MY SLOW AWAKENING TO THIS WORLD

As the first and (for a time) only child, I had all the requisite honors, including my own body guard.

Our ten-and-a-half month old cocker spaniel, Ally, relished that detail. From birth she kept me always in sight and positioned herself ever between me and the world. So, my earliest memories (other than the faces and arms of the two large beings who catered to my needs) were of this invisible yet wholly physical friend.

Soft dog snores and the pleasant aroma of clean fur drifted up from under the crib. This was all I knew of that comforting creature. Later, I came to connect those sensations to the flashing, honey-colored watcher who occasionally and almost soundlessly (except for those jingling dog tags and clicking nails) rushed across the room. And pushed my nursery door closed to would-be intruders.

I became interested in knowing more about this mysterious world. 

I studied the artwork on my crib with no thought but a definite awareness. I later learned that Mom, during pregnancy, had selected the crib because of its cartoon images. The fawn was Bambi, and his friends were Thumper the bunny, and Flower the skunk.

As I became a walker, and with Ally at my side, I often visited Uncle and Aunt who lived next-door. I played with my three year old boy-cousin, Jacob. I pronounced it, 'Jabe.' This caught on and became his childhood nickname.

Sometimes Dad's mother and father would visit. I barely remember Grandpa yet I wish he'd lived longer. I was aware of him as a big man. His voice thundered, yet I wasn't afraid. He was kind and gentle with me.

Mom later told me that Grandpa was full of love as well as mischief. When the grown ups would laugh at something he'd say, he'd feign innocence. Or, and she said that this was more often the case, he really had no idea he was funny. 

Her favorite quality of Dad's father was his knack for making up words. Something I may have inherited.

After he passed away, Grandma still visited. She'd drive up in her pink Ford Victoria, which she parked in our driveway behind Dad's Hudson. I loved Grandma, who sang perfect Soprano, and regaled us with many lovely arias. And how I admired that car. One day, I may have to get a pink one just like it.

Just before Grandpa died, my brother was born. 

I was too young at nineteen months old to have an opinion about this change in our family dynamic. I rarely spoke, anyway. I was just surprised that Dad brought Mom home with a doll. When they left for the hospital and Mom's mother took care of me, Grandma tried to explain that I'd have a new baby brother or sister. 

I had no idea what that meant. I asked if I was getting a new baby doll. Grandmas said that it would be more like a new playmate. Jabe was my playmate. So I assumed that my playmate would arrive already a walker and a talker. Like like Jabe and me.

Instead, he was tinier than any person I'd ever seen. 

Dad told me his name was Ralphie. I pronounced it 'Ruffy'. But, unlike Jabe's, this nickname didn't stick with anyone in our family except me. And that was only because it was the best I could manage. After that it was habit. One that, when my brother was old enough to mind, he helped me to break once and for all.

I was still fixated on the notion that he was like a doll. So I asked Mom if Ruffy was my new baby doll. Clearly he wasn't the little boy or girl that I expected. She laughed, then showed me how to hold him. But only with her arms still around him, and mine under hers. I caught on to this little trick of hers before the next baby came home. However, I didn't get to hold that one on my own, either.

With baby Ruffy, however, this new experience filled me with more wonder than I ever knew. Dad said, "Be gentle, he's more delicate than your baby doll." 

I always took Dad's word as golden. 

So, I believed that my baby brother was fragile. Even after he wasn't. Until one fine day he disabused me of this assumption, letting me know and without words that he would not tolerate my mothering.

But before that, and for the first year or so of Ralph's life, I followed my mentor Ally's example. I'd already set myself up as my brother's guardian. This role would reverse itself when he became a walker and a talker.

One of the first sentences my brother formed was to insist that he was the oldest. I saw no harm in allowing him this illusion. And it had certain advantages, particularly when we were older and more children moved into the neighborhood. Unlike my brother and our cousins, these boys didn't play nice.

My brother fixed that. 

