My first home

The city could be a fun place to live when you’re a little girl.  Our house was dark brown and it had a small yard with a detached garage.  My mom and I would go out the kitchen door and into the yard because we had a rope back there that was the equivalent of the automatic clothes dryer.  Even though they may be a bit scratchy, I still love the smell of sheets that have been dried on a clothesline.  I had a sandbox in the yard where I played while my mother hung the clothes.  

I don’t know why I remember this, but Thursdays were trash collection day.  As far as I was concerned people in the city had pretty terrific trash.  I found dirty, smelly, old dolls as well as broken doll houses and I would drag them home.  I suspect that a few of the neighbors may have actually had a drinking problem but the colored and weird shaped bottles they threw out were very pretty.  I could only pick through trash on my own side of the street since my mom wouldn’t let me cross the street.  

But periodically my mom would help me cross the street so I could play with the kids who lived in the house across the street.  We could walk down to the bottom of the street where there was a cobbler shop with a bubblegum machine out front, and shake it to see if any gum would fall out.  We kids usually got along fine but I had a sensitive streak and didn’t really like getting so dirty that I found it uncomfortable.  The kids knew that, so if they didn’t want to play with me anymore, they would threaten to draw on my face with crayons like they did their baby sister.  Back then parents didn’t worry if the kids were outside by themselves without supervision.   I often stood on the curb crying and screaming for quite awhile before my mother came to cross me back to my side of the street.

As I got a little older I got more freedom and was able to go on my own to the variety store.  There was one at the bottom of the street, almost across from the cobbler.  To get to the other you had to walk up to the top of the street and go left.  I considered these the “candy store” because I wasn’t interested in anything else.  I could actually get penny candy for a penny and candy bars were a nickel back them.  But what did I know about money.

With my new freedom came responsibility such as the time my mother gave me a quarter and sent me to the store to buy bread for supper.  My question to her was not what kind of bread she wanted but rather “can I get some candy?”  She told me I could only buy candy if I had money left over after buying the bread.  The first store had run out of bread so I bought a candy bar and headed on up the street to the other store where I found a loaf of bread cost 21 cents.  Bet you already noticed that my nickel candy bar left me a little short so I bought some more candy and went home with no bread and candy on my breath.  I suspect my mother had bought bread herself at some time, so nothing I said would convince her that she had not given me enough money and that I bought the candy only after I found that out.  I ended up being told to sit on the 3rd step in the front hall because I was not getting any supper.  My mom stood her ground but my dad snuck me some crackers because  I’m sure that even with all the candy I had eaten, I might have starved to death.

My family attended a Glendale Baptist Church where my parents had spent much of their youth and had numerous friends there who grew up with them.  Those friends had kids the same age as me.  Among these children was a boy my age who everyone referred to as my boyfriend.  We would frequently chase each other around the church and get into things when the adults were boring us.  My father and this boys parents sang in the choir so we often spent Sunday afternoons having lunch at their house.

In some of my parents paperwork I found a dog license from October 1952 registering a black mongrel terrier named Pepper.  I do remember having a dog for a short time but then one day the dog was gone.  My parents gave me that age old story about having to take the dog to a farm because it would be much happier there than living in the city.

I lived on Reed Avenue until age 5 until shortly after I started kindergarten.  We could walk to school but often the lady across the street would drive us.  I don’t remember much of kindergarten other than those pictures I drew for my parents on manila paper.  I was no artist but I was proud of my art work so I never wanted to fold the paper and ruin it with creases.  One particularly windy day my art work began to rip.  I became quite upset but none of the kids would stand in front of me to block the wind.  For some reason my ripped picture made them laugh which made me cry or vice versa.  By the time the neighbor arrived to drive us home I refused to get in the car because I was so upset.  The neighbor drove slowly beside me until I realized my picture wouldn’t make it home if I didn’t get in that car.

Shortly after this event, but not related I'm sure, my parents sold their home and decided to move.  I became a kindergarten drop out.