Dad never learned to swim, perhaps because he was never given as good an opportunity as his father. This served as no impediment to fun, however. He was always busy; if he did not have toys, he made them, setting to work with a natural expertise for the mechanical realm. From the Buddy L and other junk yards and garbage heaps, he and his brother salvaged rejected parts and recycled them into usable toys. He fashioned bicycles in the same manner; later, parts were gathered….a scrapped frame, a model T motor from a neighbor, a coupe body from another area….Bravo!…the finished product…a car! When the gas in the tank was low, it was necessary to go backwards up the hill, allowing gas to flow into the carburetor.
Dad told of dares waged between himself and a neighbor boy wherein each boy jumped from one large tree to the branches of another tree; he laughed about the crabapples which he blew sky-high using firecrackers and a metal pipe. He recalled holidays, from the Christmas when his father told the children, "There will be no toys this year because you'll have a new baby brother," and his accompanying joylessness toward that news. Joy returned, however, when he received a wind-up train and the accompanying round track. He reminisced about the Easter egg hunts where the hoard was heaped upon the table, and, under four watchful sets of eyes, divided by size and color until the remaining odd number of eggs were given to his mother. I heard of the one valentine which he received in second grade that had been used and reused countless times. I learned, also, of the severe case of diphtheria, which at six, nearly claimed his life. He related actually seeing fiery flames leaping from his bed sheets while struggling to overcome his high fever.
About the time that my father had reached ten years of age, my mother was born in Elgin, Illinois. I was privileged to interact with my mother's parents whose heritage was somewhat different from that of my father. My grandfather, Leslie Howard Anderson, was a descendant of Mary Chilton, who crossed the ocean on the Mayflower with her parents James and Susanna. She became the wife of John Winslow whose family came from Dartwich, England. There follows such historical places as Plymouth and Bridgewater, Massachusetts; the era of the steamboats and Mary Chilton's name gracing one of the boats; the name "Howard" down through the lineage to my uncle, Leslie Howard Anderson, Jr.; the descendants move from Bridgewater to Detroit, Michigan and on to Dixon, Illinois; the trek from Illinois in a covered wagon to lay claim to a quarter of a section in Ole Brul County in South Dakota, and the stories of homesteading in the little sod house whose walls were papered with newspaper…all fascinating!
My Grandmother Anna's parents came from Germany to America before they were ten years of age. In the 1800's the Kaiser was mobilizing his forces. Immigration was popular during this period. Grandma tells of fighting with her sister over who was to control (by hand) the dasher for the wooden washing machine; of hitting a fellow schoolmate over the head with her lunch pail because of his incessant teasing, of the shoulder that was a little lower than the other, and how her brothers would sit in church and keep moving their shoulders up and down to remind her to hold that shoulder "up" while she led the group in "Opening Exercises." Church school was an important part of her life and she served as a Sunday School teacher well into her 70's.
It would be nothing short of a lie to say that I actually remember my first years of life, having, as it was, little to do with life's crises except assuring myself of thoughtless comfort. I indulged in the selfish desires that typify the usual child, gleefully absorbed in play until I discovered that I had soiled my diapers or was shot with a pang of hunger.
Perhaps it would be accurate to say that my earliest memories were not truly remembrances at all, but rather, images that were repeatedly described to me until I finally adopted them for my own.
My earliest actual memories evolve around the age of four years. By that time, I was capable of performing many duties for myself, and my vocabulary was developing rapidly. I had the ability to form conceptions of others, and thus relationships began to materialize. I could now be considered an active family member, for I was no longer solely dependent upon my parents, or my siblings, to be the mechanism behind my existence.
I suppose that one might say I was spoiled to the extent that good loving can spoil a child, although each member of my family agrees that I was not spoiled in the obnoxious sense of the word. I was never a nuisance, either to other children or to adults. I promptly did what I was instructed to do; so obedient was I, in fact, that a strong word or tone of voice had the ability to bring tears to my eyes. I caused no trouble, nor did I want any trouble.
I recall an encounter with Great Uncle Gust in which I was bidden to sit on his lap. Upon close observation, however, I was appalled to discover that the elderly gentleman had only four fingers on one of his large hands. I shied away from him. This was a rather traumatic sight to deal with at that age, for I had only been exposed to the facets of life which would be classified as "normal."
Despite my timidity toward sharp words and unusual events, I cannot say this trait carried over into the physical world of scrapes and bruises. I rarely cried for bodily injury, electing on most occasions to laugh and exclaim about the stupidity of my lack of coordination. A case in point, falling off of Mary's bicycle into her father's bed of roses. I was willing to testify that rose bushes have plenty of thorns; however, I felt no use for tears.