July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Mom's 80th brings back memories (08/25/2008)
As I See It
By By DIANA DOLECKI-
The year was 1928. The roaring twenties were drawing to a close. The great depression was looming. World War I, the war to end all wars, had ended and World War II had yet to begin.
Television was a rarity but the first regularly scheduled programming had already begun in New York. It would be decades before television crept into almost every home in the nation.
Mickey and Minnie Mouse made their first appearance on screen. Mickey later appeared in Steamboat Willie, the first cartoon featuring sound.
Amelia Earhart became the first woman to cross the Atlantic Ocean. She went on to make several other flights before disappearing. To this day we don't know what eventually became of her.
Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin, much to the relief of sick people and the distress of bacteria.
In August of 1928, on the very last day of the month, in this year of firsts and impending doom, my mother was born. She had an older brother, Don. Her father was a supervisor in a local factory and her mother stayed home, as women were expected to do in those days.
My grandmother was a farm girl, tall and strong, with a love of the outdoors. My grandfather was kind and gentle and spent too much time at one lodge meeting or another when he wasn't at work.
Another brother, Leroy, appeared a year or so later. Then after a long interval the last brother, Norman, the darling of the family, was born.
In the mean time, it became obvious that the girl, my mother, had something wrong with her. She didn't respond when spoken to or react when she should.
She was taken to doctor after doctor to determine what was wrong. For whatever reason, no one seemed to realize that she had a hearing loss.
Her brothers knew it. When they got tired of her hanging around with them they told her that Mom was calling and she better run home. When she got there she would usually discover that nobody had called her.
Children can be cruel sometimes.
She was made to quit school at age 18 although she was nowhere close to graduating. She got a job at a local carryout, Mom Peyton's. Even though she lived at home she had a measure of independence and could take the bus to visit a girlfriend or to go downtown to see a movie.
Her brothers moved out of the house as quickly as they could, leaving my mother to bear the brunt of my grandmother's increasing rage and frustration.
She remembers ration stamps, air raid drills, wooden porches and trips to Huffman Dam, near Dayton, Ohio. She remembers relatives I have never heard of and neighbors from long ago.
She tells of walking to school and tearing her dress on a spiked gate. She tells of watching her mother can meat and remembers that it tasted better than fresh cooked beef. She remembers waiting in the alley to talk to the Mikesell's potato chip man, who had a crush on her.
When her parents moved to the farm located between Arcanum and Lewisburg, Ohio, her independence vanished. There was no public transportation. There was no employment within walking distance. There was only the occasional babysitting job. Some years there was the tobacco harvest where she would work in the hot sun and make new friends.
She married the man down the road and had two boys. Her husband is now dead and she is alone.
As much as I loved, and still love, the farm, she hated it. I am only just now realizing how isolating it was for her.
These days she is isolated by the infirmities of old age. Her friends are dying. It hurts to walk. She gets out of breath easily. Every little ache and pain causes her worry.
She is lonely.
We, her children, don't visit often enough. It is a long drive for me. It's a shorter one for my brothers. For all of her children it is hard to see this once vibrant woman decline. We have her genes. We have her memories. We have bits of her soul in each of us. We are afraid that her future is our future and so we stay away.
On her birthday we will all visit. We will make her laugh and forget her troubles for a while. We will give her presents. We will fill her house with laughter and love. Then we will go, leaving her to face the loneliness alone, once again.
She has friends who call her every day. On the rare occasions when she does get out of the house, someone always stops to talk to her or she to them.
Her children are all self-supporting and relatively sane. We are her legacy. We love her and wish her the happiest of birthdays.[[In-content Ad]]
Television was a rarity but the first regularly scheduled programming had already begun in New York. It would be decades before television crept into almost every home in the nation.
Mickey and Minnie Mouse made their first appearance on screen. Mickey later appeared in Steamboat Willie, the first cartoon featuring sound.
Amelia Earhart became the first woman to cross the Atlantic Ocean. She went on to make several other flights before disappearing. To this day we don't know what eventually became of her.
Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin, much to the relief of sick people and the distress of bacteria.
In August of 1928, on the very last day of the month, in this year of firsts and impending doom, my mother was born. She had an older brother, Don. Her father was a supervisor in a local factory and her mother stayed home, as women were expected to do in those days.
My grandmother was a farm girl, tall and strong, with a love of the outdoors. My grandfather was kind and gentle and spent too much time at one lodge meeting or another when he wasn't at work.
Another brother, Leroy, appeared a year or so later. Then after a long interval the last brother, Norman, the darling of the family, was born.
In the mean time, it became obvious that the girl, my mother, had something wrong with her. She didn't respond when spoken to or react when she should.
She was taken to doctor after doctor to determine what was wrong. For whatever reason, no one seemed to realize that she had a hearing loss.
Her brothers knew it. When they got tired of her hanging around with them they told her that Mom was calling and she better run home. When she got there she would usually discover that nobody had called her.
Children can be cruel sometimes.
She was made to quit school at age 18 although she was nowhere close to graduating. She got a job at a local carryout, Mom Peyton's. Even though she lived at home she had a measure of independence and could take the bus to visit a girlfriend or to go downtown to see a movie.
Her brothers moved out of the house as quickly as they could, leaving my mother to bear the brunt of my grandmother's increasing rage and frustration.
She remembers ration stamps, air raid drills, wooden porches and trips to Huffman Dam, near Dayton, Ohio. She remembers relatives I have never heard of and neighbors from long ago.
She tells of walking to school and tearing her dress on a spiked gate. She tells of watching her mother can meat and remembers that it tasted better than fresh cooked beef. She remembers waiting in the alley to talk to the Mikesell's potato chip man, who had a crush on her.
When her parents moved to the farm located between Arcanum and Lewisburg, Ohio, her independence vanished. There was no public transportation. There was no employment within walking distance. There was only the occasional babysitting job. Some years there was the tobacco harvest where she would work in the hot sun and make new friends.
She married the man down the road and had two boys. Her husband is now dead and she is alone.
As much as I loved, and still love, the farm, she hated it. I am only just now realizing how isolating it was for her.
These days she is isolated by the infirmities of old age. Her friends are dying. It hurts to walk. She gets out of breath easily. Every little ache and pain causes her worry.
She is lonely.
We, her children, don't visit often enough. It is a long drive for me. It's a shorter one for my brothers. For all of her children it is hard to see this once vibrant woman decline. We have her genes. We have her memories. We have bits of her soul in each of us. We are afraid that her future is our future and so we stay away.
On her birthday we will all visit. We will make her laugh and forget her troubles for a while. We will give her presents. We will fill her house with laughter and love. Then we will go, leaving her to face the loneliness alone, once again.
She has friends who call her every day. On the rare occasions when she does get out of the house, someone always stops to talk to her or she to them.
Her children are all self-supporting and relatively sane. We are her legacy. We love her and wish her the happiest of birthdays.[[In-content Ad]]
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