WHAT HAPPENS UNDER THE STREET LIGHTS

There are some special (or not so special) things you should tell your children when they are very young. Our parents were one of the few in the neighborhood that expected total obedience from early childhood on; We did not leave the porch without permission. We could not even cross the streets without permission until we were in our teens. Our parents (or at least my father) were so afraid that someone would grab us on the street that we were instructed to stay away from cars and accept no rides from anybody, NOT EVEN IF WE KNEW THEM well. Case in point: I was in first or second grade at Centennial School, about 10 blocks from my house. It started pouring rain extremely hard. My father’s sister drove up and told me to get in the car, which I refused and continued walking.   A few minutes later my father’s best friend, with his entire family nice and warm in the car, also offered me a ride, which I also refused even though they lived right across the street from me.  I kept walking.  When my father got home his best friend was waiting for him to give him a piece of his mind, But my father said I was actually obeying his orders and would have been punished had I gotten into one of the rides offered me.

As I got older what he said made me feel like it was really meant to hurt me but at the same time I thought that was the way all daddies talked to their daughters; Several times I needed to go to the local library and there was usually no one to take me so he gave me permission with the extra instruction that if anybody tried to grab me, run quick to the corner street light BECAUSE ONCE SOMEONE GOT ME UNDER A STREET LIGHT THEY WOULD SEE WHAT I LOOKED LIKE AND LET ME GO REAL QUICK AND RUN THE OTHER WAY.

That was the year that I realized my father did not really want me around much but as long as I was quiet I could stay. But I was still the next one to go to my aunt and uncle and grandmother’s to take care of our sick grandmother, which included doing the housework, cooking, cleaning and pretty much all of the physical care of our extremely debilitated and rude grandmother. Not to mention that gross, gropey,feely, touchy uncle that we had to try hide from.  It was my time. My older sisters had gone before me: One had joined the Navy and gone away; one had gotten married (to a man who loved her so much and valued her as a person…she was so lucky and so was he!)….so it was just my time. This is the way that worked: My aunt and uncle gave our grandmother a place to live, shelter. My father’s one brother provided her medical care, including getting medications and doctor visits, that sort of thing. So what did a man who had five children and drank away most of his paycheck have to give? Five children. I was the third. My second year there one of my favorite cousins, Tim, came out to spend the summer with me, knowing how homesick and lonely I was (and what a joy he was!). That was the summer that Daddy decided to take the family on a vacation to Kentucky to visit my mother’s family. The car pulled up and I was already packed and ready to go but wait! He said he didn’t want to take me! He wanted to take Tim. TIM. OH MY GOD. I FELT LIKE MY HEART HAD BEEN RIPPED OUT OF MY THROAT. My father HATED me. Oh, he explained to me that I would be useless on a road trip, that I could never change a tire. I told him I had never changed a tire before so how did he know I couldn’t and couldn’t he just give me a chance. PLEASE.

My cousin Tim was so horrified that he absolutely refused to go and eventually my father gave in and I settled in the back seat, somewhat happily, with my little sister and brother but it was like the trip from hell…I knew every second of that trip that I was not wanted. That was the last time I went anywhere with my father.