GROWING UP IS HARD TO DO

8th Grade. Socorro, New Mexico

                                                         1956
There was some tension around our house.  Deryl and Mom were over the “honeymoon, lovey-dovey stuff” and were adjusting to another stage of married life.  Bronco was having some difficulties in school; and I had returned to my disrespectful moody ways.

One day, Mom came home from a meeting with Bronco’s schoolteacher.  She was upset!  Her face became a picture of anger as she yelled at me, “You are part of Bronco’s problem!  If you don’t straighten up, I’ll send you to live with Grandma Underwood in Albuquerque!”

I ran to my room, threw myself across the bed and sobbed.  After the cry, I laid brooding.  I knew it!  Mom didn’t love me!  She only loved Bronco!
If she didn't want me...I didn't need her!

          Mom and I were stale mated again.

          I matured early.  Mom said it was a "miracle". I found it was a nuisance. The girls at school made fun of me and the boys made snide remarks. Because the high school was attached to the junior high, I had many older friends. (Jill Hollinger was one of them.) There were many who did not realize I was 12 yrs old.

          Mom decided I should learn to drive a car…a stick shift. "You should learn on a stick shift." she said. 

          Deryl sat patiently by me as I pushed in the clutch and ground the gears to his car. Eventually I got the hang of it. (I'm sure Deryl was relieved to get out of the car, when we got back.)

           A week later..."Why don't you take Deryl's car for a drive," Mom said as she handed me the keys.

          Of course I snatched them right up.

        I opened the door of Deryls car, sat in the seat and scooted it forward. Turning the key, I pushed in the clutch and jerked forward as I tried to get it in gear.

         After a few tries I accelerated and drove onto the alley.  It was great fun.

        Mom had told me to just stay in the alleys, not to get on any main streets.

         I didn't have a license, I was only 12 yrs old.

        A half hour later I drove onto our gravel driveway, in back of our house.  I decided I had driven in too close so I shifted into reverse and backed up.

        "Crash"

        I had backed Deryl's car into a telephone pole. There was a dent in the bumper.

        My step dad , when he got home, was not happy.  Typically, he never lectured me, but he was very tight lipped. (I didn't know if he knew it was Mom's idea or not.) I was sorry I had dented his car.

        Mom never handed me the keys to Deryl's car again.

STAY AWAY FROM DRIVE IN MOVIE THEATERS.

        His hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead. If he had planned it, the evening didn't go as he thought.  I knew when he got me home; he wouldn't walk me to the door.

        It all began when Mom told me a boy, who was a clerk at a store, wanted to meet me. "He's such a nice boy. Nice looking too."

        I liked him right away. Actually, I was smitten. The only problem was…he was 15 yrs old and I was 12 yrs. Old.

        As I walked to the high school, before class, I saw him waiting for me. My heart did a pitter patter. I was flattered that an older boy was interested in me, and a good looking one at that. (I was sure the girls in my class were jealous.)

        Every morning we met and talked.  He was a "cat." (Which I will explain later). His entire group of buddies hung around the same area.

        "Would you like to go steady?" he asked me with a big smile.

        I wasn't quite sure what "steady" was. "I better ask my mother," I answered.

        "No, you are too young."  Mom' said..

        I honestly did not care, but she didn't know that. I acted upset and ran to my room.

        "Okay, if it means that much to you…you can go steady." Mom conceded.

        I had a ring on a chain around my neck. I wasn't supposed to like any other boys.  That was all I knew about "going steady."

        I put on my flowered dress. I was going on my first date.

        My "steady" came to the door and we walked out to his mother's car. She was behind the wheel because he didn't have a drivers' license. I felt so grown up that night.

        All went well until I turned 13 and my steady turned 16. He had his drivers license.

        He picked me up, with the keys to the car, in his hand. We were going to the drive in Movie Theater…alone. "Be sure and get her home by eleven," Mom had said.

        I received my first kiss. But then came another one…I was being pushed down on the seat.

