Mari Collier's Blog - Posts Tagged "brothers-siblings"
Family
My apologies for not blogging, but I had an edit/review to do. dMon Publishing says it will be live before the end of the month. To compensate for my absence I've chosen something longer.
My parents had two families. No, they never divorced or remarried, but my two older brothers were born prior to the depression and the dry years. Contrary to what many tell you, there are effective ways to prevent childbirth during childbearing years. I am not, however, going into the “folk medicine” that Mama taught me. When I went the modern way with controlling a birth, my mother sniffed. “Waste of money.”
We all grew up on a farm in Iowa. My parents rented and we were on two different farms until I was eight years old and they purchased their own farm. All farm children work, either in the garden, house, or fields, from the time they are five or six until they leave the household. It was how a family survived. The neighbors had children that one would see in school or at church, but to have an afternoon playing with each other was rare. At times we would see them at PTA functions, Farm Bureau meetings, church picnics, carnivals, dances, or family gatherings. If there was playtime during the week, it would be with your own siblings. I didn’t realize until I was older how close my two older brothers were as they were so different.
The oldest was dark haired and blue eyed, quick and graceful in physical movements. He broke our Morgan/mustang farm workhorse to ride without a saddle. He could tap dance down the stairs, jump on a chair, and down without missing a beat. The other one was blond and blue eyed, but was physically handicapped and did not have his brother’s strength. He became the scholar and earned the nickname of professor while in high school.
Mama realized her biological clock (not the words they used then) was running out if she were to ever use the little girl’s name she had picked out for her little girl before she was even married. She surprised Papa when she told him she was expecting. Papa had thought there would not be anymore children and asked her is she had used certain procedures. Mama couldn’t lie and told him the truth. “No, I want my little girl.”
He did not speak to her for three weeks. Of course, once I was there, I became his little princess and could do no wrong. Mother, however, was much more realistic about my capabilities. Her surprise was becoming pregnant again. My youngest brother was born eleven months and three weeks later. I once told my mother, “I’ll never have a baby less than a year apart.” God must have laughed uproariously at the statement, but that is another story.
My youngest brother was the only one to posses brown eyes and dark hair like my mother. He had rheumatic fever prior to starting school and it took him years to recover. I was the one who protected him at school or walking home. He, of course, had to follow my lead and help re-enact the stories I made up at home. That lasted until we were nearly teenagers and his recovery was complete.
The semi-isolation of living on a farm meant that your siblings were your playmates and developed a family closeness and protective attitude that seems to have vanished over the generations. Bringing a boyfriend home when all were present could present a real challenge. One evening, when I was seventeen, I learned just how close my two older brothers were.
My date arrived in a fairly new model auto. Since he was from a local farm, manners dictated that he come in and say, “hello,” to the family before we left. I’m not going into the part about having to secure up one of the dogs. That left the young man rather leery as the dog meant to protect me from this interloper.
I was excited about being home again and explained that he would need to meet the rest of my family. My oldest brother, his wife, and two children had come up from Council Bluffs to spend the weekend. My other older brother had brought me with him from California.
Papa was in the rocking chair by the radio, regaling my sister-in-law with all the jokes he had memorized. She was seated on one of the dining chairs laughing and clapping. Mama was busy with scissors cutting out paper pirate hats, paper vests, and making paper swords for my six-year-old niece and eight-year-old nephew. The two older brothers were seated at the dining room table with their beers and involved in a political argument, they didn’t notice my younger brother moving around the table and taking long drinks from their cans.
“Just because it is printed in the Reader’s Digest, doesn’t make it true!” My college educated brother was adamant. He slammed his fist on the table and lifted the beer can to his mouth, certain that he had won that point. His eyes widened and he realized it was an empty can.
“He’s been drinking our beer!” He shouted.
My oldest brother picked up his empty can, rose from the chair, and said, “Let’s get him.”
The youngest brother broke for the door and my date and I moved out of the way as the two older brothers were already in pursuit. They banged out the front door and then the door of the front porch.
“What was that about?” My sister-in-law stopped laughing at Papa’s jokes long enough to ask.
“He drank their beer.” I replied.
Papa smiled benignly. Mama sniffed, “That was foolish,” and went back to work with her scissors. My niece and nephew were wide-eyed and giggly.
At that point, we heard my youngest brother screaming from the front yard. We all ignored it while I introduced my date to my sister-in-law, and we turned to go after Papa said, “Don’t be too late,” and went back to telling jokes.
My older brothers were returning to the house, slapping each other on the back, and congratulating each other.
“Let’s see if there is another beer left,” said one.
The youngest was following behind brushing off the grass and dirt. He veered around the other direction to go into the other door to hide his embarrassment.
