sort on my blog Tossing It Out about the topic of death.   It's not a topic that many of us like to contemplate, but it is a part of life for all of us.   After you've finished this essay at Wrote By Rote I hope you will continue on to my post at Tossing It Out to vote on my Battle of the Bands offering for the first of this month.   Yes, it's a song about death.

         During my childhood I did not have many direct encounters with death.   When I was very young--about 4 or 5--my aunt died.  Since I never was around her the loss didn't register much for me though I was concerned about my mother's distraught state after it happened.  The thing about that death that I remember the most was that my aunt and uncle lived in a nice house and had a color television set--a rarity in the mid-1950's.

         Sometime around those same years I found my mother crying one afternoon and asked her what was the matter.  She said our family doctor had died.  He didn't seem all that close to me and my family so I didn't understand her sadness.  He was just a guy that I went to see when I was sick or getting checked up and sometimes he'd give me a shot, which I did not like at all.

        Years of childhood went by during which I'd get wind that someone my parents knew had died or maybe some relative whom I had no recollection of ever having met.  If my parents had gone to any funerals during those years it was an event that eluded me.  I'd seen graveyards and funeral homes, but never went to any of those kinds of places.

         The first time I ever saw a dead body was when I was still in high school.  It was in a car accident.  I was riding in the back seat with my parents and we passed a car that appeared to have been in a minor fender bender at an intersection.  There did not appear to be much damage to the car, but in the back seat nearest to the side that I was sitting on was a man with his head leaning against the window.  He appeared to be merely resting or perhaps unconscious, but there was a great deal of blood splattered on the window.  I was puzzled about the amount of blood as the man appeared to be generally uninjured.   In fact, I didn't even realize he was dead until I read about it in the paper the next day.   The accident must have just happened shortly before we came upon it because the other occupants of the car, including some children seated near the man, were just sitting in the car with dazed confused looks.   None of them appeared to be hurt, but just uncertain about what to do.  And the man was dead.  I didn't even realize he was dead and maybe the people with him didn't know it yet either.

        Since that first direct encounter with death I have experienced the deaths of  friends, neighbors, co-workers, and family members.   I've been to many funerals and sent off many cards and messages of condolences to survivors.  As I grow older death has settled in as a frequent visitor to remind me of my own mortality.   Death will eventually come for me one day, but I'm certainly in no hurry.  Take your time, o death, I'm not ready to go anywhere with you.   Not quite yet.

          Have you had many encounters with the death of loved ones in your lifetime?   When was the first time you actually saw a dead person?   Do you think about your own death or is this a topic that you try to avoid?

          Hope you'll stop by to vote on my Battle of the Bands post at Tossing It Out.  Thanks!

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Curiosity Kid (Part 3)

Hazardous waste bottle in a chemical lab
Hazardous waste bottle in a chemical lab (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


        Like most kids I had a curiosity about chemistry, sometimes bordering on the potentially hazardous.  If interesting ingredients were accessible I was ready to mix them up to see what would happen.  I'm pretty sure it was inspired by something I'd seen on TV.  In one case I know it was.

         In one of the Little Rascals episodes the gang was baking a "surprise cake".  They mix up a batch of stuff in the kitchen to create a batter that eventually starts groaning and bubbling.  I wanted to do that.  So one summer afternoon while my mother was talking to a neighbor across a backyard fence, my sister Joy and I and one of the neighbor kids decided to make our own surprise cake.  Joy and I were about 4 and 5 at the time and had imaginations that were always at work.

          We climbed the counters, digging out flour, milk, spices, and whatever else we could get to and manage to get open and we started mixing in the biggest bowl we could find.  The mixture never bubbled or made noise, but we sure did make a big mess, evident by my mother's angry reaction when she came inside.    To our defense, we were in a hurry to mix things up and didn't have time to clean up.

          Then there was the time a few years later after we had moved to San Diego.   Once again it was Joy and I and some friend from down the street.   Joy and I were like the two stooges so I guess we always needed another kid to make the trio complete.   It was summer and we were exploring the garage to see what was there.   We quickly started assembling an assortment of chemical products--cleaning supplies, turpentine, and other miscellaneous containers of mystery liquids.

         We got a galvanized metal bucket in which to mix up our chemicals and the experiment was underway.  After stirring up half a pail of some nasty smelling dark liquid we waited to assess the results.  Nothing happened so we hid the bucket away in a sort of clubhouse that we had constructed out of stuff that was stored in the garage.   We then went to seek out other mischief.

