When I was born, Mom was sick. She needed gallbladder surgery right away. This left her in the hospital for a while. Even after she got out, she wouldn't be able to lift at first. She wouldn't be up to taking care of an infant and a toddler, either. (J.B. was about to turn three in July.) Dad had his job as a rural route mail carrier, I think, and he was farming. Taking care of all that and a recovering Mom left his hands pretty darn full. What were my young parents to do? (Wow. Dad was 29 and mom was 28.)
Well, you call on your family. It's our way. Mom's Aunt Helen and Uncle Lawrence stepped in and agreed to take my brother and I for a while. Now Unkie and Helen had three daughters of their own. Karol was probably starting school at the local community college. She has since gotten her degree and Iowa State University and become a successful veterinarian. I don't know if Karla lived at home, then, or at the group home. (There she learned arts and crafts. She has a job, and the right balance of supervision and independence and lots of opportunities for socialization. She loves it, but comes home to visit a lot, too.) Karen was a senior in high school. She was the youngest sister and relished the idea of having her own little sister. That's how it's been since.
But that' not the point. The point is, when I arrived the family was well past having diapers and baby food around. It was a Sunday, and in small-town Iowa in 1980, that meant stores were closed! Luckily, Unkie was well-connected in the community. He called the owner of the Perry grocery store and asked him for a big favor. Half an hour later, Unkie arrived at the store and cashier let him in. He walked up and down the empty isles grabbing formula, bottles, and everything else he though I might need. Then he arrived at the counter to check out.
"Well, Mr. Bice," the cashier exclaimed, "I didn't know you and your wife were expecting!"
Unkie shook his head and laughed.
"Frankly, neither did we!"
"Now, Mr. Bice, you know that couldn't be true! When does the baby arrive?"
"This afternoon!"
I think he explained the situation to her, but I can't be sure. Unkie only tells the funny parts. I lived with them for a couple of weeks, I guess. There's also a funny story about Unkie taking J.B. to the bank, but I'll have to get my memory refreshed to tell that one. Anyway, that's the story of how I became "their girl" or "their first granddaughter." It's the reason Unkie can now mortifyingly exclaim, "I used to change her diapers and spank her bare butt!" (I'm pretty sure Helen did most of the diaper changes, but there's no use arguing with Unkie.)
Unkie loves to tell the whole story to anyone who will listen: friends, family members, even a car salesman and the Avon lady. But that's okay. It's a pretty nice story.
You can take the girl out of the country, but can you take the country out of the girl? A farm girl writes about family, friends, life in New York City, teaching in The Bronx, and moving to Virginia to get a degree in poetry.
Thursday, May 15, 1980
Tuesday, April 29, 1980
My life and my blog begin.
Technically, this blog didn't really begin until October 1, 2005. If you want to see the real first entry, go here. The thing is, I've decided to go back and fill in some memories from before the blog began. Where to start, right? So I've started at the very beginning.
I was born on April 29, 1980 at the hospital in Perry, Iowa. My mom had been working that day, teaching special education at Woodward-Granger High School. She was finishing lesson plans and straightening up her classroom while her boss, Larry Blaker, fussed.
It's hard for me to picture him fussing. He was tough and smart, with a militaristic air about him. He also had a nice smile. I think that's how he managed to be liked and stay in the job for so long. (He would remain principal until my sophomore year of High School). Anyway, according to Mom, he was following her around, offering to call her an ambulance. Mom insisted she was fine.
Eventually, Dad came to get her. If I remember correctly, they stopped for shakes on the way.
I wasn't born until early evening. There was soft lighting and music and they placed me in warm water. I stayed there until the umbilical cord stopped pulsing. Then they cut the cord, cleaned out my mouth and dried off my body. Then they put me in my mother's arms. It was such a considerate way to bring me into the world. Kind, but unusual. Maybe it explains a lot about how I've turned out.
I was born on April 29, 1980 at the hospital in Perry, Iowa. My mom had been working that day, teaching special education at Woodward-Granger High School. She was finishing lesson plans and straightening up her classroom while her boss, Larry Blaker, fussed.
It's hard for me to picture him fussing. He was tough and smart, with a militaristic air about him. He also had a nice smile. I think that's how he managed to be liked and stay in the job for so long. (He would remain principal until my sophomore year of High School). Anyway, according to Mom, he was following her around, offering to call her an ambulance. Mom insisted she was fine.
Eventually, Dad came to get her. If I remember correctly, they stopped for shakes on the way.
I wasn't born until early evening. There was soft lighting and music and they placed me in warm water. I stayed there until the umbilical cord stopped pulsing. Then they cut the cord, cleaned out my mouth and dried off my body. Then they put me in my mother's arms. It was such a considerate way to bring me into the world. Kind, but unusual. Maybe it explains a lot about how I've turned out.
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