We’ve been listening to an audio book about growing up in mid twentieth century
Mid-America. I admit it got me thinking of my own mid twentieth century childhood.
As a child of the era, I lived in a kind of post WWII utopia in South Minneapolis.
We were a family of five, living in the house where my mother and her siblings had grown up.
I was a few months shy of kindergarten when my brother was born.
Having a brother didn’t change things for me until he was big enough to walk. Then I was elected chaser. As chaser, I was supposed to catch up with him and bring him back. Usually, it meant grabbing him off the porch and hauling his squirming self into the living room where he could be properly supervised. Once I sprinted up the sidewalk after him, reaching his naked but for a diaper body five houses away from home. After the running up the block incident, a large hook and corresponding eye were installed on the porch door and doorframe. That made my life much easier.
Mom got us off to school in the morning. She had my leftovers from the night before hot and ready to serve when I walked home from the elementary school for lunch. She was there, often times removing sun dried clothes from the lines strung all over the yard, when I came home at 3:00.
Dad left early each morning. He was home by five and dinner was served immediately after that. Usually, dinner was a (red) meat and potato affair. After a friend gave Mom a curious recipe involving Velveeta cheese, tomato paste, and Spam, the menu expanded. The Spam and cheese were put through a grinder, the tomato paste added, and then it was spread on hamburger bun halves to be broiled and eaten. I didn’t question the combination. I was nothing if not obedient. I ate it.
The other member of our household was Uncs. Uncs was my mother’s bachelor brother. Having Uncs there was like having a fan club. He read to us by the hour, delighted in handing out nickels for any and all occasions, and didn’t mind kids who liked to tag along.
I tagged along to the bakery, where the nice lady always rewarded my good behavior with a sugar cookie. I tagged along to have the oil changed. I loved watching the car as it was hoisted up in the air. I tagged along to the barbershop and watched Joe, the neighborhood barber, carefully trim Unc’s comb-over. Uncs always knew when it was time to get a haircut because he had sprouted what he referred to as “goople-feathers” at his collar. Joe was great at removing goople-feathers. He wasn’t half bad at trimming comb-overs, either.
As my parents aged and eventually moved into a senior living apartment, my oldest daughter bought their house.
Mom, now in her nineties, still lives in the apartment. She is having some friends in for lunch this week. Guess what’s on the menu?
Mid-America. I admit it got me thinking of my own mid twentieth century childhood.
As a child of the era, I lived in a kind of post WWII utopia in South Minneapolis.
We were a family of five, living in the house where my mother and her siblings had grown up.
I was a few months shy of kindergarten when my brother was born.
Having a brother didn’t change things for me until he was big enough to walk. Then I was elected chaser. As chaser, I was supposed to catch up with him and bring him back. Usually, it meant grabbing him off the porch and hauling his squirming self into the living room where he could be properly supervised. Once I sprinted up the sidewalk after him, reaching his naked but for a diaper body five houses away from home. After the running up the block incident, a large hook and corresponding eye were installed on the porch door and doorframe. That made my life much easier.
Mom got us off to school in the morning. She had my leftovers from the night before hot and ready to serve when I walked home from the elementary school for lunch. She was there, often times removing sun dried clothes from the lines strung all over the yard, when I came home at 3:00.
Dad left early each morning. He was home by five and dinner was served immediately after that. Usually, dinner was a (red) meat and potato affair. After a friend gave Mom a curious recipe involving Velveeta cheese, tomato paste, and Spam, the menu expanded. The Spam and cheese were put through a grinder, the tomato paste added, and then it was spread on hamburger bun halves to be broiled and eaten. I didn’t question the combination. I was nothing if not obedient. I ate it.
The other member of our household was Uncs. Uncs was my mother’s bachelor brother. Having Uncs there was like having a fan club. He read to us by the hour, delighted in handing out nickels for any and all occasions, and didn’t mind kids who liked to tag along.
I tagged along to the bakery, where the nice lady always rewarded my good behavior with a sugar cookie. I tagged along to have the oil changed. I loved watching the car as it was hoisted up in the air. I tagged along to the barbershop and watched Joe, the neighborhood barber, carefully trim Unc’s comb-over. Uncs always knew when it was time to get a haircut because he had sprouted what he referred to as “goople-feathers” at his collar. Joe was great at removing goople-feathers. He wasn’t half bad at trimming comb-overs, either.
As my parents aged and eventually moved into a senior living apartment, my oldest daughter bought their house.
Mom, now in her nineties, still lives in the apartment. She is having some friends in for lunch this week. Guess what’s on the menu?
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