        "No!" I yelled. "Stop!" 

        That wasn't in his vocabulary evidently. I didn't know I had so much strength. My adrenaline kicked in and he was shoved backward.

        He was angry! He scooted behind the wheel and started the car.  He never spoke another word to me on the way home. He stopped the car in front of the house. I opened my door, got out and he drove off.

        On Monday morning I walked to the high school side of the building. There he was with his "buddies."  He walked over to me: no smile.

        "He nudged his head toward his friends."The guys asked me if we've ever done anything," he said with a scowl. "I said no…you wouldn't give. I want my ring back."
                           ( So much for going steady!)

        I never told Mom, and she never asked why he wasn't coming around anymore.

DON'T WALK DOWN A DARK HIGHWAY

        Angie, her cousin Barry and I drove into the Socorro drive in movie theater. It was a double feature, but we were only staying for one movie. Barry was older then us and had his license and a car.

        When the first movie ended, Barry turned the key in the ignition…"chugs…chug."  "I think the batter is dead." Barry said . "I'll go to the concession stand and see if I can get someone to jump the battery."

        Angie and I sat and sat and sat. I was getting worried. I knew if I didn't get home soon I'd have to deal with Mom.

        The drive in was outside Socorro…close to a half mile.

        "Come on Angie…let's walk home," I said.

        Angie was hesitant…"What about Barry?"

        "He'll figure it out," I said.

        We walked through the exit of the drive in onto the road.

        "Won't Barry be surprised when he comes back to the car," I laughed

       I could see the lights of Socorro in the distance as we continued down the dark highway.

        A pickup passed and then a car. The back lights of the pickup turned red as it stopped. The car following it did the same.  Both vehicles backed up. Angie gripped my arm.

        A man came from the pickup and another man from the car.  I knew they were drunk.

        "Well, what have we got here?  Some little cuties."

        Suddenly, boldness came over me. I didn't even look at the men. Angie's eyes were as big as saucers as I took her arm and turned her.

        "Come on Angie…let's get back to the drive in."

        We walked back up the highway. We never looked back, and we were not followed.

        Barry's car was running when we got inside the drive in. "Hey I was just coming to look for you two."

        We never told Barry what had happened. (unless Angie told him later.) And I certainly never told Mom.




       



RELIVING THE PAIN

PAIN GO AWAY





 

          The hall was crowded the first day of school.  August had passed and September 1956 had arrived.  Familiar faces passed by in the Junior High hallway.  The school was alive with chatter, and hundreds of footsteps scurrying to class.  Nollie (who was in the seventh grade this year) was walking towards me with another girl.  She had spent the last month of summer in Texas, and I hadn’t seen her since her return.  Abruptly they turned into the girl’s bathroom.  That’s funny; I wonder why she didn’t speak.  Oh well, she probably didn’t see me.

          Julie stepped up beside me; her dark sensitive eyes were troubled and she spoke in a soft whispered tone,

“Gloria, I think you should know what Nollie told Jan and me this morning.”

“What?”

“She said you pushed Ray under the water.”

“What do you mean? I asked incredibly.

“I don’t know why she said it,” Julie answered sympathetically, “I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for class.  I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”

“Okay,” I said numbly.  My steps dragged as I entered my eight-grade classroom.  Faces were a blur.  I had hoped with the beginning of school that the memory of Ray would lessen.  Ever since the drowning, no matter where I turned or what I did, suddenly, without warning, a sharp pain of remembrance would pierce me.  The first hour of the new school year, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.

I saw Nollie a couple of times between classes, but it was obvious, she was avoiding me.  Every time she saw me coming, she darted off in the opposite direction.

“Mom, why would Nollie say that about me?” I asked, after I told her what Julie had said.

“I don’t know, but I’ll soon find out,” Mom said and walked out the back door, heading for the Smiths.  She returned a half-hour later.

“Nollie’s mother says there will be no more such talk!” Mom said reassuringly.

