When you grow up in a small community such as we did, everyone truly does know everyone else. I am reminded of this fact each time I post something about my mother on Facebook, and long-ago friends and neighbors post comments in return. It's not a bad thing and it certainly does keep us connected.
As much as people complain and make fun of Facebook. I think we should be honest and admit it is a fun way to stay connected with those who have crossed our paths -- friends, acquaintances and co-workers. They don't call it a social network for nothing.
A young friend posted the other day about her soon-to-be four year old daughter going on an adventure with a neighbor . . . to the next block over. My friend was mortified, as I would have been as well. The story had a familiar ring to it as it reminded me of my first foray into independence.
It was early spring. My neighbor and I would be heading to Kindergarten in the fall. We were wise beyond our years and decided we needed to assert our independence and go to the store for some Bazooka Joe Bubblegum. (Yeah, the rock-hard pink stuff that made your jaws ache). To be honest, I don't think we thought of it as asserting our independence. We simply wanted some bubblegum.
We hoisted my younger sister into a doll buggy and set off down the road to to grocery store. I recall pointing out that we didn't have any money, but was assured we could charge it. I was skeptical as I didn't think my parents charged anything, but decided it was worth a shot.
The bottom of the buggy dragged along the grass as we pushed, pulled and dragged it across the lawn to the road, but once we hit the smooth surface of the tar, the going was easy.
We lived in the country, about a half mile from the store. There were no sidewalks so we clung to the edge of the road. It was an uneventful trip until we reached M-40, the busy highway running through the middle of my hometown.
It was lunchtime and as was customary those days, young boys from the local scout troop acted as crossing guards. Three times a day they would man their post -- before school, at lunch and after school.
We stood shyly at the crosswalk.
"Where are you going?"
"To the store to buy bubble gum."
"Prove it. Show us your money."
Of course we didn't have any and the young men indicated they were disinclined to help us across. We bravely looked both ways and it was obvious we didn't have a clue what we were doing, so we were eventually escorted across the highway.
We stopped at the grocery store first. The store owner was as dubious of our excursion as were the Boy Scouts. She immediately picked up the phone to call my mother. While she was on the phone we hightailed it out the door and across the street to the local Variety Store.
Mrs. Strunk, the owner of the Variety Store gave us some gum, but refused to let us leave until one of our parents came to retrieve us. By this time I knew were were in deep trouble and was hoping against hope that it would be my Mom or Dad who came to rescue us rather than my neighbor's father.
The man had a vile temper and was prone to yelling. We could often hear him bellowing to his children from the chicken coops at the back of their poultry farm. He even prayed in a frightening way. His voice would rise to a threatening crescendo and then lower to barely a whisper. Back then families had devotions after every evening meal. I had been their guest once or twice. My neighborhood friend was never allowed to join us for evening meals since we were Reformed and they were Christian Reformed. I think the neighbors considered my parents a little lax and feared our after dinner relaxation might include a deck of cards or a board game that required dice.
It was the neighbor's station wagon that pulled up in front of the Variety Store. We were yelled at the entire way back to our homes. His ranting included phrases like: "Ought to be locked up," "Tie you to a clothesline," and "Beaten with a yard stick."
Mom came out to the driveway when we pulled in -- he was still yelling and generally letting us know what bad kids we were and how we would never amount to anything useful.
He started to tell Mom what he thought she should do, but Mom looked at him and said, "I think I can handle my children from here."
He left in a cloud of dust.
My sister ran into the house and hid in Mom's closet. I was looking for a hiding place in the garage when Mom walked in and asked if I wanted grilled cheese and tomato soup. Confused, I slunk into the house to find my grandfather and his brother sitting at the table.
"I do not wish to discuss this," I bellowed in a voice that would have put my neighbor to shame.
Grandpa blinked and then started to shake with laughter. Tears were rolling down his face as he tried to keep his composure. Mom continued to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
That was it. No punishment. No discussing it. Nothing.
Later that evening, at my mother's insistence, I went to see how my neighbor friend had fared. Definitely not as well as I had. Her brothers and sisters were sitting under a tree with smug looks on their faces.
"Did you get spanked?"
"No."
Clearly they were disappointed.
"Did you get yelled at?"
"No"
Wonder and awe crossed their faces.
"Well, what happened?"
"We had tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with my Grandpa and Uncle Andy."
"And nothing else happened?"
"Well, I did hear my Mom tell my Grandpa that she thought we had been yelled at and frightened quite enough and she saw no reason to add insult to injury. Whatever that means."
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