        It was a few days later when a truly foul smell started permeating the garage.   When my mother inquired about the smell Joy and I looked at each other conspiratorially.   We knew what that smell was and now we were a bit concerned.  Scared even.  After my mother had gone back inside the house we immediately went to where the bucket was hidden.   The brew had a gag-inducing smell with a truly sickening appearance with unidentifiable particles floating in a film on top.  It was disturbing to say the least.

       Now I can't exactly recall what we did with this toxic mixture.  It was undoubtedly deadly or at least unsafe.  If this had been in the current age we might have called a hazardous waste clean-up crew to dispose of the substance.   Maybe we just dumped it in the backyard or maybe one of our parents disposed of the evil liquid.  As I think more on this I do believe I dumped it into a utility sink that was beside the washing machine in the garage.   I don't know what we created in that frightening chemistry experiment but I shudder to think back on it.

      It was kind of funny though--in a perverse sort of way.

      What were some of your fearful kitchen adventures?   Did you ever mix up liquids to see what you could brew?   What did you brew?

         

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Curiosity Kid (Part 2)

An illustration of a character from a story; a...
An illustration of a character from a story; also, an illustration of illustrations
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

        Earlier this year I put up a post called "Curiosity Kid" in which I talked about some of things that mystified me as a child and wanted to know more about.  These were incidents that might have been somewhat embarrassing to my mother putting her in an uncomfortable spot.  There were other instances that were probably more of a nuisance to my mother or things that were done surreptitiously.

The Science Experiments:

        Kids are scientists at heart.   When we are young we are always experimenting to see how things work or what will happen if we do something that we probably shouldn't be doing.   And for the latter, most of those somethings are things we definitely shouldn't be doing.

         Rarely did I have a toy for too long before I began dismantling it to see what was inside and how the darn thing worked like it did.   Mechanical toys were my favorites.  Once the outer layer was broken through, I would make great discoveries such as finding that the Japanese recycled things like tin cans and old magazines to manufacture the toys they sent to us kids in the U.S.  This was the pre-China years when most cheap products were "Made in Japan".     After the dismantling, I would be without a toy and left with a pile of useless scrap that could not be reassembled.   Another toy in the garbage.

         My most major accomplishment of destruction for the sake of curious discovery was the beautiful bouncing horse that my sister and I got for Christmas one year.  I was about 4 or 5 at the time.   The horse was made of sturdy plastic and suspended by heavy duty metal springs to a metal framework.  Not only could one bounce on the horse, but there was also some sort of mechanism which after pulling a string the horse would make realistic horsey sounds.  My mission was to find out how those sounds were made.

          Lacking any patience for careful dismantling--there seemed to be no easy way to take the horse apart to get to its innards--I took the most logical approach to doing the job.   I used a hammer.  With great energy I bashed through the plastic to find an odd little device that was something like a miniature record player.  After having liberated the mechanism from the hard plastic shell of the horse, the device now only played a weaker more draggy version of the horse sounds until it eventually quit working.   No horse sounds, no bouncy horse.   Consequently we never got another horse like it.

        Did childhood curiosity ever lead you to dismantle toys or other items?   Do you like to find out how things work?    Has any of your children, grandchildren, or other children in your life shown a predilection for taking things apart?



Saturday, September 6, 2014

When a Quarter Went a Long Way

English: Pete's Candy Store, in Williamsburg, ...
 Pete's Candy Store, in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York City
 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
 

         These days a quarter doesn't go very far.  Not like it used to when I was a kid.  The sales tax on my typical fast food purchase is usually way more than a quarter.  I'd never think of leaving a quarter tip on the table in a restaurant.  A quarter might give you a few minutes of parking on the street meter, but you'd better be prepared to have a whole lot of quarters if you're staying long--now many meters even take credit cards.  Hand a homeless person a quarter and they might take it as an insult.

          When my mother first started giving me an allowance in 1960 it was twenty-five cents each Friday.  It was amazing how far I could stretch a quarter.   A bottled soda was a nickel or a dime and you could turn the bottle back in to get some of that money back.   A candy bar, a pack of gum or Lifesavers, or a small packet of peanuts was five cents.   A quarter would reap a tidy harvest of goodies that could last a couple of days.

           Of course I'd find other ways to get more money for more goodies.   I'd do additional chores for extra pocket money.  Cleaning out drawers, rummaging through the car, or digging under the couch cushions was usually good for amassing a pocketful of jingling change.   Add to this the several dollars I might get at birthdays it seemed that I was never broke for fun money.

           A bit of wheedling my mother for special treats when we were on shopping expeditions always provided some return.   It didn't take much begging on my part since my mother was generous when it came to her kids and she was always willing to do that special something to make us a bit happier than we already were.   And we were happy.   There were always more things I'd like to have, but I wasn't lacking in much.