“But Mom, how could Nollie even think that of me?”

I thought long and hard about Nollie.  She had seen me trying to keep above the water by grabbing Ray’s shoulder.  Didn’t she see him dogpaddling after that?  No, she had gone for help.  I finally decided Nollie felt guilty because she had hesitated in getting help.  In order to ease her pain, she was blaming me for Ray’s death.

A few months passed, we moved to another house in Socorro.  The socializing with the Smiths had come to an end.  No one purposed it, but no longer could we enjoy fun and laughter together.  Instead there was a void, emptiness, sadness and a longing for a special, freckled faced, green-eyed boy, who had laughed and shared his pleasant disposition with all who had loved him.

Every time the memory of Ray would fade, something would bring him to mind.  I opened the school annual that year, and the Junior High section was dedicated to Marion Ray Smith.  I gazed at the picture of my tender eyed, freckled friend.  I had never known that his first name was “Marion”, the same as Daddy Slim.

(A few years later, Mrs. Smith gave birth to a baby boy.  Mom said God had given them another son.)

WHY DID I LIVE?

WHY NOT ME?

          It was a hot, dry summer day.  The Smiths and our family ventured for an outing.

          The smell of freshly mowed grass drifted in the air as we unloaded the two cars.  Boxes of food and a watermelon were placed on a redwood table in the picnic area.

          Ray sat across from me as we ate out lunch.  His plate was filled with potato salad, baked beans, and a hot dog.  I felt warmness toward my freckled chum, and I longed for us to be friends again.

          Nollie, Ray’s sister, sat next to me.  She resembled Ray; only she was tall and gangly.  Ray was thirteen, I was twelve, and Nollie was eleven.

          After lunch, the three of us played catch with a softball.  For the first time in months, Ray joked around with me.  We soon tired of playing catch and decided to go down by the river.  We told our parents we were going exploring.  The four of them were sitting around the table drinking coffee and enjoying the fellowship.  We could hear their voices and laughter in the distance as we left the picnic area.

          I could feel the tension between Ray and I melting away as we walked toward the river.  I never told him I was sorry for the way I had treated him, but I hoped he could tell that I wanted to be friends.  Nollie tagged along, listening to our chatter.  As we approached the Rio Grande River, the weeds were knee high.  Wild daisies swayed in the breeze while swallows sang from the treetops.  The water of the wide river was ruddy brown.  Pebbles and large rocks lined the banks.

          Ray picked up a pebble and threw it.  The water sparkled as the rock skipped across the river and sank near the other shore.

          “How did you do that?” I asked with laughter.

          “Like this,” Ray replied as he showed me how to position a flat pebble and swing it through the air.  The rock skimmed the top of the river and plunged, leaving a circle of bubbles behind.

          “Let’s go wading,” Ray suggested.

          Tennis shoes were strung among the rocks along the bank, and we rolled up our blue jeans.

          “Burr...that’s cold!” Nollie exclaimed as she stepped into the water.  Ray and I walked into the river.  I felt shivers from the water’s cold temperature, and it took a few minutes before my body adjusted from the initial shock.

          “I’m going to learn to swim,” Nollie said as she laid back in the water and splashed vigorously, causing small white waves in the brown water.

          “I can already dog paddle!” Ray bragged.

          “I can swim, too,” I said, but in reality, I could only swim a few strokes.

          Ray and I continued to act like “big shots” in front of his younger sister, boasting what great swimmers we were.

          “We’ll show you how to swim Nollie,” Ray said.

          The river was up to our waists as we plunged in and began swimming.  I moved my arms through the water a number of strokes and ran out of breath.  I fully expected to feel the bottom under my feet when I quit swimming, but there was nothing but water, and I sank!  The water rose above my head and I panicked!  Ray was having the same problem.  He was close enough for me to reach and I grabbed his shoulder trying to keep myself afloat.

          “Nollie...gulp...get help!” Ray shouted.

