In a time long ago and a place far away – that’s where my stories begin. Although I have lived in North Carolina since 1996, my first memories of home belong to 1399 W Losey St, Galesburg, Illinois. A stucco bungalow, story and a half, with two bedrooms, hardwood floors, and a basement. The back yard was fenced, and the driveway was two narrow strips of concrete to drive the car on. We had moved into the house when I was between one and two years old. My brother was born a few months after my fourth birthday, so I was an only child for a bit over four years.
The next-door neighbors were Mary and Jim Anderson, who were about the age of my grandparents. They had no children, but developed a close relationship with me. Jim Anderson was a photographer, and took pictures of me quite often. I’ve included a few of them here.
A dead-end street ran beside our property on the other side from the Andersons, and a girl just a bit older than me (named Linda) lived there. We often played together. Another girl near our age lived in a house further down the dead-end street, and the three of us and another girl often played together with our baby buggies and dolls.
My mother worked in the day-time and my father worked at night. My father took care of my baby brother and me during the day. Because my dad was asleep a lot, I was lonely. I was happy to go to half-day kindergarten when I turned five. My mother taught me where the hands of the clock would be when I needed to be outside to ride with another child’s mother. Kindergarten was at the YMCA downtown.
One day, feeling especially lonely, I went across to the other Linda’s house and told her mother that the heat at my house wasn’t working, and my daddy told me to go over to their house. It was totally made up so that I could play at their house. The spanking I got as punishment was worth it, I thought. Another time I went across and down Losey St. to David’s house. He was in kindergarten with me. He was adopted, and an only child. His mother always did lots of activities with him, and the day I went there we fingerpainted! I don’t recall what tale I told that day in order to take part in the fun, but the consequences definitely didn’t spoil the memory!
The other Linda was both a blessing and a curse. It was great to have someone so close to my age living right on the other side of the street, but she tended to be a bully, and the ability to stand up for myself was lacking. One day, a disagreement led to her banging my head against the stucco on the side of the house. Another day, she convinced me that she had some colored water we could play with and use as a pretend medicine. She climbed up to an upper kitchen cupboard to get the little bottle, and proceeded to paint me pretty much everywhere with the red liquid. It proved to actually be mercurochrome, and when I went crying to my mother she explained it would not wash off, but would have to wear off. I was horrified! The next day was Sunday, and we always went to Mass. Linda hit me often and with no provocation, and I did a great deal of whining to my mother about it. One afternoon, I went to the basement window on the driveway to gain sympathy through the screen from my mother, who was ironing below the window. Instead of empathizing with me, she explained that either I was going to hit Linda, or she, my mother, was going to hit me! Dazed, I stood perfectly still in the driveway for quite some time contemplating my desperate situation. A bit later, my mother received a phone call from the other Linda’s mother. She said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into your Linda, but she’s out in the backyard going at my Linda like a little windmill!” Both mothers were pleased that the longstanding problem appeared to be solved.