           Not that we were living a life of excess--frugality was a lesson taught well to me.   But I had enough toys, books, candy, and other things to add more pleasure to my life.  After all, I was usually dealing in fractions of dollars rather than multiple dollars.   My mother probably wasn't dealing with too much more.  Yet we had our treats as well as good meals.  I was dressed decently and our housing was comfortable.

            I'm not sure how much money my father brought home each week, but apparently it was enough.  We weren't rich, but it often felt like we were.   At least kind of rich as my unknowing mind would perceive wealth.  

           Now that I think back on my childhood I realize that wealth doesn't have as much to do with how much money we have, but more to do with how much we can do with the little money that we do have.  The same principle applies now, though now a quarter doesn't last long at all and a five dollar allowance would be considered small by many standards.

           When I had five dollars as a kid I felt like a wealthy man.  I could enjoy that money for weeks.   These days you might as well hand over the five dollars at the door of a business establishment and be prepared to leave with not very much.

            Quarters add up, but by themselves they are pretty meager in our time.

           How much allowance did you receive when you were a kid?   What were some of the ways you made money when you were a child?    What would you typically spend your money on when you were younger?   

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Curiosity Kid

Nun Unknown
Nun Unknown (Photo credit: Todd Ehlers)


         Like children tend to be I was curious when I was a kid.   There were those mysteries about the world that puzzled me. Then there was my fascination with how things worked or what was inside of things.  It was not unusual for me to break something open to see if I could figure out what made the darn thing do what it did.  Or I'd just come up with some random question that would cause my mother to immediately shush me.

         When I was very young living in Cleveland, Ohio, my mother would sometimes cart my sister and me downtown as she ran her errands.  Since my parents only had one car in their early years together, my mother, my sister and I would have to walk a few blocks to the bus stop in order to take the bus downtown.   Looking back I've got to admire her fortitude in running errands via public transportation with two very small kids in tow.  At that time I would have been about 4 or 5 years old.  My sister was 20 months younger than I.  We must have been a handful!

        As the older child I was probably the more talkative and the one most prone to saying embarrassing things.   Like the time when I saw two nuns board the bus.  We weren't Roman Catholic and those were the first nuns I had ever seen.   My eyes must have been wide as they could be.   Tugging my mother's arm I blurted, "Look Mommy, ghosts!"

         My mother put her hand over my mouth and told me they weren't ghosts.  I don't remember her explanation, but thereafter I was aware that nuns had something to do with church.  For a long time after that the concept of nuns was a bit of a mystery to me.

           This was back in the mid-1950's and most neighborhoods were pretty segregated.   I'd seen black people on television, but I thought they were just characters with some kind of make up.  I had no understanding of racial differences back then.   My first actual encounter with a black person was on one of those bus trips with my mother.  I couldn't take my eyes off of the first black person I ever saw--the concept of skin color was puzzling to me.   Staring intently at the black man I asked my mother as surreptitiously as I could, "Mommy, if he took a bath would the color wash off?"

           My mother quickly shushed me on this one.  If the black man heard me he didn't show it.  I kept looking at him wondering about that skin color.  I really wanted to understand how some people were darker than others.  I'm sure I was not much more curious than other kids my age.  After all when the world is new and we are learning everyday, we want to know about everything.

          Where you a curious kid?   What kinds of things did you wonder about when you were a small child?  How often do you think your curiosity embarrassed your parents?


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Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Heaven Is In Your Mind (#atozchallenge)








Traffic   "Heaven Is In Your Mind"  (1967)



Heaven Is In Your Mind

        When I was seven years of age my family moved to a duplex in the Penn Hills area of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.   Practically in our backyard was a tiny Free Methodist Church which became the church we not only began to attend on Sundays, but it became the focal point of my social life.  The pastor gave me my very first personal copy of a Bible which I still have in my possession.  This began my lifetime spiritual journey.

        My father was deeply interested in the Bible and all things related to Jesus and seemed very pleased about the interest which I took in the church.  We had never been involved in any church up to that time although my father frequently read from and quoted passages from the Bible.  In our first Christmas at that house--this would have been the Christmas of 1958--my father gave me a two volume book set concerning Bible commentary and history and an art book with paintings depicting scenes from the Bible.   I spent many hours with these books and the Bible given to me by the church pastor.

         These studies stayed with me throughout my life, having a great influence on my thinking and my actions.  We moved from Pennsylvania the following year and relocated first in San Diego, California; then Crown Point, Indiana; and finally Maryville, Tennessee.  Often our family attended church, but sometimes there would be lapses.  Through the years matters concerning God, the Bible, and Heaven were always in my mind.