          “Help...help!” I screamed.

          Nollie was laughing.  “Quit joking around...I know you guys can swim.”

          We had bragged so convincingly that she thought we were putting on an act for her benefit.

          The water swallowed me.  The liquid filled my mouth and nose.  I surfaced once more.  Nollie was gone.  I felt Ray move away.  My head bobbed again, and I saw him dogpaddling.  The water closed in around and above me.  I could see the light of day, shining through the yellow liquid as it swallowed and consumed me.

          In front of my eyes (or was it only in my mind) a moving picture played for me...I was a small child playing with other children...I was kept after school to finish my work, and I fought back tears because Mom was outside waiting for me...I sang a solo in the Philipsburg church...I stood by Mom at Dad’s funeral...one after another, the series of scenes drifted by. The last scenes were the only honors I had received in life: cheerleader and Homecoming Princess...

          The water parted and my head surfaced.  Ray’s father was on the bank.  He pulled off his Levi’s and jumped toward me.  Strong arms encircled and pulled me through the yellow water.  I was hung on the side of the rocky bank.

          “Ray...where is Ray?”  The voice tore through the air. I realized I was the one screaming for Ray.

          Ray’s parents swam through the water, and then they dove  ...searching...searching.  Neither Deryl or Mom could swim.  They stood helplessly on shore, their faces drawn into creases of concern.  I hung onto the bank, part of me still in the water, waiting anxiously; knowing that time was slipping away.

          Mr. Smith surfaced with Ray’s wet, limp body.  Deryl and Mom helped drag him over the rocks on the bank and onto dry, hard ground.  A man, who had been fishing down river, ran to call an ambulance.  Two more strangers appeared and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  Deryl must have gone after the station wagon and parked it by the riverbank.  I don’t remember getting into the car, but there I sat, wrapped in a blanket, watching the terrifying scene before me.

          “Oh God, please don’t let Ray die!” I prayed over and over again.  I stared at the limp, unconscious body lying on the ground with Mr. Smith and the two strangers working furiously to restore Ray’s breathing.

          An eternity later, the white ambulance, with its flashing red lights screeched to a halt next to the river.

          Mr. Smith rode with Ray in the rescue vehicle.  Deryl drove the Smiths car. Mom drove our station wagon with Mrs. Smith, Nollie, Bronco, and me.  The rest of the world passed by our car windows unaware that we were involved in a life and death trauma.

          “Ray will be alright,” Mom assured Mrs. Smith, “He may have to stay in the hospital for a few days, but we’ll help with the hospital bills.”

          I felt a spark of hope, as I listened to Mom’s words.  But, Ray’s mother never uttered a sound; she sat tense and silent.

          Our station wagon pulled up behind the white ambulance parked at the hospital emergency entrance.  Ray’s Dad was standing on the sidewalk weeping.  The car door stood ajar as Mrs. Smith ran to her husband.  He shook his head negatively, and she fell into his arms sobbing.  Ray was dead.

          I lay on the couch, my arm covering my eyes.  My head felt hot.  I wanted to hide and never open my eyes again!  Every time I thought of Ray, I winced.  My heart and mind hurt from the realization. Every part of me wanted to scream...”NO!!!”

          “Are you still running a fever?” Mom asked attentively.

          I moved my arm and she felt my head.  I had acquired an infection from ingesting the dirty river water.  We both knew I had come close to death.  Ray and I had swum into a river hole.  In eight feet of water, (I was told)  I had unconsciously, pushed myself up from the bottom of the river, over and over again.  Mom said it was a miracle I was alive.

          Knock knock

          Deryl opened the front door, and Mr. Smith entered the living room.  He was pale and gaunt.  Grief was written on his face.

          “How are you, Gloria?” he asked with concern.

