Marriage. Children Not Included!

I have been musing for weeks about the sad situations where children get dragged into the troubles of their parents' marriage.  I know of two adult children who have taken on, personally, all the hurts and bitterness of their mother toward their father.  What they don't seem to understand is that they were never married to their father, only their mother held that distinction.  They were a part of the family unit, but never were they a part of the marriage.

Marriage and Family are different relationships and should be kept separate.  Children should never, ever be included in a marriage.  Young parents out there, you need to remember this!  Do not disparage your spouse in front of your children.  Do not turn your children against the other parent through open criticism or through sharing your marital problems with them.  Don't make them choose between the two of you!  

The two young adults that I mentioned are so bitter and have turned against their father, who to my knowledge never did anything to either child.  Yes, his marriage to their mother was a disaster, but - and I can't emphasize this enough - the marriage was NOT between him and his children.  

As young children, they were too young to understand, and by the time they were grown they had long ago made a youthful decision to take sides with their mother.  This bitterness towards their father is a direct result of feeling they had to choose between two battling parents.

It makes me sad that this father/child relationship is damaged simply because two parents could not keep their marital problems private and out of earshot of their children. What a shame that these children still do not realize how much their father loves them.  As adults they will not accept him as their father.  His grief over this is sad to see.

Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.  Honor your father and mother which is the first commandment with a promise, that it may be well with you and that you may live long on the earth.
~Ephesians 6:1-3 

An important point to note in this scripture is that God did not command children to honor only one parent or the other, but to honor both.

On the flip side of this coin, I would remind parents not to concentrate so much on raising your children that you neglect the marriage and your spouse feels left out of the family dynamic.  Remember that balance in all things is one of the keys to a happy life.  

Balance your marriage and let your spouse know how important they are to you.  Agree to disagree behind closed doors.  Parent your children together, as a team, supporting each other in decisions that are best for the children and your family as a whole.

If you are a parent who has dragged your child into your marriage, repair the damage.  Now!  Stop hurting your children and depriving them of an equally important parental relationship.

If you are bitter toward a parent, make amends while you still can.  Get out of your parents' marriage.  It's none of your business.  

It's bad enough to lose a parent through death, and even sadder to lose one that is still alive. 

Children, Do Not Interrupt...And Other Lessons Learned

While thumbing through an old book of mine - one filled with good clean jokes – I came across this one. 

 

Image Copyright:  © 2013 | Patricia E. Montgomery
Click on image to see larger

While growing up, this was a firm rule in our home – my brother and I were not to interrupt adult conversations.  When my favorite aunt and uncle would visit us, the adults always sat around the kitchen table, having conversations that I considered completely boring.  While playing in another room I still have fond memories of the laughter that emanated around that kitchen table when friends and family visited.   

When I did need to talk to my Mama, I knew to go stand beside her chair and wait for either a break in the conversation or for my mother to acknowledge me.  My Aunt Lila, a dear and sweet woman, would talk and talk.  And talk.  At those times she seemed completely unaware of my presence.  If what I had to say was important – at least in my little mind – I would stand patiently next to my Mama's chair.   Other times I remember walking away and coming back later, hoping for a “break” in their conversation. 

Sometimes Mama would hold up a finger for me to wait a little longer.  Then she would put her arm around my waist and pull me close so I would know that my chance to talk was imminent.  She would interrupt Aunt Lila at an appropriate moment and say “Just a moment, Lila” and then turn to me.  “Did you need something, sweetie?”  

At these times my Mama was teaching me several things.  Respect your elders.  Be patient.  And most importantly, she was letting me know that the things I had to say, no matter how childish, were important, too.

Young parents of today, are you teaching your children these important lessons?

Kiddie's Table Tent

When I bought a $1 twin sheet at the thrift store and a $5 set of canvas curtains at Goodwill, I envisioned a playhouse tent over our dining table. 

The twin sheet would be the roof (top) and the curtain panels would be turned horizontal for the walls (sides).

The playhouse for my two grandchildren is now partially finished.  Ella's “girlie” side is basically complete, although I may add a few more embellishments.

Dining Table Tent Playhouse
[Click on any image to see larger]

On another side panel, for Shepherd's entrance, I will add a fabric brown door and window with “log” fabric facings.  Will post pics later when that side is done.  

SUMMARY OF PLAYHOUSE CONSTRUCTION

When I saw a roll of outdoor plastic picnic table fabric in Walmart, I envisioned window panes for the playhouse.  You see it, right?

