Vivid Memories of Childhood and Beyond
- Thread starter Gary O'
- Start date
Rainee
Member
Great read Gary O loved it and the story of your dear dad how wonderful to still be able to go places with him
Bless Him.. and thanks for sharing this delightful post..
Bless Him.. and thanks for sharing this delightful post..
thanks, guys
glad you enjoyed the reads
I have this thing about writing
drives me nuts sometimes
Rainee, my dad passed a few years back
wrote about his last days somewhere in this thread
and thank you
being with him in his last days were more than precious
glad you enjoyed the reads
I have this thing about writing
drives me nuts sometimes
Great read Gary O loved it and the story of your dear dad how wonderful to still be able to go places with him
Bless Him.. and thanks for sharing this delightful post..
Rainee, my dad passed a few years back
wrote about his last days somewhere in this thread
and thank you
being with him in his last days were more than precious
My wife has had three books published, one on the best sellers list, but nothing anyone on this board would be interested in. I find them b-o-r-i-n-g. Of course, I'm not brave enough to tell her that. The real fun is when we go out with another couple from the University that the other lady also teaches English Lit. That's always a fun evening (sarcastically). It's like sitting in a dentist chair for six hours while he drills on the same tooth into the root and nerves.
Too funny
I sometimes send my friends a few prose when they complain about insomnia
Musta worked
Never a complaint after that
Back in the ‘50s it seems all mothers were obsessed with hydrotherapy.
I’d guarantee all families had at least one rubber bottle and syringe connected by a three foot rubber umbilical cord.
Mothers tended to keep them at the ready, anxious to employ their new found apparatus, with the thought of saving their offspring from some horrible bowel obstruction brought on by an over dose of Wonder Bread….’builds yer colon clog twelve ways’.
These devices were the ultimate home remedy for a myriad of ailments; headaches, peakedness, haven’t pooped for days syndrome, neuritis, neuralgia, lying, and left my report card at school tendency, to mention a few.
Not sure how fathers escaped this (if they did) but a lad of three or four didn’t have a chance.
Running in for a quick drink of water, from ridin’ herd all mornin’, mother in the shadows of the ice box….waitin’…….
“You’re all sweaty, do you feel OK?”
“Sure ma, just washin’ down trail dust.”
Trick question, “When’s the last time you went poopoo?”
(‘Poopoo?’)
(‘When?’)
(‘Think man, think!!!’)
I got nothin’.
Before I could cop a plea for extenuation of due process, I found myself astride the green ducky,
bowels involuntarily discharging the gallon of water that was administered with a syringe designed for King Kong, and with undue haste.
I must say, these sessions did instill the ability to retain total recall.
After just a few of these sittings, my memory became quite acute.
“When did you go poopoo?” ……“At 11:37 AM, why?”
Trigger finger, toying with quick draw holster under apron, now relaxes.
Mothers had a way of ensuring your well-being, no matter how bad it made you feel.
Grandmothers were no exception.
When Gramma would pile us in the ol’ Chevy and head to Monkey Wards, she’d give me the once-over. Out would come her hanky.
“Spit on this.”
Then she’d commence to wash my face, beginning with my ears, no less.
On the other hand, Dads and granddads had a way of shaming you into doin’ it yourself, and you had to provide your own tools.
“Look in the rear view mirror. Izzat how you started out this morning? Fix it.”
No matter if you used the garden hose, the rabbit hutch water, or your dog’s slobber, you got ‘er done, in acceleration mode…..you could get left.
One time Connie Elbert and I ended up in the tool shed at Gramma’s place.
Not sure who’s idea it was, but seems we both had our pants down with mutual consent…then we just couldn’t figure what next…ending up with the brilliant idea of touching butts.
Not sure how things woulda went from there, ‘cause grampa’s footsteps came within ear shot right while our hind ends were curiously united.
“Hey, what’s going on in there?”
Quick time scurry thru the other door…bib overall anklets deftly inhibiting large strides.
Yeah, fathers/grandfathers had a way of getting yourself together without layin’ a hand on you.
They cast a very large shadow.
I’d guarantee all families had at least one rubber bottle and syringe connected by a three foot rubber umbilical cord.
