My First Girlfriend

 I remember my first girlfriend. We were in first grade so we were about 5 or 6 years old. Her name was Lucy Anderson and her dad owned Andersons's Department Store in downtown Independence, Iowa. Lucy sat behind Mary who sat behind me. One day I asked Mary how to spell her name. Then I wrote a note and gave to her to pass on to Lucy that said, " Will you mary me." I honestly don't remember her response but I like to think she said yes.

Swim Lessons

I remember as a small child of 7 or 8 years old taking swimming lessons at the municipal pool. There were certain steps or skills that had to be learned before being allowed to pass through to the rank of those being allowed to swim in the deep end of the pool. First step, I remember, was holding your breath under water for 10 seconds. Piece of cake. The instructor directed me to go to the next group. So I moved to the group right next to us for the second step which was face floating for 10 seconds. Again, easy peasey. Again, the instructor told me to move on to the next group for back floats. My heart sank. Tried and try as I did, I couldn't master the back float. After several attempts, the instructor told me to go to the end of the line and keep practicing. Time was running out and swim lessons would be ending soon. When the instructor was busy with a different student, I slipped over to the next group, which was dog-paddling. Since nobody was keeping track of who was passing the various skills and who belong to which group, it was naturally assumed by the next instructor that I had passed the back float and was ready for dog-paddle, which I already knew and easily passed on to the next group before swim lessons ended for the day.

I'm a fairly competent swimmer nowadays and feel very comfortable and able to swim a great distant. I was even on the diving team in high school - though not very good at that. But, I still cannot back float.

My Money My Bike

 I remember the first bicycle I bought on my own with my very own money. I was 14 years old and had been saving money from a paper route. And I finally had enough to buy my own bicycle. It was a blue 5 speed with the shifter on the hand grip. It wasn’t a Schwinn though. I really, really wanted to Schwinn but I couldn’t afford one just yet. Still, I felt so grown up going to the store, picking out the bike I wanted, and paying for it with my own money.

A Summer of Mischance on the River (Part I)

 The Wapsipinicon river, or Wapsi, ('a' as in 'what') as it is locally called, is a tributary, beginning in southeast Minnesota and draining into the Mississippi river in southeast Iowa. It was early Summer and the water level was high due to rains. I remember I was 10 years old at the time and waist-deep in the river, pushing floating sticks and logs away from the boat dock so they wouldn't get tangled in our fish lines while we were fishing. That was our excuse anyway. In the back of my mind, I remember we were more so doing it to cool off on this sultry afternoon; stopping short of swimming since we weren't allowed to swim in the dirty river. 

I doubt that we were splashing about and having fun. After all, we were serious about fishing and the task of moving the driftwood away from our fishing spot. Then, something bit me. It didn't really hurt bad as I recall, but I knew it was something I needed to exit the river to check out. My right knee had a gash in it and doing some pretty serious bleeding. Being the Boy Scout that I was, I tied my 2 socks together to make them long enough to wrap around my knee to stop the bleeding. The following period of time is vague. My memory is saying my mom was busy doing something so she asked a family friend to take me to the doctors. The doctor put 7 stitches in my right knee. Now here's an honest twist to this event that I do remember clearly. The gash in my knee was likely caused by a half-sunken log or stick and in the shape of the letter "J". That very next morning, after I woke up and was making my bed, I found a fish hook in my bedding. A fish hook as you know, in the shape of the letter J. About the same size as my gash....Things that make you go "hmmmmmm".

A Summer of Mischance on the River (Part II)

 Days after getting 7 stitches in my right knee, my family went on our annual 2 week vacation. I don't remember where we went or anything about the vacation. It is safe to presume I didn't go swimming or enjoy it much with 7 stitches in my knee. I don't even recall when I got the stitches removed. 

However, not long after we returned, I remember mom, dad, my brother Dana, and I went on a boat ride with our neighbors on their pontoon boat up the Wapsipinicon river. I remember wearing my favorite pair of shorts and sitting at the front of the pontoon boat next to Dana, dangling our bare feet in the splashes of water. I was sitting on a 2x10 plank because I didn't want to get my favorite shorts wet, when I scooted too near the end of the plank, upsetting the center of balance and tipping into the river. I remember emerging behind the boat and hearing frantic screams from my mom on the boat. 