Plastic Outdoor Picnic Table Fabric

I cut out a "square" of the plastic material for the "window frame" and then cut out four more "pane" openings.  Using the window frame as a pattern, I traced and cut a square of a clear shower liner, which was $1 at The Dollar Tree.  When the square of clear plastic was glued to the back of the "frame", installation of the "glass" panes was complete.

A Window for the Playhouse

I laid a window section on one of the side "walls" to trace the window opening and then cut out the four squares for panes.

Window Openings

I found a piece of gingham fabric in my sewing stash for curtains.

Gingham Curtains

A square door panel cut from the plastic outdoor fabric.

Fabric "Peel & Stick" to attach door panels

More gingham fabric in my sewing stash became a door.  I used fabric "Peel & Stick" to attach door panels.  A large wood button will be the door knob.

Door

Using the door to measure, I made a vertical cut in the wall for a right-side flap.  I used "Peel 'n Stick" to adhere the door panel to the wall and edge of the flap.  In the photo below you can see that I adhered the "Peel 'n Stick" onto the edge of the fabric flap.

Fabric "Peel 'n Stick" to attach door

Then I peeled off the plastic backing to expose the other sticky side.  Then I pressed the door panel onto the edge of the flap.  I glued one of the metal weights from the bottom of the shower curtain to the bottom of the door flap to weight it down.

Door panel adhered to wall and weight at bottom

For a Disney look, I printed a door sign - using the Waltograph font - onto cardstock.  Punched holes on each top end and used baker's twine to make hanger.

Making the Door Sign

Hanging the Door Sign

I'm happy to report that after much begging and pleading with Ella, I was allowed inside the playhouse, but only after I pretended to be a an Avon representative.  I sold her a little lip gloss on the lips for a penny.  She wanted the whole tube of lip gloss but didn't have enough money!

Looking outside through the window panes

First meal in the new playhouse tent

Poppy Can "Tix" It!

Oh, yes.  Poppy is grand according to his grands...  Here's the timeline:

June 2012 | Colorado thrift store:  Monty buys a few old plug-in “chargers” for 25¢ apiece.

Two weeks ago | Pat buys a battery-powered, kid-size Hot Wheels Jeep for the grandchildren at the Goodwill store for only $35.  Yay for those senior citizen discounts! 

Last week | Monty informs Pat that without a charger, the little Jeep battery will soon be dead. The battery is an odd voltage and he does not have a charger that will fit it. 

Five days ago | Sad look on Shepherd’s face.  Can Poppy “tix” it?  [In 2-yr-old lingo, tix = fix]

Four days ago | Monty takes his meter and begins a project.

Today | The Hot Wheel Jeep is zipping through the house with a battery on full charge, with Poppy at the wheel (so-to-speak).

Click on photo to see larger.
The left inset photo shows the
homemade charger under the hood.

All it took was one sad little two-year-old face and a McGyver of a man with lots of common sense, farmer ingenuity, and a pocket knife.  Monty used one of those thrift store plug-in chargers (probably from an old cordless phone), a junked red computer “plug”,  three diodes to change the voltage, scrap wire, shrink tubing, and electrical tape.  

A homemade charger for a kid-size Jeep battery = two happy grands!

Don’t Mess With Mama

In 1959 my parents bought their first home on a short little street in West Rome.  There were lots of kids around for me and my little brother to play with and we made friends fast.  Mama and Daddy soon made friends with everyone on the street so I have some great childhood memories of our neighbors at backyard barbecues and watermelon cuttings. 

About two years after moving there, things changed when our next-door neighbors moved away and then rented their home to a new family.  This family made no attempt to fit in with the rest of us, ignoring all our attempts at friendliness.  The two little boys were brats with “potty” mouths and they continually picked fights with the rest of the kids in the neighborhood.  Soon the mother of the brat-boys began joining in our childish skirmishes.  She would stand at the doorway and actually “fuss” with us kids, acting like a kid herself!   

When Mama would hear the squabbles, she would come outside to see if she could work with the boys’ mother solve the problems.  As soon as Mama set foot outside our door, the boys’ mother would then retreat inside her house.  This frustrated Mama to no end and soon she began to admonish us to not play on that side of our house and to ignore the boys and their mother.  But that would be simply too boring for kids, right?  So we were always sneaking over near their property line, just waiting for a “fuss fight” to start.  