Mothers tended to keep them at the ready, anxious to employ their new found apparatus, with the thought of saving their offspring from some horrible bowel obstruction brought on by an over dose of Wonder Bread….’builds yer colon clog twelve ways’.
These devices were the ultimate home remedy for a myriad of ailments; headaches, peakedness, haven’t pooped for days syndrome, neuritis, neuralgia, lying, and left my report card at school tendency, to mention a few.
Not sure how fathers escaped this (if they did) but a lad of three or four didn’t have a chance.
Running in for a quick drink of water, from ridin’ herd all mornin’, mother in the shadows of the ice box….waitin’…….
“You’re all sweaty, do you feel OK?”
“Sure ma, just washin’ down trail dust.”
Trick question, “When’s the last time you went poopoo?”
(‘Poopoo?’)
(‘When?’)
(‘Think man, think!!!’)
I got nothin’.
Before I could cop a plea for extenuation of due process, I found myself astride the green ducky,
bowels involuntarily discharging the gallon of water that was administered with a syringe designed for King Kong, and with undue haste.
I must say, these sessions did instill the ability to retain total recall.
After just a few of these sittings, my memory became quite acute.
“When did you go poopoo?” ……“At 11:37 AM, why?”
Trigger finger, toying with quick draw holster under apron, now relaxes.
Mothers had a way of ensuring your well-being, no matter how bad it made you feel.
Grandmothers were no exception.
When Gramma would pile us in the ol’ Chevy and head to Monkey Wards, she’d give me the once-over. Out would come her hanky.
“Spit on this.”
Then she’d commence to wash my face, beginning with my ears, no less.
On the other hand, Dads and granddads had a way of shaming you into doin’ it yourself, and you had to provide your own tools.
“Look in the rear view mirror. Izzat how you started out this morning? Fix it.”
No matter if you used the garden hose, the rabbit hutch water, or your dog’s slobber, you got ‘er done, in acceleration mode…..you could get left.
One time Connie Elbert and I ended up in the tool shed at Gramma’s place.
Not sure who’s idea it was, but seems we both had our pants down with mutual consent…then we just couldn’t figure what next…ending up with the brilliant idea of touching butts.
Not sure how things woulda went from there, ‘cause grampa’s footsteps came within ear shot right while our hind ends were curiously united.
“Hey, what’s going on in there?”
Quick time scurry thru the other door…bib overall anklets deftly inhibiting large strides.
Yeah, fathers/grandfathers had a way of getting yourself together without layin’ a hand on you.
They cast a very large shadow.
As usual, I rose before ol’ sol this morn
Stood on the porch
Sipping java
Sol took its sweet time
Grabbed a chair
It’s probably my favorite time of day
Light, ever so gradually but insistently pushing the darkness to the nether side
Thoughts drifted
Recalled a hot car I drove a bit
A souped up E type ’68 Jag
As if a 12 banger engine with three SU carbs wasn’t enough
‘Borrowed’ it from a loudmouth taking up space in my favorite watering hole
He kept bragging about his vocation;
Hustling wealthy gay guys
Ex-cons pursue the laziest, most absurd careers
Anyway, after a bit of a credibility challenge, he handed me the keys to ‘take it for a spin’
No room for him, as my buddy George needed to occupy the passenger seat
Got it on the freeway to Lake Houston
Opened it up a bit
Cruised thru the gentle turns at around 120-140 mph
Came up beside a ‘vette
We passed each other a couple times
Things became competitive
At around 150 or more, I noticed his lady visibly ragging on him
Away he went
Outa sight
In my rear view mirror
Pegged the speedo at 160
It kept accelerating
Floated over a rise in the inside lane
Not very far ahead was a stalled car
…and a lady standing behind it, franticly waving her arms
The steering on the Jag was quite responsive
Twitch twitch of the wheel and we were around them
Things happen rather fast at that rate of speed
George, while putting on his harness, asked somewhat adamantly if I was ‘gonna slow this thing down’
I did, while putting on my own harness
I could smell the heat of hot oil coming off the engine as I eased it down to 120, then 100, then 80
I could also smell the distinct aroma of what seemed more than a fart
I didn’t question George, but he needed to ‘get home’ straight away
Took the Jag back to the bar
The engine making that ticking noise as it sat there, cooling down the wrong way
