Making Bubbles with Gum

How did you learn to blow bubbles with gum? Me, well it was not the traditional way or at least that is what my memories are telling me.

As I said in the previous post, we made the big move from eastern Pennsylvania to the Pittsburgh area. Where we lived was not on the bus line so it was difficult for us to get around. We would have to walk from one place to another.

I have this one memory that is like a ghost. I can barely see it in my mind's eye but I know it's there.

We walked to the store to get something. Who knows what it was and I ended up with a piece of gum.

I decided I needed to blow a  Well, Father was not going to teach me the appropriate way to blow a bubble.

My little impatient self was not going to wait on someone to really teach me if my Father was not going to teach me. So what did I do, I would stretch out the piece of gum manually and then put it up to my lips. Then I would blow on it. I don't know how effective that method really was for blowing a bubble.

It's just a memory that I can laugh about now that I'm older.

Our big move

Around the age of 7, we moved once again. This time to the Pittsburgh area because we would have family living close to us. 

My mom had hoped my grandparents would be willing to help with driving us around because we didn't have a car.

That didn't happen. Where we ended up living was not on a bus line so we could only walk to places. With a 7-year-old and a 4 or 5-year-old, can you imagine how difficult getting around? Add a blind person to the mix and then you have a lot of issues with the lack of transportation.

I just wish I could remember the name of the area of Pittsburgh we lived in at that time. I've mapped it out before and all I know is it was in the southern part.

A lot of my memories truly began during this time. I've blacked out a lot of the abuse. That's how my brain works. The actual memory is not there but the flight, freeze or fear aspects are still ingrained in my subconscious.  Do I ever want to release the memories? No, let them stay there. I probably felt fear and terror during those times.

I'll be diving into those memories during the next few blog posts.

Then we'll move to our final home in the Pittsburgh area. A place that still reminds me of the horrors I endured during the few years we lived there.

The First Time I was in Foster Care

By the time I was five, we were living in Annville, PA which was in the same county as Hershey.

In 1980, I began kindergarten in the Annville-Cleona School District.  My kindergarten teacher was Ms. Lemon.

Since I was so young, I don't know much about that time in my life.

I have the briefest of flashes of memories. Whether they are real memories or just made up of figments of my imagination, I'll never know.

For some reason, I have this vision of a movie theater in my mind. However, the first real movie I can recall seeing was E.T. so I don't know if my memory is a true memory or a combination of separate memories that formed a new one.

I remember a boy named Wesley. It may have been the foster mother's son or it was another boy who was in foster care.

Then there was the chickenpox incident. From what I have been told, I had chickenpox while I was really young. However, I think I had it during the time I was in foster care.

My mom told me that even though they didn't have money during the time we were in foster care, she spent money to see John Denver in concert. She now regrets it because she should have been saving money.

Tanya and I in foster care

I don't know when we got out of foster care. Soon we were back in the hands of the man who caused me great pain.

Our lives were going to be in turmoil once again. Join me next time as I continue this journey of telling my story.

Seminary . . .

I have rewind the hands of the clock to tell this story.  

When I left off, I was 6 years old and my mom was making us white shirts with iron on letters.

Today's story takes place when I was an only child so I must have been 1 or 2 years old.

Mom and I went out to lunch today at a Mexican restaurant.  I ordered Huevos Rancheros.  When the plate was delivered to my table, they had included a slice of tomato with my order.

I did not eat the tomato because I have a love/ hate relationship with tomatoes.  As I admitted this to my mom, she told me the story about when my father attended seminary.

That was brand new information because I never knew my father had attended seminary.  She told me that she would drive him to seminary and luckily some people would allow her to come over so I could nap.


Afterwards she told me of our neighbors would grow vegetables.  He would drop them off at the front door so we ate a lot of free produce.  One of the veggies, he grew was tomatoes.  She would make a lot of stewed tomatoes out of those tomatoes.  Maybe I ate too many of those tomatoes when I was a child so now I do not like tomatoes that much.

Today I learned some new details about my childhood.  I never knew my father had attended seminary.

Just say no to white shirts with ironed on letters

Sometimes you have to wonder what you were thinking when you look back to the outfits you wore so many years ago.

While I was in Pittsburgh over Labor Day weekend, I found a photo of me wearing a shirt that made me say Why?  Mine you I was only 6 in the photo so I had no choice in the attire I was wearing.

No, the why?!? was directed towards my mom.  She had decided to make white t-shirts with iron letters.  Each shirt had the family member's name on the shirt.  The only one who avoided what I call the shirt incident was my cousin because she was only about 6 months when my mom made the shirts.

So what was the reason for those shirts?  We had a family reunion in Lancaster, Pennsylvania since my aunt who at that time lived in California was in Pennsylvania.  My mom did not have much money so she created the shirts with the little bit of money she did have at that time.  The style though screams early 1980s.

I can only remember going to Hershey Park while they were in town.  During that reunion, I rode the Super Dooper Looper, my first roller coaster.  

That hair of mine - Did I take a weed wacker to it?

Me this past July riding that roller coaster - I even helped a little girl conquer her fear of riding the ride.

Traci

I'm Going to Continue My Story

Life has gotten busy.  In November, I'm going to finish the remainder of my Write 31 on this blog.

I went to the Poconos?!? / Manhole

Today I'm going to share two stories.  I only know bits and pieces of these stories.  

Both involve one of mom's friends from college.  Pete helped her out in the one of the stories.  In the other story, Pete took her, my sister, and I on a trip.

One of the stories Mom has told me is about the time my father was at disability camp or training.  I don't really know which one he was at.

Anyway Pete decided to take us to the Poconos.  So he came and picked us up and took us there for a guess a weekend.

Father did not know we were going.  The only person or people who knew were my Ohio grandparents.  

I don't know what we did there.  All I can do is tell people that I have been to the Poconos.

The other story Mom has told me is about my father walking around without his cane.  The town we lived in was doing construction and had manhole open.  

Father was suppose to use a cane when he was walking around.  However he decided not to use the cane.

Open manhole, blind man without a cane - What do you think happened?  Yep, he fell in the manhole and broke his leg.

Pete came up from Virginia to help because Mom had to deal with two toddlers and a man child with a broken leg.

Until next time,
Traci