On one particular day, the “brat boys” took a water hose and sprayed it over into our yard, wetting four of us kids with water.  They told us that their Mama had instructed them to do it and sure enough, she was standing at the door grinning in approval.  When my Daddy came home during his lunch hour that day, the mother of the brat-boys came rushing outside and began telling my Daddy that he needed to “do something” about his kids.  Daddy was trying to smooth things over when Mama walked out our front door and it was obvious she was mad.  Uh-oh.

Mama confronted her immediately.  “I have tried to come out and solve this problem with you countless times.  Every time I do, you run in your house and hide.  But when my husband comes home, you think you can rush out and tell him about it instead of me?”  The woman denied hiding inside her house so Mama said, “That’s not true.”  “Are you calling me a liar?” was the woman's response.  Mama looked her squarely in the eye and said, “Yes.  If that is your side of the story, then yes, I guess I am calling you a liar.” 

At that point, the brat-boys' mother made a bad decision.  She stepped forward with one arm up in the air as if to strike Mama.  Mama also took a step forward and grabbed the woman’s upraised wrist, effectively stopping the swing.  The would-be assailant assessed the situation for a few moments and must have decided she didn’t like the look in Mama’s eye or the vise-like grip on her wrist.  As the woman began to lower her arm, Mama let go of her wrist.  They stared at each other coldly for a moment before the brat-boys' mother turned and stalked back into her house, hiding out once again. 

At lunch our parents reinforced what we had already been told countless times: do not engage in any conversation with the boys or their mother. At the end of the discussion about the would-be fight, Daddy told us, “Kids, I hope you know that no one messes with your Mama.”  Those words quickly became a mantra in our home and having witnessed our sweet-natured Mama show courage in the face of potential violence only reinforced that fact.  No one messes with Mama.

Within a couple of weeks, the brat-boys and their parents moved out of the neighborhood.  On the weekend following their departure, the neighbors spilled outside into our backyard.  We ate grilled hotdogs and drank RC Colas and then split watermelons for dessert.  It was a celebration of sorts, I suppose, because now things were back to normal in the neighborhood. 

* * * * * * * * * * *

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making
The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas.Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
Betcha Can't Pop Just One

* * * * *

Remembering the Drive-In Theater

Anyone who knows me well knows that my childhood memories are a little hazy at times. What I remember, I remember well. But what I don’t remember, well I just don’t. Unless, of course, someone helps “jog” that nebulous bubble in my brain.

 
Through conversations and photos recently posted in a Facebook group I had a memory breakthrough – recollections of my long-ago visits to the drive-in theater. Yes, there were dates as a young woman at the drive-in, some of which I remember and some I wish I didn’t. However, my fondest memories are those going to the drive-in as a little girl with my parents.

The Cedar Valley Drive-In Theater was located at Six Mile near the intersection of Highway 27 and Highway 411 South (going toward Cave Spring). I can still recall the awe I felt as we turned off the highway onto the entrance drive by the lake. Ahead was the two-story “mansion” with the drive-in name shining brightly in neon above it on the back of the giant outdoor screen. To a little girl it seemed an enormous, but grand sight!

Cedar Valley Drive-In Theater, Rome, GA
Photo of the Cedar Valley Drive-In Theater used
with permission from Ralph Tilly, Jr.]

Those days in the late 1950s were not easy for my parents on the financial front. While Daddy worked our Mama stayed home to raise me and my brother. On just his salary alone my parents had to find creative ways for the family to have fun. Creative meant no cost or low cost. So the he drive-in was a perfect cheap date for a family of four.

Late in the afternoon before Daddy came home from work Mama would send us off for our daily bath. By the time Daddy got home from work, we were already in our pajamas and pretty much jumping up and down in excitement. After a quick supper Mama would clean up the dishes and then things would start “popping”. Since they couldn’t afford the concession stand, Mama would use a lidded saucepan on the stove to pop a big batch of popcorn and then drizzle it with melted butter. In the meantime Daddy would take the ice trays from the freezer and pack ice cubes in the cooler around RC colas, his favorite drink in those days.


Drive-In Speakers / Route 66 / Oklahoma
©1987-2011 Bucks Mtn Galleries | Patricia Montgomery


Once at the drive-in it always took several tries before Daddy could find a speaker that would actually work or one that didn’t have a lot of static. The speaker hooked onto the raised car window and was one of two metal speakers perched at the top of a concrete pole. Two cars could pull up beside each pole, one on each side. One car had a speaker pulled to the passenger window and the other car had one on the driver’s side window.


