A Farm in the Country

I was watching a television show last week and there was a reference to a dog being taken to live on a farm out in the country, where he would be able to run around all day with the other dogs. This, of course, was not true. The funny thing about this is, it is the exact story I was told when I was a kid about one of our dogs and I totally bought it, hook, line, and sinker.

I was just a little guy then, I couldn’t have been more than six or seven at the time. I don’t really even remember too much about our dog at the time, other than he was a Shetland Sheep dog, he was getting older, and his name was Tuffy. From what my older brothers told me, he was a great dog. Back then, there was a place called “the Pit” (short for sandpit), which was just outside the woods behind our house and was a bunch of sand piles and large rocks. My brothers would go out in the backyard and say, “To the Pit!” and Tuffy would take off and wait for them at the Pit. As you can imagine, dogs weren’t tied up or kept in the house all day when we were kids.

Somewhere along the line though, Tuffy turned into a dirty dog and started trying to do things with us kids he ought not to have been trying. To top it off, Tuffy tried taking a bite out of anyone that didn’t like his actions, and that was the end of the line. Fortunately, I don’t recall any of this happening. I do remember being told that he was getting the treat of a lifetime, that my parents were going to bring him to a country farm where he could run around and play all day with a bunch of other dogs. I saw that as Dog Heaven. They assured us “Three Little Ones” that Tuffy would be very happy there, that he would have room to run, and he’d have a bunch of dog friends.

I imagined it always being sunny and warm there, with fields of grass to run through from morning to night. I would think about it from time to time and smile to myself, thinking of Tuffy hanging with his new friends, and figuring he wouldn’t even miss us due to all the fun he was having. For years, I believed that Tuffy was just about the luckiest dog in the world. Well, along with the other dogs on the farm.

It wasn’t until I was in about eighth or ninth grade (into my teenage years for those who don’t want to do the math) that I learned that Tuffy had been put to sleep. I was shocked that my loving parents could do such a thing, I was horrified that my older brothers were okay with this, and I was totally embarrassed that I never figured out that there was no farm in the country where dogs go to live out their last years in complete and total bliss. I guess it was one of the last vestiges of childhood that was torn down, the last of my innocence. Old dogs don’t go out gracefully; they go out suddenly and permanently. Maybe this is why I never got a dog as I got older.

Ah, to be able to go back to those days when everything was right with the world. Santa came every Christmas, the Easter Bunny came every Easter, I was going to be a baseball player when I grew up, and old dogs went to live on a farm in the country with a bunch of other dogs. At least in their world it’s sunny and warm all year round.

Pictures in Time

Last week we had to submit pictures for my son’s high school yearbook, which included his senior picture and a picture from when he was a baby. As usual, we waited until the last day, so we spent the night before going through albums and boxes with an assortment of pictures. As much as it was kind of annoying to have to do that when I could have been getting my beauty rest, it also made me really happy. 

As I was going through the pictures of my kids when they were little, there were a few things that really stood out to me. Foremost, was that both kids were smiling and happy in almost every picture. I’m not just talking about posed, “say cheese” pictures, but also unplanned, unscripted pictures. That is how I remember them; smiling, laughing, playing, just doing the funny, goofy things kids do. Another thing that was quite noticeable was that my kids did a lot together. It was really hard finding a picture of just my son, all by himself. In almost all the pictures of him, my daughter was right there with him, both of them smiling and laughing. Somehow there were also quite a few pictures that included me with the kids, which amazed me since I don’t remember my wife taking all those pictures. However, I’m glad she did, and I was glad to find there were also a number of pictures of my wife with the kids. At least they can’t say we never spent time with them, because we’ve got the proof!

The sad part is that they probably don’t remember many of those times. I know I don’t remember much before first grade. Sure, I remember a few things here and there, but not a whole lot. Even when we’ve broken out old pictures with my family and talked about what was going on when the picture was taken, I either vaguely remember or I don’t remember at all. I’m in the pictures, so I know I was there, but the memories are gone. In one way it’s sad that I can’t remember those times, but in another way it’s nice to hear my older brothers and sisters talk about something that they remember so vividly.  