Dad immediately dove into the river to my rescue. I was an avid swimmer so that's not why he was diving in to my rescue. I remember dad yelling at my mom to stay on the boat and how silly she looked when she did a belly-flop into the river to help. The river was shallow enough at this point that dad was able to carry me to shore.  How coincidental was it that this mishap occurred directly in front of my family doctor's summer cabin? And how coincidental was it that my doctor and his wife just happened to be lounging in their yard to witness this tragedy? And how coincidental was it that my doctor's assistant and his wife just happened to be lounging alongside them? God was obviously looking out for me that day.

The next memory of the event I have is in the back of my doctor's station wagon on the way to the hospital. I remember telling my parents that I have $300 saved up to help pay for this, unveiling a faint smile smile from my mom between all her tears. I remember not feeling any pain whatsoever.

I only remember bits and pieces of my 2-week stay in the hospital to recover. I remember having a crush on the candy-striper who attended me, getting quiet adept at handling a wheelchair, skillfully balancing it on the 2 wheels. I remember the deepest cuts on my thigh got infected so the doctor had to remove 2-3 stitches to squeeze out the puss that had grown underneath. 
13 lacerations on the inside of my left leg from mid-thigh to mid-calf. Over 350 stitches is what the doctored reported sewing in. For the next 15 years, I seldom wore shorts or went swimming because I was so self-conscience of the ugly scars on my leg.

Hereditary Rituals

 It was an outside Spring cleaning kind of day at our house today. You know. Cleaning up sticks from the yard. Trimming the rose bushes back. Putting the snowblower away and breaking out the lawn mower. Cleaning and sweeping the garage. Putting shovels on their seasonal hooks. Because my health isn't as young as it used to be, I got to be supervisor and my 2 sons were the work force. It was the first really beautiful weekend of Spring. Clear blue skies. Shining hot sun. I was a bit surprised of the effort and detail they put into doing the various tasks because I knew my boys had other things on their mind. Fifty-some years ago, I was in their shoes. 

My dad would round up my 2 brothers and me on this first nice weekend of the season and make us help him do the same. He was a stickler for detail. He wanted every speck of dirt and dust cleaned from every little nook and corner. Throwing out old stuff. Minor tune-up on the mower and getting it running. Besides being a bit obsessed with organization and detail, he was also quite direct and terse. He had little patience for incompetence and imperfections and his thundering voice was the crack of his whip to get us to do  better. It would take an entire afternoon for the 4 of us to clean the yard and garage. By then, it was supper time and too late to do stuff with our friends. To us boys, the first beautiful Spring day of the season was ruined.

I loved my dad and I see a lot of his finer qualities in me but when I became a dad, I swore I would not act or raise my children in such a way that they would fear me. I also said I would not be as strict and would not rob them of their free time. 

The job got done. Only 2 hours. Not done perfectly, but done. And my boys still had time to get outside and enjoy the nice weather with their friends. 

My mind started to wander. While my blog is about memories, I stopped myself short before getting carried away with my philosophies and opinions on raising children. I'm still learning.

Bubble Gum and Paddle Boards

 Grades 7 through 9 were called Junior High where I lived in my precocious puberty years. It was during those years, I remember, girls petitioned the school to be allowed to wear slacks for the first time. And this was a public school! It was during these years, if the gym teacher caught us chewing gum, we had to stick it to our nose and wear it the rest of the day. It was during this part in time where laws had not yet been made protecting children from the discipline of teachers. One gym teacher, Mr. Chase, was friends with the shop teacher. Shop class is where guys learned to work and build things with wood, metals, and plastics. On the other side of the fence, there was Home-Ec, where girls learned how to cook and sew. Girls didn't take shop and guys didn't take home-ec. I don't know if that was rules or just accepted practice. Back to Mr. Chase now, being friends with the shop teacher gave him access to the shop and tools. Between the 2 of them, they both had some violent-looking paddles with holes, notches, and grooves carved and etched into them that made my skin crawl just looking at them. I don't remember what type of mis-deed had to be done to get beat with a paddle, but I did see them get used on more than 1 occasion. I remember once seeing one student wearing nothing but his jock, was ordered to bend over and grab his ankles and place his head under the door knob and get his paddling. As of this current moment, I do not remember if  I ever got a paddling or not, but I do remember wearing my gum on my nose once or twice.