“Uh, your family is a little different,” was all my date said. He was probably wondering if that was staged for his benefit should anything happen to me.
My parents had two families. No, they never divorced or remarried, but my two older brothers were born prior to the depression and the dry years. Contrary to what many tell you, there are effective ways to prevent childbirth during childbearing years. I am not, however, going into the “folk medicine” that Mama taught me. When I went the modern way with controlling a birth, my mother sniffed. “Waste of money.”
We all grew up on a farm in Iowa. My parents rented and we were on two different farms until I was eight years old and they purchased their own farm. All farm children work, either in the garden, house, or fields, from the time they are five or six until they leave the household. It was how a family survived. The neighbors had children that one would see in school or at church, but to have an afternoon playing with each other was rare. At times we would see them at PTA functions, Farm Bureau meetings, church picnics, carnivals, dances, or family gatherings. If there was playtime during the week, it would be with your own siblings. I didn’t realize until I was older how close my two older brothers were as they were so different.
The oldest was dark haired and blue eyed, quick and graceful in physical movements. He broke our Morgan/mustang farm workhorse to ride without a saddle. He could tap dance down the stairs, jump on a chair, and down without missing a beat. The other one was blond and blue eyed, but was physically handicapped and did not have his brother’s strength. He became the scholar and earned the nickname of professor while in high school.
Mama realized her biological clock (not the words they used then) was running out if she were to ever use the little girl’s name she had picked out for her little girl before she was even married. She surprised Papa when she told him she was expecting. Papa had thought there would not be anymore children and asked her is she had used certain procedures. Mama couldn’t lie and told him the truth. “No, I want my little girl.”
He did not speak to her for three weeks. Of course, once I was there, I became his little princess and could do no wrong. Mother, however, was much more realistic about my capabilities. Her surprise was becoming pregnant again. My youngest brother was born eleven months and three weeks later. I once told my mother, “I’ll never have a baby less than a year apart.” God must have laughed uproariously at the statement, but that is another story.
My youngest brother was the only one to posses brown eyes and dark hair like my mother. He had rheumatic fever prior to starting school and it took him years to recover. I was the one who protected him at school or walking home. He, of course, had to follow my lead and help re-enact the stories I made up at home. That lasted until we were nearly teenagers and his recovery was complete.
The semi-isolation of living on a farm meant that your siblings were your playmates and developed a family closeness and protective attitude that seems to have vanished over the generations. Bringing a boyfriend home when all were present could present a real challenge. One evening, when I was seventeen, I learned just how close my two older brothers were.
My date arrived in a fairly new model auto. Since he was from a local farm, manners dictated that he come in and say, “hello,” to the family before we left. I’m not going into the part about having to secure up one of the dogs. That left the young man rather leery as the dog meant to protect me from this interloper.
I was excited about being home again and explained that he would need to meet the rest of my family. My oldest brother, his wife, and two children had come up from Council Bluffs to spend the weekend. My other older brother had brought me with him from California.
Papa was in the rocking chair by the radio, regaling my sister-in-law with all the jokes he had memorized. She was seated on one of the dining chairs laughing and clapping. Mama was busy with scissors cutting out paper pirate hats, paper vests, and making paper swords for my six-year-old niece and eight-year-old nephew. The two older brothers were seated at the dining room table with their beers and involved in a political argument, they didn’t notice my younger brother moving around the table and taking long drinks from their cans.
“Just because it is printed in the Reader’s Digest, doesn’t make it true!” My college educated brother was adamant. He slammed his fist on the table and lifted the beer can to his mouth, certain that he had won that point. His eyes widened and he realized it was an empty can.
“He’s been drinking our beer!” He shouted.
My oldest brother picked up his empty can, rose from the chair, and said, “Let’s get him.”
The youngest brother broke for the door and my date and I moved out of the way as the two older brothers were already in pursuit. They banged out the front door and then the door of the front porch.
“What was that about?” My sister-in-law stopped laughing at Papa’s jokes long enough to ask.
“He drank their beer.” I replied.
Papa smiled benignly. Mama sniffed, “That was foolish,” and went back to work with her scissors. My niece and nephew were wide-eyed and giggly.
At that point, we heard my youngest brother screaming from the front yard. We all ignored it while I introduced my date to my sister-in-law, and we turned to go after Papa said, “Don’t be too late,” and went back to telling jokes.
My older brothers were returning to the house, slapping each other on the back, and congratulating each other.
“Let’s see if there is another beer left,” said one.
The youngest was following behind brushing off the grass and dirt. He veered around the other direction to go into the other door to hide his embarrassment.
“Uh, your family is a little different,” was all my date said. He was probably wondering if that was staged for his benefit should anything happen to me.