One of my uncles once took a bunch of pictures at a family party in our backyard when I was just a little guy, maybe about six years old. There were aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, parents and grandparents at that party. He had them made into slides and years later he brought them and a projector to our house to show us. As we worked our way through the slides, I realized that one way or another I managed to get into a large percentage of the pictures. Here’s a picture of all the adults standing together as couples – with me lying on the ground, peeking out between someone’s legs. Here’s a picture of all the older kids – with me sticking my goofy face in from the side. Here’s a picture of random people standing around talking, unaware their being photographed at that moment – with me facing the camera with a cheese ball smile a mile wide. Strange, but I have absolutely no recollection of that event.

I’m sure that someday we’ll sit down with the kids, maybe even the grandkids, and look through those pictures and reminisce about that birthday party, or the time that my daughter made a whole snowperson family, or how my son always wore a hat or a visor, or the summer vacations on the Vineyard, or the first day of pre-school or kindergarten or first grade. Or hundreds of other things that my kids barely remember but I happily remember like they were just yesterday.   

Did It Really Happen?

A couple people have asked me if some of the things I write about really happened or was it really like that growing up. And another person asked me how the heck I remember all this stuff. OK, you got me. I’m really an only child from a wealthy family and every story is made up. I don’t really have six brothers and two sisters, and there were never card games and board games; I didn’t have to learn to get along with others, or how to share things, or how to wait for things; I got everything and anything I wanted, especially at Christmas; my yard was not the football field or the wiffle ball field where we played for hours; I went on luxurious vacations every year; I didn’t have to count out M&M’s in a Dixie Cup. Well, maybe in some parallel universe or imaginary world that is true, but not here in the real world. All I can say is, I write things as I remember them. Does that mean that everything I write is exactly how it happened? Probably not, but what I write is how I remember things and so far no one has come forward and said, “That never happened.”, or “This is what really happened.”, or “This is how that really happened.”.

I know I have a pretty good memory because there are times I bring up situations and someone doesn’t remember it, but as I fill in the details they’ll say, “Oh, yeah. I remember that!” Then we’ll talk about it for fifteen or twenty minutes and laugh about things that happened. Oftentimes it will lead to the retelling of other situations that happened, some even funnier than the original one we talked about. I don’t know why I have such clear memories of occurrences from decades ago – but can’t remember where I left my cell phone ten minutes ago – but maybe it’s because those were some great times and I drank in all the details.

I try not to make it sound like everything was wonderful when I was a kid, because it wasn’t. We weren’t The Brady Bunch or the Huxtables on The Cosby Show. My family went through some hard times, especially trying to feed, clothe and provide for nine kids. I could focus on the struggles I had as a kid, or that we had as a family, but as I look back on my childhood I don’t see the tough times as much as I see how those times taught me something about life, myself or family. In many instances, those tough times taught me what was really important as opposed to what just seemed to be important. That doesn’t mean I always made the right decisions, I made enough bad ones in my life to last ten lifetimes, but I’d like to think that I learned from my mistakes and grew and changed because of them.

My parents and family were by no means perfect. However, my parents raised nine kids, all who are reasonably successful adults. Not one of us is a criminal or a derelict. Trust me when I say that there were other families we knew that had as many, or almost as many, kids as we did and that cannot be said about them. I’m not bragging or trying to put anyone down, but it would have been easy for any of us to turn to a different lifestyle than we did in order to get the “things” many of our friends had. That we didn’t is a testament to our parents and how they taught us to live.