         Even in my wilder days of college and some years after I was never far from my spiritual side.  I always maintained some limits.   I still dreamed of some future place where absolute goodness reigned.  I suppose once Heaven is in your mind it's difficult to get it out.

          Were you involved in any sort of religious activity as a child?   Did spiritual matters ever enter your mind when you were young?   How has your outlook towards spirituality changed since becoming an adult?

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Saturday, August 31, 2013

Do You Remember Magazines?

Huet's photograph of Thomas Cole featured on t...
Huet's photograph of Thomas Cole featured on the cover of LIFE magazine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

      In the previous post we considered the activity of house cleaning and organizing as a way of tapping into old memories.   I prefer not to think of organizational house cleaning and de-cluttering as some tedious chore that is to be dreaded, but a fun activity that can sometimes seem like work though with beneficial rewards.  Digging up a treasure trove of memories is sometimes like finding the Lost Dutchman Mine.

        Among the remnants of my past are the numerous magazines that I have stored here and there.  Gosh!  Do you remember magazines?  Oh sure I know that magazines are still around, but I don't think they have the same impact that they once did.  Now we go to the internet to keep up with anything we care to know.  Even if we do have a magazine subscription these days, we also often get access to the online version of the magazine that may include extra features such as videos.    However, the way I see it, magazines no longer have the magic that they once did.

        The magazines that caught my attention earliest in life were Jack and Jill, Humpty Dumpty, and Children's Digest.  One or more subscriptions of these found their way into our home when my sister and I were kids and we read them faithfully.  As I outgrew these my curiosity turned toward the deeper publications such as Reader's Digest and National Geographic.  For me these were like scholarly journals that provided useful and interesting information and highly readable stories.

         The two biggies in the photo magazines were Look and Life.   My family subscribed to Life in the years I lived at home.  I anxiously looked forward to each issue of Life magazine to get my fix of striking images combined with well written journalism and a healthy dose of pop culture.  After a while I began saving each copy of Life magazine until I had amassed such a collection that I had to become more discriminate in which issues I would hold onto.

         As a Boy Scout I received a subscription to the official voice of the scouts, Boys' Life.  This is another magazine in which I would totally immerse myself.   I would read and reread each issue from cover to cover, paying particular attention to the jokes, the stories, and the regular columns on stamp collecting.  I sent away for many of the special stamp offers in order to build up my collection.

        After I entered my teen years I started buying a lot of magazines from the cigar store on the square in Crown Point, Indiana.   I'm sure they sold cigars, but they also had an extensive selection of candy and magazines and I was a frequent customer for both.  My favorite magazines back then were related to model building and monsters.  I'd pick up nearly every copy of Famous Monsters and Mad Magazine.

        When I outgrew those magazines I started turning to the music magazines, primarily Rolling Stone.  My sister had already been a fan of the music rags when the Beatles hit the scene.  To me they were not worth my precious money, but I often sneaked a peek when my sister brought them in the house.  When I became serious about pop music it then became worth my time and money to keep up with the magazines on the topic.

         I'm sure I still have some of my old magazines somewhere around the house.  As much as a year ago I saw some of my old Life magazines still at my mother's house, but I think my sisters probably did some housecleaning and disposed of them.  I have more recent copies of National Geographic, Smithsonian, and other magazines stored away in my own house and for the most part they are untouched.  Over the past decade I haven't taken the time to read many magazines even though I've subscribed to many with the intent of reading them.

         Those newer magazines are not part of my memory database.  There's nothing there for me to personally tangibly attach myself.   But a copy of Life, Famous Monsters, or even 70's vintage Rolling Stone might touch my mind to evoke memories of the time when I read that magazine.  Maybe those magazines could cue up the tape of the past to play an oldie but goody of that time.

          Yes, I remember magazines of my younger days.  I remember them well.   They kept me in touch with the world that was far bigger than my little corner of it.   Magazines fueled my imagination and stimulated my creativity.   Too bad I didn't keep more of them, but somewhere along the line things must go.  Magazines were one of the things that did.

           Have you kept any old magazines?   Did you read magazines when you were younger?  What magazines did you enjoy reading in years past?   Are there any magazines that you regularly read now?

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Saturday, December 8, 2012

Memories of Baby Life: Do We Have Accurate Recall?


The first stage (the developmental years) intrigues me because I wonder how much I REALLY remember. My parents and grandparents were great about repeating stories of all the cute and funny things I did as a kid. As a result I have pictures in my head of where events took place, but I wonder if the memories are mine or if I created them. 