Throwin snow

It took some doing but I finally remembered my username and password to my blog. Now I hope to do less Farmville and more blogging.

I bought my first snowblower this year. Obviously the best year to have one. I am in Des Moines, Ia. and the winter has been unusually brutal.

I never bought one before because I kept saying, "My grandfather lived on a farm his whole life and never owned a snowblower. My father grew up in the midwest and never owned a snowblower until he was nearly 40. I called shoveling "good exercise" and a requirement to keeping young and healthy. But due to my age and my disabled back, I broke down and bought one last fall.

I remember living in Cedar Falls during my early and teen years. Our huge house sat on a corner lot and my job was to shovel, as well as mow. I also remember shoveling the elderly people's house and driveway next door, as well as the sidewalks of a couple relatives around town. I remember one year at a relative of my mom's, the snow was drifted nearly 5 foot after a particular snowstorm. I remember feeling like I was in a tunnel with the walls of snow on either side of me and how hard it was to throw the snow up and over the high drifts to get it off the sidewalk. I was perhaps 12 or 13 at the time and, though I did have the option of doing the shoveling or not, I did it all without complaining. Nowadays, I credit that type of work with the ethics and character I now possess. 

Cleaning the Basement

Yesterday, I had my 9 year old son help me clean the basement - partly as punishment for putting play ahead of his responibilities, partly as an educational experience, and partly for bonding time with me. Of course he didn't want to do it and frequently would ask if we are almost done. He learned (I believe) that (1)responibilities do come before play, (2)never to piss dad off, (3)just because he has never done something does not mean he is unable to do it, and (4)that hard work does have its rewards. It reminded me of when I was his age and how much I hated it when my dad would volunteer me to help him clean the basement or garage. My dad was so nit-picky. "A place for everything and everything in its place" was one of his adages that I will always remember and live by. He was so neat and organized and fussy about every corner and every speck of dirt swept and organizing everything and making a "home" for it. He also would frequently say, "If you use something, put it back where you got it. Then you'll always know where to find it next time." The task would take an entire afternoon and spoil my time for fun and play.

ABC Bubblegum

I remember being around 6-7 years old and over at my friend, Scott's, house playing. As we stepped out the door to the garage, I spied a piece of chewed bubblegum on the ground. I picked it up, brushed the dirt off it and plucked it into my mouth. MMMMM. Still had a little bubblegum flavor too.

The Movies

I remember being around 8 or 9 years old and going downtown to the theater with my brothers and sisters and neighborhood friends to see a movie. Back in those days, 50 cents would by our ticket plus popcorn and pop (or candy). I remember once, on a dare, going to the stage and touching the movie screen while the movie was playing to see what it felt like.

Scared

My son just turned 9. He sometimes relates his apprehensions to going back to his bedroom after dark alone because he's afraid of what he can't see. That reminds me of when I was little. Alone in my bedroom at night, if I thought I saw a shadow in the dark or heard a strange sound, I would freeze. My logic: if I played dead, the boogieman would leave me alone.

Fresh Donuts

I remember waking up at 5:00 in the morning when I was 8 years old and riding my bike half way across town to get my bundle of newspapers to deliver on my paper route. I picked the newspapers up at the Super Value grocery store across the street from a bus stop. The bus stop was the only thing opened that early in the morning in this small town. Every morning while loading my bicycle baskets up with newspapers, I could smell the intensely strong aroma of fresh baked donuts in the air. I would save my profits every week just to stop in and buy a fresh donut every morning. I will never forget that smell of fresh donuts in the early morning air. To this day, whenever I smell fresh donuts, it takes me back to those days.

Bicycles in those days had one single speed and to put on the brakes, you pedaled backwards enough to engage the axle brake. There were no hand brakes or multi-speed bikes. And the tires were fat and treaded- not skinny tires or knobby tires like nowadays. And the cool guys would turn their handle bars around facing the front so they looked like the horns of a bull.

My earliest recollection

My earliest recollection in life when I was 3 years old. I remember being in the basement of our home on my 3rd birthday and grandpa (my mom's dad) trying to show me how to hold my fingers to show that I was 3 years old. That's all I remember of that.