So did this stuff really happen and was it really like I say it was? As far as I remember, yes and yes. I remember it from my perspective and through the lenses of 30 – 40 year old glasses. Things may be a little fuzzy around the edges, but the main part is very clear. I had parents who loved me, and brothers and sisters that I loved (well most of the time anyway). As my Dad used to frequently say, we always had “a roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our backs”, despite some fairly hard times. It’s not all flowers and rainbows today either, but I often think that if my parents got through challenges with nine kids, I can do it with two.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Senior Moments

I don’t know if I’m having more “senior moments” as I get older or if I’m just more aware of them when they happen, but it sure seems like they are increasing rapidly. There are times I can’t remember the name of an every day item, like remote control, so I sit there sputtering, trying to explain to my son what I’m looking for. It goes something like this:

Me: Have you seen the…thing.

Him: Um, what thing?

Me: (Pausing to think) You know…the thing…for the TV…to change the channels.

Him: (Laughing) The remote?

Me: (Laughing, but feeling a little stupid and slightly angry that I couldn’t remember the name of it) Yeah, the remote.

Him: (Pointing at the object right next to me) It’s right there. Wow!

This is just one example. I forget the names of people I’ve known for years, the names of bands I’ve listened to for years and the words to songs of bands I’ve listened to for years. I forget what things are called, common phrases and well known clichés. I want to say something, but I can’t remember a specific word. It’s right there, just out of reach, taunting me. So far, I haven’t forgotten the names of my wife and kids, or my own name. That would not be good.

I know that I forgot stuff a lot when I was younger, but I think I just didn’t focus on it as much. When you’re a teenager and forget something, even something important, it’s usually casually dismissed. “What do you expect, he’s a teenager. Who knows what’s going on in that head?” Ah, but forget something not the least bit important when you’re in your 40’s or 50’s and you get the having-a-senior-moment treatment, where you get laughed at and told what something is, or who someone is, in a condescending manner (that’s called a telephone, you dial someone’s phone number and you can talk to them). It is kind of funny…when it’s not you. No, actually, even when it is me I laugh most of the time.

I had a good laugh this week at my own expense. I not only had a senior moment, I had a senior morning. I usually drink some kefir in the morning (if you don’t know what that is, click here), but when I got to work I remembered that I hadn’t had any that morning. OK, not a big deal, I don’t have to take it. A little while later, I went to take my daily multi-vitamin and it wasn’t in the container I carry it in. Neither were my other supplement and medication I take. Not taking my vitamin, supplement and medication for one day is not a life-threatening situation, but I definitely feel better taking them every day. Besides, I can just take them when I get home. So I texted my wife and told her all the things I forgot and wondered what I else I forgot that morning. She quickly texted me back and reassured me that it was OK and that we all have our days. And then this at the end, “You have your underwear on, right?” Now that would be a huge senior moment, going commando, because I forgot to put on my underwear. Or even worse than that, wearing them on the outside of my pants.

We had some good laughs at my Mom’s expense growing up. We were always doing stuff, mostly good but some not so good. Mom must have sensed something was going on at times because she would suddenly and unexpectedly show up (she did tell us when we were older that when it was too quiet she figured we were up to no good). When we got caught doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing, she would say our name to get our attention. Or should I say that she tried to say our name. With seven boys she sometimes didn’t get the name right the first time…or the second…or the third. So if she caught me, she’d say, “Billy…Harold…Stephen…you know who you are!” By then, everybody around was laughing, including Mom. Now obviously, these were not situations where anyone’s life was in danger or where we were doing something illegal, we were just doing the stupid things kids sometimes do. It probably would have been easier for her to just call us “You there” or “Hey you” because as soon as she said that we would have stopped whatever we were doing and she wouldn’t have had to go through the list of names. Maybe her plan the whole time was to defuse the situation with laughter. If that’s true, then it was a brilliant plan in my opinion.

Laughing is good for you. Some people even say that laughter is the best medicine. Whatever happens, I’m going to laugh at myself and others like there’s no tomorrow. I just hope I don’t suddenly stop mid-laugh, look around at the other people around me and, wondering what the heck we’re all laughing about, blurt out “Who are you people?”