If we arrived before dark then my little brother, Garry, and I could play at the playground. Mama would put our clear galoshes over our footed pajamas so that we wouldn’t get them dirty. Does anyone remember those clear galoshes? They fit over your shoes and the top folded over as a flap and was held down by an elastic band hooked over a button on the side of the boot. [NOTE: A vintage pair of the clear galoshes can be seen in the NVintageWest Etsy store.]

I still don’t recall much about the actual movies but I vividly recall cartoon commercials with dancing popcorn boxes, drink cups, and hotdogs. Then the countdown would be splashed across the screen stating that the movie will start in 20 minutes so visit the concession stand while you wait. We waited impatiently for the countdown to end so the cartoons-before-the-movie would start.


Dancing Food Circa 1960s
[The poster of the dancing drive-in food can be viewed/purchased at Bob’s Garage.]




Once the movie started, Mama drew an imaginary line down the middle of the back seat so that she would not have to hear complaints like, “Mama, she is on MY side!” or “Mama, he touched me!”. We would curl up on our respective sides of the back seat, snuggling into the pillow and blankets from home. After a few spiteful kicks, Garry and I would fall asleep, toe-to-toe, long before the movie was over.

I do remember family movie nights at two other drive-ins in Rome, one on the site where the Big Lots shopping center is located and the other one out on Highway 53. At the West Rome Drive-In there was a huge slide on the playground. It might not have actually been any bigger than a normal slide but it seemed gigantic in my little girl’s eyes.
The first drive-in in the U.S. opened in 1933 in Camden, New Jersey. By the 1960s drive-in theaters had reached their peak with almost 3,000 drive-ins across the United States. The largest was on Long Island, New York and sprawled out on 29 acres! A decline began in the 1970s and now, by some estimates, there are less than 400 operating in the United States.


If you still live in the Rome area and would like to experience a movie at a drive-in theater, the 411 Twin Drive-In is open during the summer months in Centre, Alabama. It is located just off highway 411 South, between Leesburg & Centre, behind Mufflers & More. You can call 256-927-2855 for showtimes.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

 One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making
The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas.Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
Betcha Can't Pop Just One

* * * * *



 

BE GOOD FOR GOODNESS SAKES!

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, there was a very special doll that I wanted for Christmas.  Mama told me that if I wanted that particular doll, I would have to climb up on Santa’s knee and tell him.  But you see there was the problem with that song, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and the words that sent chills down my little spine. 

“…He knows when you are sleeping.  He knows when you’re awake.  He knows if you been bad or good, so be GOOD for goodness sakes…” 

I thought about all those times I didn’t do what my Mama said, along with the remembered pain from those subsequent hickory-switches to the back of my legs.  I was NOT always good, for goodness sakes!

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I tried to behave.  I really did.  But you see, I always got into my fair share of trouble and this holiday season was no different.  Trying to stay out of trouble for so many days in row seemed an impossible feat.  I thought that Christmas would never arrive, seeing as how the earth traveled around the sun so much slower back then. 

Finally Christmas Eve arrived.  I carefully arranged cookies for Santa on a plate and placed it under the tree with a glass of milk.  I reasoned that perhaps the cookies would be so delicious that Santa would forget how I had hit my little brother the week before.  And if he did see me misbehaving, maybe he would know that my little brother deserved that whack.  Or maybe not.  I put two extra cookies on the plate for good measure.

Christmas morning arrived.  My brother and I weren’t allowed to go into the living room until we woke up our parents.  They were always bleary-eyed and sleepy as we stood by their bed, hopping up and down.  “Get up!  Get up!” we pleaded in unison.  “We want to see what Santa brought us!”

To this day, I still vividly remember the excitement and wonder as we stood in the doorway of the living room.  The lights and tinsel twinkled magically from the tree, casting a beautiful glow on the toys that were underneath it.  For a few seconds we were rooted to that spot in the doorway, staring in awe.  Then the excitement won out and we pounced!

There she was!  My special doll was there!  I fumbled for the wooden knob on her back.  I turned it and she began to move slowly as I cuddled her in the crook of my arm.  Oh, how I loved her from that moment on!  My very own Tiny Thumbelina!  Santa had brought me the best doll a little girl could ever receive!

A few months later at the end of a 1960s summer day, I forgot and left my Tiny Thumbelina lying in our yard overnight.  The next morning I rushed out to where I knew I had left her and she was gone.  It was a hard lesson learned that I needed to take care of my possessions.  I mourned Thumbelina's loss for a long, long time. 