Found out the hustler had put a contract on me, as I’d taken a bit too long
Heh, $100
Dum bass
My bar
My friends
They’d have done if for $50
Anyway
The reason this all came to mind was watching the sun ever so slowly rise
While I sat there, rather impatiently
….traveling at 1000 miles per hour
Stood on the porch
Sipping java
Sol took its sweet time
Grabbed a chair
It’s probably my favorite time of day
Light, ever so gradually but insistently pushing the darkness to the nether side
Thoughts drifted
Recalled a hot car I drove a bit
A souped up E type ’68 Jag
As if a 12 banger engine with three SU carbs wasn’t enough
‘Borrowed’ it from a loudmouth taking up space in my favorite watering hole
He kept bragging about his vocation;
Hustling wealthy gay guys
Ex-cons pursue the laziest, most absurd careers
Anyway, after a bit of a credibility challenge, he handed me the keys to ‘take it for a spin’
No room for him, as my buddy George needed to occupy the passenger seat
Got it on the freeway to Lake Houston
Opened it up a bit
Cruised thru the gentle turns at around 120-140 mph
Came up beside a ‘vette
We passed each other a couple times
Things became competitive
At around 150 or more, I noticed his lady visibly ragging on him
Away he went
Outa sight
In my rear view mirror
Pegged the speedo at 160
It kept accelerating
Floated over a rise in the inside lane
Not very far ahead was a stalled car
…and a lady standing behind it, franticly waving her arms
The steering on the Jag was quite responsive
Twitch twitch of the wheel and we were around them
Things happen rather fast at that rate of speed
George, while putting on his harness, asked somewhat adamantly if I was ‘gonna slow this thing down’
I did, while putting on my own harness
I could smell the heat of hot oil coming off the engine as I eased it down to 120, then 100, then 80
I could also smell the distinct aroma of what seemed more than a fart
I didn’t question George, but he needed to ‘get home’ straight away
Took the Jag back to the bar
The engine making that ticking noise as it sat there, cooling down the wrong way
Found out the hustler had put a contract on me, as I’d taken a bit too long
Heh, $100
Dum bass
My bar
My friends
They’d have done if for $50
Anyway
The reason this all came to mind was watching the sun ever so slowly rise
While I sat there, rather impatiently
….traveling at 1000 miles per hour
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Kris148
Member
- Location
- Sydney, Australia
I could not compete with the above posts so will post a simple story of my youth and early adulthood.
My upbringing is rather different to most of you. You see from the age of not quite 7 I stopped having a normal childhood when I was sent to a draconian Mason- run boarding school in outer Sydney after the death of my father.. a Mason.. My father was suddenly gone and now I too was without my mother. Hard for a child to comprehend. the only member of my family still with me was my older brother. But alas he soon left for the senior school and we only saw each other on family visits.
The only social event we had was the fortnitely movie. Boy did I look forward to this.. probably why I have became somewhat of a film nut. When television finally came to the school we were permitted one hour week days and two hours weekend viewing. There was nothing excessive at this school.. except punishment. After 10 forgettable years my mother finally removed me from this institution to complete my education in a normal school.
I was not allowed to go to uni so found myself selling photographic gear for the first few years of my working life.
I decided I wanted to become a professional photographer so saved for an expensive camera and began covering family occasions. I was doing a nite photographic course when my camera was stolen and my dream was shattered. I then meandered thru several sales positions for the next decade or so before I decided I wanted better. I had always had an interest in dramatics so found myself involved with several amateur and semi professional companies. But alas my big break never came and I was forced to look elsewhere for a living. People told me I had the perfect voice for announcing. So after some voice tuition I started out on a new career path. I found work in promotions as an announcer for a well respected Sydney department store. I had found my niche. After several years of that I went solo and I made a rather rewarding career from it.