In a comment from Wendy from Jollett etc. (memoir blog)


This is one of my mother's favorite baby photos of me.  I don't remember doing this, but my mother says that I loved getting up on this table and pretending to use the phone.  I do recall seeing this photo often when I was very young.  Looking at family photographs with my mother was a favorite childhood activity.



Baby Life:
The developmental years of infancy to preschool age childhood. (from birth to about age 5)

        A while back I presented the post Stages of Life for the Purpose of Memoir which promised a series of posts addressing each of those stages.  In this first of the series we will discuss the earliest years from birth until the time when we begin school.  

        Some might even make an argument that the memories that help shape who we are could begin before birth while we are still in the womb.  It is known that fetuses respond to various stimuli and that brain waves can be detected in the very early stages of fetal development.   There are even those who suggest that we are conceived with collective genetic memories or instincts.  Since both of these stances are highly debatable we will only mention these possibilities for consideration.  

        A greater case can be made for the influence of events experienced starting at the moment that we enter the world at birth.   The emergent child with normal sensory faculties now becomes aware of the world around them.   The infant is rapidly absorbing experiences and learning at what will probably be a faster pace of any time in life.  

       The bombarding assault of knowledge may be a hindrance to memory for most of us, yet there are some who have claimed to have memories starting at birth.  This seems unlikely as does the claim of memories in the earliest weeks and months of babyhood.  But still, the subtle influences of our environment and those who enter our lives can have an affect on who we will become and what we will believe as we grow into adulthood.

         
I can't remember my first birthday, but I do seem to remember sitting in this wooden highchair.  Perhaps  the chair was used by my younger sister and I actually remember seeing her sitting in it and project myself into that memory of her.  Or it might merely be that I looked at this photo so often that being actually in the chair seems to be a tangible recollection.  I seem to remember the feel of the wood and the way the tabletop surrounded me.   An actual memory?    I can't say for sure.
           There is little doubt that the stories we hear from our parents and others settle into our psyches to become the basis of our memories of very early life.  We absorb conversations around us attaching our own interpretations to them even when we don't understand what is being discussed.  Connections that we make with our personal objects, the places we live, and experiences we have teach us lessons about the world and provide information for future applications.  

            How accurate are the memories of babyhood?   If those memories can be corroborated by people who were there, most notably our parents, then the memories are quite possibly real memories if presented independently of stories we have heard previously.  Most likely though we have at sometime in the past heard the stories and don't realize it.

             Memories might be also confirmed by finding documentation that back up those memories.   Photos or other recorded mediums that we discover later in life could be a good source.  Old newspaper clippings or even historical documentaries that we view may revive memories that we have.  Comparing when something happened to the memory we have can also be helpful.

             I have many distinct memories that go back to when I was three years old and hazy recollections that may go back to my second year of life.  I have dated these according to places I lived as a child, cars that my parents owned, and specific events that happened.  

            For example, I distinctly remember my sister and I playing in an old Hudson automobile.   My parents got rid of that car prior to 1955--I turned four years old in January of 1955.  I can recall going to Michigan for my aunt's funeral in 1955.  I have several memories of a carnival tour my parents worked with their juggling act in 1955.  The memories are not contiguous as a historical progression of time, but rather highlighted moments that stand out in my mind.   As a child we have little concept of the flow of time so it makes sense that I cannot put the early memories the context of a linear progression of time.  Even in later life this is sometimes the case.

           There are many things that played a big role in shaping me to be who I am now.  One that stands out was that my mother used to say, "You have a memory like an elephant."   I liked hearing my mother say this and I believe this played a big role in reinforcing my ability to remember things.  Later, this ability became a big help to me in school.   Even now, though my memory isn't always the best, I do tend to remember a lot of details about certain things.

          Also the constant exposure to show business instilled me with a desire to be in the entertainment business and led me to be interested in all things cultural.  This interest influenced my play time in childhood and the types of jobs I pursued in adulthood.   My dream aspirations in life as well as my dreams of sleep are often related to the entertainment profession. 

          Clearly, the words my parents reinforced me with and the things that impressed me in childhood made me who I am.  Most of my memories seem to be related to these life-shaping influences.   In a way, I am much the same now as I was when I was four years old.  The biggest difference between then and now is that I know and remember more.

          What do you remember from early childhood?    Do you see any connection to what you became as an adult to how you were influenced as a baby?    What do you see as being your biggest influences in your earliest stages of development?   Can you remember or have you ever known anyone who remembers actually experiencing their own birth?

More of my baby photos can be found at the Baby Faces BlogFest on Tossing It Out.

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