          As he looked at me, with his kind eyes, I felt guilty.  Here was the man who had saved my life, but I had a hard time looking at him.  How could he care about me, when he was hurting himself?  How could he make the effort to see how I was, when he was suffering so much grief?  Why didn’t he hate me for living, when Ray was dead?  I should be dead, and he should have his son alive!  Somehow, I felt that I should comfort Mr. Smith and tell him how sorry I was that Ray had died, but instead my voice sounded cold and heartless...”I’m okay.”

          He talked with Deryl and Mom for a few minutes, told me goodbye and left.

          His concern for me brought hot tears and a choking tightness in my throat.  I fought the emotion and buried my face under my arm so Deryl and Mom wouldn’t see the tears.  I hid behind my barrier, trying hard to shut out the pain and grief.

          Questions that had been bombarding my bruised mind began again...”Why did Ray die?  Why was I alive?"  Ray was a much better person then me, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was in heaven.  Would I have gone to heaven?  I pondered the question for a long time...no...I wasn’t sure I would have gone to heaven.

SOCORRO...THE SECOND TIME AROUND...NEW FRIENDS

We rented a two-bedroom house in Socorro.  Bronco and I would be sharing a room.  I dreaded returning to school, especially in the middle of the year.  This would be the second time in Socorro.  My first experience had been a flop, as far as I was concerned.  I tried to lift my lacking self-esteem.  I had been popular in Kirtland.  It if had happened there, surely it could be the same in Socorro.

          Instead of Elementary school, I would be attending the Socorro High School.  The Junior High classes were located in one wing by themselves. School assemblies and lunches were shared with the older classes.

          As I entered the school, I could feel myself shrinking, but I didn’t want to return to my shell.  I wanted to retain the confidence I had experienced in Kirtland.  Purposely, I determined to be more out going.  Consequently, I made friends.  Two of my best friends were Julia Montoya and Jill Hollinger.  Julie was one of the nicest girls in the seventh grade, and instinctively I knew I could trust her.  She did prove to be a loyal friend.  When Mom found out I had a Spanish friend, she wasn’t happy.

          “Gloria, if you run around with the Spanish, the white kids won’t have anything to do with you.” Mom said with concern.

          I brought Julie home.  After Mom met her, she never said I couldn’t be a friend with Julie.  I think she realized what a nice girl Julie was.  My friends had one problem; she was diabetic.  She told me, once a day, her mother had to give her insulin shots.  I cringed at the thought!  I had always hated needles.  I felt Julie was the most courageous person I knew.

          Jill was a year ahead of me in school.  She had shoulder length, dishwater blond hair, glasses over blue eyes, and a giggle that triggered my giggle.  She had a mad crush on Raymond Romero.  But, it was a social “No-No” to date a Spanish boy.  Jill’s mother, who was originally from an eastern state, thought the prejudice was unjustified. Jill's Mom allowed her to date Raymond despite public opinion.

          Another friend was Ray Smith.  He was the boy next door.  Ray was the picture of an All-American boy.  He had brown wavy hair highlighted with a touch of auburn.  His eyes were green with dark curly lashes, and his nose was small and pugged at the end.  Freckles generously sprinkled across his nose and rosy cheeks.  Ray was easy to talk to, and had a pleasant disposition.  Actually, we considered ourselves more then friends.  We had a crush on one another.  Our infatuation survived until I switched my affections to another boy.  Ray didn’t want our relationship to change, even though I told him we could still be friends.   One day, after school, I was talking to my new heartthrob as we stood in my yard.  Ray was hanging around and refused to leave.  I was getting irritated.

          “Ray, go home and leave us alone,” I said angrily as I gave him a push in that direction.

          Ray’s face was a mixture of hurt, anger and embarrassment.  He turned on his heel and left.  I felt guilty, because I had hurt Ray’s feelings.  As I joked around with my new boyfriend, I soon forgot my old crush.

          The incident left a wedge between Ray and me.  When I passed him in the hall at school, he looked straight ahead, as if I didn’t exist.  When I was outside at home, he never came out.  The only time I was around him was when our families got together.  Little did I realize how Ray would affect my life.

