Childhood revisited part one.

I was raised in San Jose California.
The year of my birth was 1959.
A would be hippy had I not been an infant.
Mom had 5 children she raised on her own.

She met my step father Harvey when I was in junior high.
At the beginning of my sophomore year mom decided
to divorce Harvey and move us “home”.
But Michigan wasn’t my home.
Harvey was an abusive man… Stories for another time.

Off to Michigan we went, with Harvey in tow.
Mom decided at the last minute to give their marriage another try.
We all believed she just needed a driver for the u-haul.
Foolishly we hoped that was the reason.
We settled in Jackson Michigan.
Mom bought a small grocery store in Spring Arbor Michigan.
All her children were required to help with it’s operation.
I loved that little store. I worked there after school and weekends.
Harvey didn’t do much and gratefully wasn’t around much longer.
He was a drunken man, did I say abusive?
yes, another time.

Bravely my mother tried to change the rules in this small college town.
Her store property was owned by the college. The building hers.
They had veto power on what she would sell.
When items such as cigarettes were introduced into
the inventory, they objected. We were black balled
and ultimately the store failed.

Mom took a job at a department store.
As office manager she worked long hours, little pay
and somehow made ends meet.
Mom was the kind of shopper who bought in bulk.
She could stretch a loaf of bread like no body’s business.
She searched sale ads and day old bread stores.
We were always fed. I was often hungry.

In my junior and senior years I attended a career center for
half my school day. I chose early childhood education.
I thrived in this class.
The career center had a working day care center that we, as students
participated in. We worked with the children and monitored
them in an observation booth.

There was a boy child I will never forget.
Unable to settle himself, he was often put down for naps in the booth.
His cot and blanket in tow, he would fitfully go.
My heart melted for this child.
I was often found in the booth with him.
Holding him close, whispering, it’s ok… calm down now.
I would rock and rock this child, until finally he would drift off to sleep.
He needed the comforting motion. So did I.

I wasn’t a well liked child. Not a beauty externally.
Not the best dressed. Mom sewed most of our clothes.
She was an amazing seamstress, but still they were home made.
I was picked on by students there. They once said I smelled badly.
I was tall, lanky and my red hair at that time was a joke.
It is a time that replays in my head even now as an adult.

There was another student, reviled more.
I’ll call her Sara because I dont remember her name.
She was one of those life changing people one meets.
If you pay attention.
She too was bullied, beat down by others in the class.
Her head hung so long, it was sure to scrape the ground.
At one point our instructor… Laura, was seen talking to Sara as she cried.

When they were done I asked if Sara was alright. Laura brushed me off.
She didn’t know I was sincere. Possibly another bully I’m sure she thought.
I wasn’t. Could never be. Later… she got that. Knew it.
She asked if I would go to Sara’s home and drive her to a function.
Yes, yes I would, for her, to please you, and yes for me too.

I spent what seemed like hours searching for Sara’s home.
Winter, a snow storm and an empty gas tank all attributed to me failing at this important task. I felt awful as I sat and cried at my failure.
Knowing I had disappointed Sara.
Knowing I had to call Laura and tell her I failed.
I did call, she yelled…sure again that I was a fraud.

I wasn’t. I tried again. Found my way and wished I hadn’t.
The truth of Sara’s life slapped me in the face.
My smile froze to my face, as I took in the poverty she endured.
Paper thin walls covered her home. Wind whistling through the cracks.
A large woman, I assumed was her mother sat in the living room,
with Sara’s younger brother. They were attempting to watch a static
filled television screen.

Sara proudly invited me to her room. A make shift bed, one tiny lamp.
Her few items of clothing neatly folded atop a crocheted shawl on
a sad little chair in the corner.
Her dresses hung by nails on the 2X4 walls.
Happy to see me, she smiled, gathered her things,
then she lovingly hugged her mother as we left.

She touched my hand as we walked to the car.
Being careful not to slip on the ice.
Her hands would have shattered had they hit anything with force.
She was that cold.
I often wonder where she went from there.
Graduation and beyond.
She was so proud of her tidy little room.
Adored her mother. I don’t know if she ever knew what she lacked.
She never said. Not once did she complain about the cold.
She smiled just to be going out that night.
Pleased with what she did have.