Thoughts of Home
Growing up in a small midwestern town in the 30's and 40's was quite idyllic by today's standards. There were plenty of places for kids to play, although some were placed off-limits by concerned parents.
"The rail yards are too dangerous."
"The lumber yard is no place for you."
"Stay away from the bay."
"Pool halls are no place for young boys."
Of course we ignored most of these admonishments, sometimes getting caught and punished.
Hunting expeditions in the park armed with our Red Ryder BB guns, skinny dipping in the creeks, hunting golf balls at the country club were some of the summer pastimes. Sledding in the hard-packed snow covered streets, jump-skiing, street hockey, tobogganing and ice skating pretty well filled the winter months. For a nickel, we could see a movie and get a piece of candy at the church hall on any Saturday afternoon.
Home and family life was filled with experiences typical for the times. When your mother and father both come from large families, you have lots of uncles, aunts and cousins. Eleven brothers and sisters on my fathers side and twelve on my mother's provided my brother and me with an abundance of cousins of all ages, most of them living nearby.
Dad's brothers and sisters all played musical instruments, so group singing and dancing usually erupted with the least provocation at any kind of family gathering. Family picnics were like a convention. Holiday meals were feasts, and birthdays were like receiving the keys to a toy store. Drop-in visits from an aunt or grandma, a neighbor or family friend were frequent. A visit to grandpa and grandma's house was like attending a political debate. There was always and aunt or uncle visiting at grandma's house. Two of my youngest uncles still lived at home, along with grandpa's brother Uncle Fred.
Uncle Fred's claim to fame was his story of having American Robinhood, Jesse James, trade his tired horse for a fresh one after James and his gang had robbed the bank in Stillwater, Minnesota. We heard that story quite often as Uncle Fred, rocking in his fiddle back chair embellished the account for a new listener, while taking aim at his big brass spittoon.
The only way you could enter a conversation at a family gathering was to shout louder than than the rest. Occasionally, I would walk in on grandma and catch her arguing with the the man on the radio. She could carry on the greatest arguments without interruption by the radio man, but usually drowned out during the live family debates. However, when it came to disciplinary measures, no one interfered with grandma. She was the law!
Our extended family members were hard working people, just like my dad. All were 'blue collar." Only two went beyond high school in their education. Grandma cleaned the parish rectory once a week, and grandpa kept the church clean for Sunday services.
I tended to pick friends from the homes of white collar parents. My mother's advice was "always associate with people you can learn from if you want to get ahead;" advice I heeded and have followed to this day.
Until a fateful November day in 1943, my childhood was quite bucolic. My "Home" ended three months into my thirteenth year when my dad was killed by a careless hunter's bullet. Our small family was shattered and thrust into a way of life nobody is ever prepared for. Mother the homemaker, counselor and mediator, immediately became the principle breadwinner. No more fresh home cooked bread, pies or chocolate cakes. Working at jobs young boys can do to earn some spending money, quickly became a necessity for me rather than choice.
My younger brother, once a playmate, now became my charge, as I walked him to and from school and took him to the local cafe for our evening meal. Mom couldn't be home to cook because of her long hours at her job. Home was now a place to sleep, bathe, change clothes and move through the next day. Having another home would have to wait until i could create one of my own.
At the age of sixteen, I left my mom and younger brother in the midwest, coming to California to live my father's dream. Dad had often talked of coming to California to seek a more prosperous life. Instead, his life was taken from him in his 36th year.
I began living two lives, fulfilling a personal vow I Made to myself on the day of my dad's funeral; One life for him and one for me. Since then, I have continued packing as many experiences into every day, never looking back. At a very early age, my philosophy for living became......Live every minute of today. Yesterday can't be changed, and tomorrow is a maybe. it has served me well.
©2001 Bill Effinger