Dad used to cut our hair so short for two reasons: 1: Rita brought lice home from school a lot. 2: We didn't brush our hair like we should and would get really thick knots or snarls that dad just couldn't get out. 🤷♀️ I remember the clip on earrings that I am wearing.
I think it was around this time period that my dad had filled a big canister like barrel that was maybe 50 gallons with water and we would get in it and just be able to dunk ourselves but we loved it. He would put it right where we are standing in these photos.
The platform that we are standing on is the end of the walkway that my dad built out of pallets. At the other end was an out door kitchen that he put in right next to the indoor kitchen window. I remember him stacking tool boxes up next to the stove and sink for me to stand on to help mom cook and wash dishes.
I remember my mom was not much of an enforcer with us kids. Billy and I would stay outside running around playing until dad came home then I would run into either the out door or indoor kitchen and start helping mom while Billy was getting yelled at or punished by dad. Mom would say "See, I told you that you'd be sorry when your dad got home." That was her way of making us listen, Saying things like "I'm gonna tell your father." or "Just wait till your father gets home." Sometimes we would listen out of fear but usually we would hide the "whipping belt" it was an old leather belt that did not have the buckle. We were idiots though because hiding it did not save us at all. Dad would either grab a ping pong paddle or send us out to get a stick and we had better not come back with a flimsy one. Of course he would use his hand in a pinch as well. The last spanking I remember was when I stole fifty cents from the console of the van and then lied about it. He grabbed my arm and I ran around him in circles as he spanked me. Ha Ha!
I used to have a reoccurring dream of my dad beating my brother Billy almost to death and me running to the neighbors to call the police. Dad was much harder on Billy because he was the oldest and we were expected to watch the younger kids and be a good example I suppose. I remember one time when him and Billy were wrestling and dad ended up dragging him around the living room floor with a belt around his neck. I started crying begging him to stop because his face was turning purple and mom was screaming at him to let him go. Dad was laughing saying "I'm just playing with him."
I think it was around this time period but I remember Billy and I had gotten it in our heads to build a camp fire and I made a small one just outside his bedroom window but he wanted to make a bigger one and set half the damn desert on fire. Three different fire departments responded and the story was put in the paper with a photo of my little tiny camp fire. I don't remember being punished but am pretty positive that we were.
Another memory from around this time was when my mom and dad were fighting and he threw a hard plastic cup at her and it made her head bleed and then he threw a fork at her and it stuck in her leg. That was one of the times she left for a while. I remember hearing Billy at his bedroom window begging to go with her but she would never take any of us kids.
I remember the huge sunflower that is behind us. My mom was so dang proud of that thing! She also had beautiful blue morning glories and grew some vegetables. It's funny how our taste buds change over the years...when I was a kid I hated radishes and onions but now I like them. My mom grew radishes, cucumbers and lettuce I think.
One of my most favorite memories from my childhood is when we visited my dad's friend who we called "Har Har" and it was a rainy day but not pouring rain, just drizzling and we were playing and running through the rain. I distinctly remember the fresh smell of the rain... I don't really know how to explain why this is my favorite memory...I guess because of the summer rain, the fresh smell, the freedom...
We have had many earthquakes throughout my life here in California but there are only a few that I actually remember. This was one of them; 6.1 magnitude, centered in Desert Hot Springs, CA. I remember I was walking on the walkway out side that dad had made from wood pallets. I could feel the wood start moving under my feet and I looked down and could hear the rumbling. I ran into the house yelling "Earthquake!" That's all I remember. I used to get so excited when there was an earthquake.
I remember these photos were after we had gone to Boulder Beach that summer.
I don't remember my teacher's name in 5th grade. I do remember my classroom and that I liked her. I also remember stealing this girl's diary and using it most of the rest of my childhood. (I really need to find that ding dang thing!)
I remember my brother Billy playing on the tether ball with his friends; they would hang onto the ball one at a time and the others would push them around the pole and when it was Billy's turn he flew off and broke his arm and had the ambulance called. The ambulance was always being called for Billy because of his hives he gets. They can get real bad to where he can't breathe...
I remember one time at home when he was flying a kite or something and backed up right into a Joshua tree and the thorn went into his the back of his head. My dad had to get pliers to get it out.
I don't know how old we were, but we were playing outside at home and my dad had all kinds of junked out vehicles and stuff all around the property. There was this van that was cut in half that we would climb up on and jump down off the back into the dirt. The ground behind the van had been dug out so it was a farther jump and the sand was softer. Well, this particular day was a Sunday I know because I still had my Sunday school clothes on and my parents were at the store. I was wearing a dress with thick leotards underneath and these dress shoes that were pointed at the toe. When I went to jump down like normal my shoe got caught in the roofs lip and I fell face first into the dirt. I just missed a big stick right next to my eye and it felt like my arm was broken but I didn't tell my parents when they came home because I knew we would get into trouble for playing on the van in the first place.
I don't know how old we were but I do remember one time Billy was picking on me and I picked up a piece of wood and threw it at him and it had been broken with pieces sticking out and a piece about 10 inches long went through the palm of my hand and dad had to get the pliers to get it out. I don't remember going to the doctors but the scar on my hand looks like I had stitches. But it's possible it just healed that way, dad didn't take us to the doctor's that often unless absolutely necessary.
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