JESUS...BE REAL

I WANT IT TO BE REAL

          The station wagon and moving truck, loaded to capacity, moved slowly through the busy Central Avenue traffic in Albuquerque.  Across the street from the New Mexico State Fairgrounds and next door to Ace Cafe was Ruby’s Novelties.  One customer was browsing though the magazine rack while the older woman stood behind the cash register.  The bell over the door jingled as we entered, and Grandma Underwood’s face lit up.

          “Well, look what the wind blew in!” she exclaimed as she came around the counter and hugged each of us. (I noticed, with some pride, that she was a few inches shorter then me.)

          “We thought we’d stop and see you on our way to Socorro,” Mom said.

The customer walked up to the counter and laid a magazine near the cash register.

          “Go on back, I’ll be there in a moment,” Grandma said to us.

          Her living quarters were connected to the store.  There was one large room, which consisted of kitchen, two chairs, and a television set.

Off the kitchen, through a door, was a small bedroom.

          Deryl and Mom sat at the kitchen table, poured two cups of coffee and lit their cigarettes.

          Bronco and I perched in front of the playing television.  A man with black hair, wearing a white shirt, was preaching. I reached to change the channel...

          “You will see sick people healed by the power of God!” the preacher said dynamically.

          I pulled my hand back and sat on the edge of the chair.

          On the screen, a man walked up and stood in front of the preacher.

          “What’s your problem, brother?” the evangelist asked.

          “Brother Roberts, I have a stomach ulcer.”

          The black haired evangelist placed the palm of his hand, with pressure, on the man’s head.

          “In the power and authority of Jesus Name, be healed!”

          The man he prayed for was excited!

          “I felt heat in the pit of my stomach...I’m healed!”

          “Praise the Lord brother,” the preacher exclaimed with a big smile.

          The next person was a woman whose neck was swelled grossly under her chin.

          “How long have you had this goiter?”

          “For years,” the woman answered.

          Placing his hand on the growth, the preacher closed his eyes and raised his head slightly upward.

          “In the powerful Name of Jesus Christ, I curse you goiter and command that you wither and disappear!”

          When he finished his prayer, the camera showed the woman’s neck and the growth was gone.

          I glanced up at Grandma, who had just walked into the room and was standing next to me watching the television.

          “Did you see that woman’s goiter disappear?” I asked in amazement.

          “It seemed that way, but I’m not convinced those healings are real,” the older woman replied skeptically, “I watch Oral Roberts every Sunday, but I’m not sure that it isn’t rigged somehow.”

          She crossed the room, poured a cup of coffee, and began visiting with Deryl and Mom.

          “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever,” the man preached, “He still saves and heals today!”

          After the program, I walked through the store and stared across at the fairgrounds.  My thoughts kept returning to the evangelist and the apparent healing.  Were they real?  Did Jesus still do miracles today?  I remembered the stories I had heard in Sunday school,.in Montana...Jesus had healed a man with leprosy; He had walked on top of the water towards a boat filled with frightened men; He had fed thousands with two fish and five loaves of bread.  It would have been wonderful to live then and to see Jesus.  Was it possible to know Jesus now?  The preacher said Jesus was the same today as He was then.  With all my heart I hoped that Jesus was real and that He was the same as He had been.  I hoped the power of God could really be experienced.

LEAVING KIRTLAND

          We were moving.  Deryl had another job in Socorro, working for the Bureau of Reclamation.  We had lived in Kirtland for more than half of my 7^th grade year and I hated to leave. I had made friends, experienced acceptance and  some measure of self-esteem. I had been a cheerleader and Homecoming princess in the small Kirtland Junior High.

           Kitty must have sensed we were moving. She left the shed in the back yard and never returned. Perhaps she didn’t want to leave the fields, farms, shade trees, and cordial community. I searched for her, but to no avail. Somehow the thought of her staying in Kirtland wasn’t so bad.  There were plenty of mice in the nearby fields, and there were many kind farmers who would welcome a yellow striped cat.

