Memories

This Old House

Does anyone remember the show This Old House? I used to love watching that show and actually still love home improvement shows. We didn’t grow up with cable or dish, so there were limited options of what we could watch. This Old House was a family favorite. I bring up the show because this is a story of the house I grew up in. It was old….Well both of them actually. The first house we moved to in Claysville, Ohio was a family home. I guess someone in my daddy’s family owned it and was “kind” enough to allow us to rent it. I use quotations for “kind” because I highly doubt the intentions were to be kind as we eventually were kicked out of the house. Yes, the family we moved clear across the country to be near kicked us out. So much for “family.” It was a small house with two adults and four kids crammed in it. That number eventually went up to five kids while we lived there. If memory serves me, there was a small living room, two small bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom. Mommy and daddy had a room and the rest of us piled into the other room. There were not enough mattresses for us all so I remember sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor most nights. We used a kerosene heater in the winter to keep warm. I still remember the smell and watching the haze of the fumes. Although the house was small, it didn’t feel small except for nights mommy and daddy fought. I have some memories from that house but that is not the story for today.

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The Act

I never realized it as a child, but looking back now I see that I learned to be an actress at an early age. Don’t get confused. I am not meaning I have any grand ability or that I am ready for the big screen. I simply mean I learned to play my role. My role at home, my role as a sister, and my role at school. These roles were very different but I played them nonetheless.

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The Move

I have very vague and random memories of when we moved from Arizona to Ohio. I remember being told we were moving to be near family. I found this confusing because at the time my entire family basically lived in Arizona. My grandma and grandpa, aunt and uncles, cousins, granny goose….everyone I knew and loved. What I did not understand as a child is we were moving to be by Daddy’s (Lee) family. Reflecting now as an adult, I also believe we moved so that he would have total control. No more grandma and grandpa to the rescue.

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Melted Popsicles

When my brother was a baby, Lee entered our lives. I do not remember a specific day or introduction. One day he was just there and then one day he was “daddy.” Lee was my step-dad but I do not recall ever calling him anything other than daddy. And I think that was even before he was officially married to my mom. In my memory, he was just all of a sudden in our lives and Bob was not. At this point there were four of us kids and Lee seemed eager to be our dad. And we all craved a dad. So, it was a quick transition (well at least in my memory).

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I’m a White Potato

I was born in Phoenix, Arizona. We moved around a lot when I was little. I know we lived in Mesa, Tempe, and I think Tucson and Scottsdale at some point (although I am not 100% sure of this). I am sure my older sister (you know the one with the elephant memory) remembers. She says we hopped around because rent wasn’t paid so we would have to move. This seems like it would be accurate. I am not sure what all Bob did for an income to support us except for my memory of him cleaning carpets. I remember going to a house that had a slide into the pool while he cleaned the carpet. 

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His Name is Bob

I have very vague memories of my young childhood days. The memories I do have come in pieces. Like pieces to a puzzle that I try to connect but the pieces do not always fit. Sometimes I wonder how many are true memories and how many are there because someone else told me or I saw it in a photo. See, my memories are not as crystal clear as those of my oldest sister. Her ability to remember things is like that of an elephant. Yes, I said elephant. Science says that elephants have great memories. See, my sister can remember fine details and with great clarity. I think I am glad I cannot remember as much as her. What I do remember is enough to make me wonder how I turned out so “normal” if normal is even a thing. A better word is probably functional. 

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