My upbringing is rather different to most of you. You see from the age of not quite 7 I stopped having a normal childhood when I was sent to a draconian Mason- run boarding school in outer Sydney after the death of my father.. a Mason.. My father was suddenly gone and now I too was without my mother. Hard for a child to comprehend. the only member of my family still with me was my older brother. But alas he soon left for the senior school and we only saw each other on family visits.
The only social event we had was the fortnitely movie. Boy did I look forward to this.. probably why I have became somewhat of a film nut. When television finally came to the school we were permitted one hour week days and two hours weekend viewing. There was nothing excessive at this school.. except punishment. After 10 forgettable years my mother finally removed me from this institution to complete my education in a normal school.
I was not allowed to go to uni so found myself selling photographic gear for the first few years of my working life.
I decided I wanted to become a professional photographer so saved for an expensive camera and began covering family occasions. I was doing a nite photographic course when my camera was stolen and my dream was shattered. I then meandered thru several sales positions for the next decade or so before I decided I wanted better. I had always had an interest in dramatics so found myself involved with several amateur and semi professional companies. But alas my big break never came and I was forced to look elsewhere for a living. People told me I had the perfect voice for announcing. So after some voice tuition I started out on a new career path. I found work in promotions as an announcer for a well respected Sydney department store. I had found my niche. After several years of that I went solo and I made a rather rewarding career from it.
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Kris148
Member
- Location
- Sydney, Australia
Thank you kindly Gary O'. My post is chicken feed compared to your anecdotes.. more like a novelette.
I wouldn't be so hard on myself if I were you.
I enjoyed every word
Read it twice
The second time was as good as the first
During our move, I came across a buncha stuff
Memorabilia?
I guess
Wunna the prizes, however, sent me back 67 years or so
Had this pedal car (paron the bubble globe);
Helluva thing to outgrow sumpm you love
Started having trouble fitting in it at around the age of five...or nine (not 12....probably)
anyway
The remarkable thing was I found an exact tiny replica in a junk shop
Just as remarkable, all the mechanical was identical, steering, pedaling mechanisms, everything
It now sits on my roll top desk
Memorabilia?
I guess
Wunna the prizes, however, sent me back 67 years or so
Had this pedal car (paron the bubble globe);
Helluva thing to outgrow sumpm you love
Started having trouble fitting in it at around the age of five...or nine (not 12....probably)
anyway
The remarkable thing was I found an exact tiny replica in a junk shop
Just as remarkable, all the mechanical was identical, steering, pedaling mechanisms, everything
It now sits on my roll top desk
I kid about things
Like 'the middle child' syndrome
Heh, I was the middle child
But, geez, back in our day, there was no middle child, no baby of the family, no nuthin'
You were just another kid
Happy to be...anywhere
Happy to be seen, and not heard
Happier to not be seen
Happy to take care of or torment the hell outa each other
None 'a this freaking focus
Toys, any, were prized
Not thrown down to go to the next one
I do think those were better days
Simpler
Yet more profound
I honestly don't know how parents do it now
Too much stuff
Too much analysis
Gimme an old bald tire and a broken broom stick, and I'm goin' somewhere with it...not seen...not heard
Like 'the middle child' syndrome
Heh, I was the middle child
But, geez, back in our day, there was no middle child, no baby of the family, no nuthin'
You were just another kid
Happy to be...anywhere
Happy to be seen, and not heard
Happier to not be seen
Happy to take care of or torment the hell outa each other
None 'a this freaking focus
Toys, any, were prized
Not thrown down to go to the next one
I do think those were better days
Simpler
Yet more profound
I honestly don't know how parents do it now
Too much stuff
Too much analysis
Gimme an old bald tire and a broken broom stick, and I'm goin' somewhere with it...not seen...not heard
Meanderer
Senior Member
Gary, you have a way with words.
Norman, thank you
Words carry me
Sometimes I get carried away
...away into somewhere deep in this skull of mine
I'm adding to my book today
Not goin' nowhere
Still in my bed shorts...at 2pm something
Haven't even showered yet today
Words come, and they come fast
Both fingers, goin' like mad
Wife'll say something
I'll grunt, not hearing what, just a distraction
But
I'll stop to eat...sometimes
This place is a very pleasant distraction
sometimes a catalyst
I do like that
Glad some folks like what I write
Again, thank you