Years later I once mentioned to my husband that of all the dolls I had ever received, the one I wished I still had was Tiny Thumbelina.  Several years ago, he gave me the gift of an authentic, still working 1960s Tiny Thumbelina doll in an original box.  Thank you, Monty (and eBay!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making

The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas. Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
The Pajama Party


* * * * *

The Day We Drove Our Mama Over the Edge

It was a day that now lives in infamy – well, at least in our family.  Although we often laugh about what happened on that hot summer day, at the time the only ones who saw the humor in it was me and my little brother, Garry.  And that was only for a split second just before Mama told us to wipe those smiles off our faces.

Garry and I had been out of school for over two months.  It was back in the 1960s when school ended no later than the first day or two of June and it would be the day after Labor Day in September before we were back in school again.  Although she never said so, I now know that my dear stay-at-home Mama had always looked forward to Labor Day.  And not because we would have a cookout in the backyard with the neighbors and make homemade ice cream and split watermelons.  After three months of being at home - day-in and day-out - with me and my brother, my poor mama was more than ready for school to begin.

Garry and I spent our early childhood years participating in a lot of arguments and slap fights.  Once Garry realized he could get under my skin (stupid of me to let it show), then he would deliberately provoke me.  And if I’m going to be honest, I liked to pick on him simply because I was older and bigger. 

 “Mama, she hit me.”  “Did not.”  “Did, too.”  “Maaaama, make her stop hitting me.”  Smack.  Slap.  “Owwww!  Maaaaaama!!”

“You are so ugly.”  “Am not.”  “Are, too.”  “You stink like a skunk.”  “Do not!”  “Do, too.”  Slap.  Smack.  “Owww!”  “Maaama!”  “Owwww!”   Slap.  Slap.  Smack.  Smack.  “Maaaama!” 

We deliberately pushed boundaries to see how much we could get away with and just for the pleasure of annoying each other.  Our parents would only put up with so much so we both had our fair share of hickory switches to the back of the legs, spankings on the bottom, and stern reprimands.

But something was different on this particular August day.  Who knows why we were confined to the house.  It may have been raining or it could have been simply too hot outside.  In those days the temperatures frequently tipped over the 100-degree mark.  Regardless, I’m sure our poor Mama was feeling haggard from the rising heat and humidity.  And Garry and I weren’t  helping things with our constant bickering. 

As Mama tells it, we had been fussin’ and fightin’ all day.  She had already refereed several arguments and slap fights.  I remember that Mama was off in the other room when Garry and I got into it over something.  Again.  It quickly escalated into a slap fight and finally one of us ended up hurt and started whining.  “Maaaama!”

It was the wrong thing to do.  When our mama came into the living room, she looked like a wild woman.  Well, not really, but that’s how it seemed to us at the time.  When she spoke, she enunciated each word as if it were a sentence of its own.  “I.  am.  sick.  of.  this!  You kids are driving me crazy!  You want fight?  Do you?  Do you?” 

We didn’t answer, both of us looking at her like deer in the headlights.  Since it was a rhetorical question and we knew better than to say a word, Mama spat out the words, “Well, fine!  You got it!”

The heat of our argument vanished immediately.  What was Mama doing?  We looked briefly at each other, but didn’t say anything as our eyes moved back to her.  This was a person we had never seen before, not in our entire short lives.

She picked up toys, opened the door to the screen porch and slung them out there.  And slammed the door.  Hard.  Then she angrily moved the coffee table over against the wall.  The small rug in the middle of the floor was flung over near the front door.  Then she turned her steely blue eyes on us.  Uh-oh.  We had no clue what was going on, but we knew it couldn’t be good.

She grabbed Garry in one hand by his upper arm and then used her other hand to grab my upper arm.  She dragged us a few feet to the center of our now cleared living room.  Then she pushed us together, chest to chest.  All we could do was stare at each other.  What?

“Fight!”  Our heads swiveled in unison toward Mama.  “I said fight!  You two have been fighting all summer and I am sick of it!  You want fight?  Well, fight it out!  Fight now!  Get it out of your system!”  Her voice had reached a high pitch.

Garry and I stared at each other and both started grinning.  This was just too funny.  “Wipe those smiles off  your faces right now!”  In a split second we did as we were told.  She ranted on, “I. Said. I. Want. You. To. Fight!  Fight it out now and then I don’t want to hear another one out of either of you again!”