He told the new kids that he wouldn't join their boys-only club unless I could. He set other matters straight, as well. Matters that could have turned out badly for me, not being a fighter. Also unable to think quick and come up with a suitable retort when called for. Neither of those traits have ever been one of my strong suits.

But, before all that, we played with our next-door cousins outside. Year 'round. In winter we wore snow suits, with obligatory hats, scarves, gloves and boots. I remember always being last out, as it took so long to squueze into all those clothes. Same thing coming back in. 

At kindergarten, too.  Beyond that, it got worse. Because in elementary school, we came home for lunch and went back out again. Then took them off at school. And put them back on to leave. Then, all over again for play time before supper. So we might have to put all that paraphernalia on and off as much as three or four times in one day.  

I used to wonder, when I learned about Eskimos, how they could stand this. At the time, the North Pole was still mostly frozen year round.

So, on Winter evenings, we played inside. 

Many times we played with our two cousins, when they came for supper. But not so much with manufactured toys, though we had those. And we did like Mouse Trap and Monopoly. Go Fish, too, until Ruffy spoiled it by being a sore loser.

He repeated some bad words that he must have learned in his last life as a WW2 fighter pilot. Mom was within earshot, and had already warned him the last time. So, boy did he ever get it. The sounds of torture by soap in the mouth still live with me to this day. So, no thanks, I'm not going to play Go-fish. Although I do like Poker.

Like most kids, we mostly preferred to play with whatever household items caught our fancy.  During one such winter evening, Ralph and I produced a play. We put together a rudimentary set on the little steps above our sunk-in living room. So family could watch from the sofa opposite. And made costumes - the Knight's for him, the Queen's for me. 

I wore a nightgown borrowed from Mom's dresser. I hitched it up with one of her fancy evening belts. The one that glittered. I already had play high-heels. I have to say that, although they were slightly spiky and a couple inches high, I wore them more easily than I do real ones today. For a crown, I snagged one of Mom's Sunday hats. The Crown Jewels were a cinch; Mom had loads of such plastic treasure.

I robed my brother with a knight's cape.

Which was really one of Mom's small damask table cloths. I pinned it around his superman pajamas, using Mom's most royal brooch. For a shield, I bestowed him with a spaghetti pot-lid. I tapped his shoulder with a sword and dubbed him, 'Sir Ruffy,' and presented it to him. To use in defense of the kingdom. Which he did with honor.

The sword, of course, was Grandma's dreaded 'wooden spoon.' 

Whenever Mom's parents visited, it seemed a party. Because they brought Mom's sister and brother, their spouses, and all our far-away cousins (who lived only 17 miles from us). Plus our two next-door cousins, who came over with our aunt and uncle. 

Grandma was smart, and tough when need be. If things got out of hand, and they would with eight young ones under foot, she'd master the situation with one command:

 "Don't make me use my wooden spoon." She'd say this holding it upright. And with a normal voice. No matter the commotion, we heard this. Grandma always left her wooden spoon with Mom for safe keeping. 

I never saw her or Mom use it the way I thought she meant. After I became a young adult, Mom and I confided about such things. She said that she also never saw Grandma use the spoon on anyone's fanny. 

"But," she said, "it's family tradition to threaten with the spoon." That tradition and, who knows, probably the wooden spoon too, passed down the matriarchal line. From Mom's Grandma to mine. And, before that, all the way back to maybe Caeser's Grandma.

Funny thing. After our family grew, Mom didn't use the wooden spoon to call order. She just threw out that universal classic. "Just you kids wait until your father gets home." I guess that one was more expedient than having to rummage for the spoon and risk losing the moment. 

Stay tuned for Part 3 when more siblings precipitated the need for more room. Our parents called it the "addition." We thought our small, ranch-style house turned into a wonderland. Especially the basement. What a good thing that we had that basement...

Image credit: LoveToTakePhotos at Pixabay

Story © by KT Fabler - thank you for reading.
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Part 1 of BREAKING THROUGH a Long Line...