LEFT ALONE

IS IT ABANDONMENT…IS IT SAFE?

                         1955

         

          “Gloria, I want you to take care of Bronco this weekend.  Deryl has a truck run to Colorado, and I am going with him,” Mom announced one afternoon when I got home from school.

          My heart began to beat faster, “But...but.. Mom,” I stammered.

          “You don’t need to be afraid.  I have confidence in you.  You are a big girl now,” Mom persuaded.

           I thought back to the previous summer.  Mom, Bronco and I had driven to Colorado to meet Deryl between his truck deliveries.  We were staying in a motel that had an attached restaurant.

          “Gloria, I want to go with Deryl on his next run,” Mom had said, “You can take care of Bronco.  We already have the room in the motel.  I will leave you money for supper and breakfast, so you can eat at the restaurant.”

          “But Mom, we don’t know anyone in this town!” I argued, “I’m afraid for Bronco and I to stay overnight in the motel...alone.”

          Mom hadn’t insisted, even though I knew she was disappointed and unhappy with me. Now, I was faced with the same request and I felt just the same as I had then, even though we would be left at home and not a motel.

          “If it’ll make you feel any better, you can ask one of your friends to spend the night with you.  We’ll be gone Saturday and will be back late Sunday afternoon.”

          The following Saturday night, after Bronco was asleep, my friend and I laid in bed talking about school and the boys in our class.  My mind kept wandering.  I had an uneasy sadness. Part of me wanted to believe that my mother would never do anything to put her children at risk.  But my gut instincts told me that we were too young to be left alone.  I couldn’t understand how Mom could leave Bronco and me.  And, for some reason it bothered me more that she could leave my brother.

          Before Bronco was born, when I was only four, I could remember Mom telling me, “This baby will be your baby too!”  When my brother was born I was five years old.  I helped Mom change his diapers, and tried to help take care of him.  When he was a little older I would hold him while we traveled in the car.

          “Isn’t he too heavy for you Gloria,” Mom would say, as she smiled back at me from the front seat, “Don’t you want to put him down?”

          “No, I want to hold him,” I would answer.

          It was almost as if Bronco was “my baby too.” (Little did I know that over the following years Mom would increase my responsibility toward Bronco as our family became more and more dysfunctional.)

          On this Saturday night, when Bronco was seven and I was twelve, my feelings were ones of sadness and abandonment.  And this was only a foretaste of what we would experience in the coming years.     
 The responsibility would weigh me down.

.

SURPRISE

PACKAGE IT WITH LOVE

          “I’ll just order the cake and...” Mom’s voice halted as I walked into the kitchen where she and Deryl were eating breakfast.

          I smiled to myself and thought that Mom must be planning a party for my birthday.  On the twenty ninth of December, I would be twelve years old.

          Later in the day, we drove to Farmington.  It was Saturday and the business district was busy. Mom and I were walking down the sidewalk, between shops, when we met JoAnne, a girl from my class.

          “I need to ask you something, Jo Anne,” Mom said as she pulled the girl to one side, where I couldn’t hear.

          I stood in the middle of the sidewalk as pedestrians passed by.

Mom came back to my side.  Joanne waved and walked away.

          “Mom, are you planning a surprise party for me?” I asked with a big smile.

          Mom was livid!  “How can you ask me that?  Why do you think everything is for you?  You are always so selfish! I am having a New Years Eve party for Deryl!”

          The smile was gone.  Inside, I felt grieved, and emotionally another wall went up between Mom and I.  I shut down on her.  If the party was for Deryl then why wasn’t I involved in the planning?  Why would she involve my friends, and not me?

          On the day of my birthday, I walked into a house full of young people from my class.

          “Surprise!”

          Mom was all smiles and happy.  She had pulled off the perfect “surprise!”

          I enjoyed the party.  But I decided surprises should only come in packages of love!

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.