We just stared at each other.  All we could think is who was this woman?  When Mama realized we weren’t going to fight, it was like all the heat deflated out of her.  Wordlessly she put the rug and furniture back in its place and stalked out of the room.

Garry and I sat down on the sofa next to each other and grinned.  Then we started whispering to each, bonding over the fact that Mama had obviously lost her mind.  There were no more fights that day.  Nor any until school started back that September (or at least none that we let Mama hear).  By creating a boxing ring in our living room that summer day, our Mama had accomplished in a matter of minutes what hickory switches had failed to do that entire summer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making

The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas.Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
The Pajama Party

* * * * *

From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars

Who doesn’t love peanut butter?  I would venture to say that the majority of baby boomers can’t remember a childhood without peanut butter.  Smooth or crunchy?   Smooth has always gotten my vote.  Whenever I bite into a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, it almost always will transport me back to my childhood.

When I was a little girl, Peter Pan was the peanut butter of choice in our house.  My earliest memory of peanut butter is walking through the A&P grocery store along side my Mama, who was pushing the grocery cart with my younger brother, Garry, seated facing her with his chubby little legs dangling.  He was about three years old at the time and my Mama was always looking for something that he might like to eat.  You see, long after most toddlers had left behind their baby food jars, my three-year-old brother still loved his baby food and that’s basically all she could get him to eat.  Sorry to “out” you on this one, Garry, but the truth will always come out.  What else are big sisters for?

The only other thing Garry really liked to eat was pieces of loaf bread dunked into a glass of milk.  Since he seemed to like it so much, I decided to give it a try.  Once.  Ugh.  Soggy bread is not my idea of a feast.  But my little brother sure loved it!  Mama often fretted that if she could not find something he would eat, when he started school she would be putting slices of loaf bread and baby food jars in his lunch box. 

On this particular trip to the A&P my Mama spied something on the grocery shelf.  She picked up a jar of Peter Pan and held it out toward Garry.  “Do you want to try some peanut butter, son?”  He gave a quick negative shake of his head.  Mama opened the jar right there in the aisle of the grocery store and dipped her finger in it.  She held out the small dollop of peanut butter toward Garry.  He put his hand over his mouth, shook his head vigorously and firmly said, “No!”

Mama licked the peanut butter off her finger and held the jar toward me.  I dipped my finger in the jar to scoop out some peanut butter for myself.  As we licked our fingers clean, Mama and I made those “Mmmmmm, good” noises.  Garry looked at us warily from his perch in the grocery cart.  “It is soooo good,” I said as I tried to coax him into trying it.  “It tastes like candy,” I said.  Any other time my Mama would have scolded me for telling an outright lie but she must have been desperate to find anything her baby boy would like to eat besides baby food.  But then she had never before opened a jar in the middle of the A&P and started eating before she paid for it!  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

You could see that Garry was considering what I had said because he moved his hand away from his mouth and eyed the peanut butter jar with interest.  I dipped another finger in the peanut butter and held it toward him.  He backed his head away but didn’t cover his mouth this time.  He was undecided about this brown stuff on our fingers because it didn’t look like any candy he had ever seen.

Mama and I both licked a couple more dollops off our fingers, telling him how delicious that “peanut butter candy” was to eat.  Then I offered Garry another small dollop of peanut butter and this time he cautiously licked some of it off.  He didn’t spit it out and we could tell he was testing it on his palate.  We waited anxiously for the verdict.

“More,” he said.  Mama handed Garry the whole jar.  Thus began my brother’s life-long love affair with peanut butter.  Since he already liked loaf bread, getting him to eat it on a sandwich was not difficult.   Mama started weaning him off his baby food habit but still worried that his main diet consisted mostly of peanut butter, bread, and milk.  He did finally start eating regular food but only narrowly before he started first grade.  I am not sure, but I think I may have shamed him into it with my constant mockery of his baby-food habit. 

My Mama still keeps a big jar of peanut butter on her kitchen counter.  When Garry comes over to her house, he will pour a big glass of milk and chow down on a plain peanut butter sandwich.  I’m still not sure if he knows it is not candy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve also been reminiscing, pondering, and musing on these topics:

One my early dates with the hubby
My first lesson on biscuit making

The lost art of letter writing
Cups for hot mochas.Say Good Night Gracie.
My first visit to the library with my Mama
Driving Mama over the Edge
It’s a Little Off the Wall
Crushing on The Professor
The Avocado Tree
From Baby Food Jars to Peanut Butter Jars
Christmas Memories
Theory of Pancake Relativity
The Pajama Party