KIRTLAND, NEW MEXICO

A traveler passing through Kirtland might have mistaken the small village for heavier populated countryside.  Far spaced houses, large shade trees, one gas station with restaurant, and one church made up Kirtland.

Behind many of the houses were cornfields and farmland.  It was a warm, cordial community, and I made many friends before school ever began.

          The last of the summer, with companions, was enjoyable.  We waded in a nearby green-banked creek, splashing each other and catching tadpoles.  Hide and seek was played in the cornfields, as we wondered if we would ever find our way out again, and when we did emerge, we itched all over.  We ran freely in the town where no one was a stranger.

           When school began I had an incredible feeling...”I belonged!”  My personality blossomed with the acceptance I experienced.  I received two honors that boosted my lacking self-esteem, cheerleader and Homecoming Princess.  As far as I was concerned we could live here forever.

The school in Kirtland did not consist of only those from the

Community.  Buses transported children from the Indian reservation and from farms miles around.

           Bronco was in first grade.  The day of his seventh birthday, Mom told him he could invite a few friends after school for a birthday party.  Bronco invited “every one” of his classmates.  Mom panicked and cut the cake and ice cream into smaller servings.  After the party, with the station wagon packed full, she spent two hours delivering Indian children (who usually rode the bus) to their homes on the nearby reservation.

          Kirtland was predominately a Mormon settlement.  Many of my friends were Mormon.  Most of them came from large families, but Jenny, a pretty blond girl, topped them all.  She was her parent’s twenty- first child.  (There had been three sets of twins).  When I visited Jenny’s house, I marveled how her small, healthy mother ever survived.

          I attended a couple of church services with my friends, but I didn’t understand what the Elder was saying, and I was bored.   The entertainment of the community centered on the church.  On Wednesday nights, they showed a secular movie in the basement and everyone came.  It was a convenient time to sit next to a current boyfriend.  I learned to dance in the Mormon church hall at the weekend dances.  Mom let me attend them because there was no liquor allowed.

          Deryl and Mom also made friends who were Mormon, but they didn’t follow the convictions of their church when it came to alcohol.  The couples began attending dances in nightclubs and drinking.  They laughingly called these escapades, “honky-tonkin.”

          On mornings following the nights of “honky Tonkin”, Mom would get up late.

          “Be quiet kids, Deryl doesn’t feel good.  He has a headache.”

          I noticed Mom wasn’t too chipper herself!

          Drinking, and the companionship of others that did the same, was becoming a part of their social life.  To them it was only a lark, something they could give up at anytime.

          We would find out alcohol was our enemy.

Grandma Underwood

BELEN

          Belen was north of Socorro.  The larger community sprawled across rugged open territory.

          I had the usual jitters as Mom and I entered the two –story, red brick school building to register me.  For the first time, Deryl and Wanda Gaines were named as my parents on the enrollment card.  During school, I kept my feelings on guard.  I had decided to survive, and that meant hiding behind an emotional wall.

          On the outskirts of Belen, in an older residential area, Deryl and Mom bought a four-bedroom house.  Our family grew again when Grandma Underwood came to live with us.  She said she would only stay until the business opportunity she was waiting for opened up.

          Grandma was four feet, eleven inches tall.  She may have been small, but she was mighty!  She moved with perpetual energy.  When she did sit down, which wasn’t often, she lit a cigarette.  Her hazel eyes sparkled behind glasses, and her long auburn hair was braided on top of her head.  At night, when she brushed her tresses, they hung to her waist.  Once, when I was little, someone asked me where I got my long hair.  I had replied, “from Grandma.”

          Life had not been easy for the little lady.  As a child, she experienced the death of her mother.  As a young woman, she married a Kentuckian, Ernest Underwood.  They moved west, leaving behind her father and only sister in Ohio.  Eight children were born into a tumultuous, difficult marriage.  Grandpa Underwood, who when drunk (it was told) ,took seven men to hold him down, was also unfaithful. Grandma's distrust of men had left her with independence, ingenuity, and toughness.  I soon learned that underneath her smiling exterior was a quick, feisty temperament.  I walked softly around her.

          Grandma’s coming gave Deryl and Mom more time for the stations and each other.  I was with Grandma more than with Mom.  Mom and I were still detaching, and where once I had cared; now I was developing my own independence. I felt very distant from my mother.

. 

Grandma in later years.



SCHOOL IN SOCORRO

          Large windows on the north wall gave brightness to the otherwise typical classroom of twenty-five fifth grade students.  Everyone was a stranger to me except Mr. Douglas.  He was writing on the blackboard in front of the room.  He had not brought attention to me, and I remained detached from him.  It appeared we had a silent agreement of keeping our kindred secret.

          At recess, I stood aloof and watched the other girls jump and skip across the hopscotch squares.  No one spoke to me, and I didn’t make an effort to join in.  Before, when I started a new school, I had been sure of myself, but this time I lacked confidence, and the other children may have sensed it.

          At noon, Mom had tomato soup and tuna fish sandwiches ready for lunch.

          “How’s school?” Mom asked hopefully.

          “Okay,” I lied.

          “I’ll go to school next year,” Bronco piped.

          Boy will you be sorry, I thought as I bit extra hard into the sandwich.

          I made my feet cross the street and return to the grade school.  I had decided it should be called, “Socorro Alcatraz Elementary!”

          The afternoon was just as lonely as the morning.  After school, when the other kids were laughing and walking home together, I ran across the pavement, through the fenced in yard and into the duplex.  I had made a decision.  I hated school and all fifth graders, and in that order!

          The following day, at recess, one of my classmates walked up to where I was standing, watching the other girls play.

          “Hi,” she said, “I’m Joy,” she invited me to join in the hopscotch game, and for the first time I talked to the some of the other girls.  I could see a glimmer of hope.

          After school, Joy ran up to me.

          “Can you come over to my house?” she asked.

          “I’ll have to ask my mother,” I responded.  I was hoping Mom would say yes, and she did.

          Joy and I made an effort to converse as we walked to her house, but there were long periods of silence.  We didn’t know each other.

           At Joy’s house, her mother was very nice and said she was glad to meet me.  She hoped I was getting acquainted at school.  Joy took the saucer of cookies her mother gave us, and I followed her into her bedroom.  I was sitting on the bed eating a cookie when Joy said abruptly...

          “It wasn’t my idea to invite you here.  I only did it because Mother said I should be nice to you since you’re new at school.”

          Joy’s tone was catty, and I realized she didn’t really want me for a friend.  My heart sank and the glimmer of hope died.  My throat tightened and I fought back tears.  I felt vulnerable and desperate!  Without Joy’s friendship I would be alone at school again.  I listened incredibly to my own voice as it spoke meekly...”Thank you for being nice to me.”

          As I walked home, I kicked a rock out of my way and wiped angry tears from my eyes.  My face burned with shame every time I remembered thanking "that girl" for being nice to me.  My self-esteem and pride had been dealt a blow.