| Biographical Non-Fiction posted May 12, 2024 | Chapters: |
...15 16 -17- 18... 
|
  |
More tales of life when I was three.
A chapter in the book At Home in Mississippi
Old Things and New Changes
by BethShelby
My Grandpa’s house was primitive. He hadn’t owned it for very many years, but it was already quite old when he bought it. The boards were a weathered gray. The house had porches on the back and front and had a red brick chimney opening into his and my grandma’s bedroom.
Before the move, he had lived farther back in the country on some wooded acreage and had run a country store and gristmill. When my dad was old enough to get work in town, Grandpa moved the family closer. I’m pretty sure Daddy was ashamed of the old house, but I absolutely loved it.
His house was the most fascinating place to me. There was a wide hall running down the center past four big square rooms and leading to a dining room with a small kitchen behind it. Since the floor from one section to the other didn’t line up properly, it looked as though the house may have had another section added on later.
I loved the hundred-year-old mantle clock that ticked loudly and struck the hour. I enjoyed the sound on the tin roof when it rained. I was fascinated by the three large wooden trunks filled with all sorts of strange objects and the tall Victrola record player which had to be wound in order to play my dad’s old scratchy records. There must have been a time when he was a boy that he could tolerate music.
In Aunt Eva’s bedroom there was a wooden crate large enough to have contained a piano. From top to bottom. It was stuffed with quilts my grandmother had made. Her claim to fame was that she mailed one of her quilts to the World Fair in Chicago and had won a blue ribbon on it. Climbing into the box and playing on the quilts was a spot where my aunt would often find me.
When I got a chance to be at their house, I must have driven everyone crazy. I opened every drawer in each piece of the old mismatched furniture. Aunt Eva followed me around asking why I was so curious and calling me a rambler. “Why do you have to sort through everything we have? You leave a trail of stuff you’ve pulled out, everywhere you go. I have to walk behind you and pick it all up.”
Aunt Eva had one of the four bedrooms and Uncle Bill had another. Grandma and Grandpa shared the front room with the fireplace, but the other front room on the opposite side of the hallway wasn’t normally in use. In that room, I found something which really disturbed me. On a writing table, there was a picture in a gold-colored metal frame of a little girl with sausage shaped curls hanging to her shoulders. She wore a big smile on her face. “Who is that girl?" I asked crossly.
“That’s Shirley Temple, honey. Isn’t she pretty?” Grandma asked.
“No, she’s ugly. What is she doing here? Why don’t you have a picture of me.”
“Her picture was in there when someone gave me that frame for a gift. I don’t have a picture of you that would fit that frame. Besides, you’re over here all the time. I can see the real little girl. I don’t need a picture.”
This didn’t sit well with me at all. The second she left the room. I opened the drawer and put the picture inside. Then, a few days later, I was over at their house again, and the girl’s picture was back on the table. This time I hid her under the bed. Thus began a game of hide and seek between my grandma and me. I often heard her chuckling to Mama and others about how jealous I was of the little movie star.
I didn’t understand why I felt such dislike for this girl with the silly curls or why my grandmother thought she was so adorable. I figured it had to be those funny looking curls. I couldn’t help it because I was born with straight hair. It seemed like mom was sorry about that too, because she was always braiding my hair to get it out of my eyes or rolling it up on a pencil to make it curly before I went to church.
My curls didn’t come out like Shirley Temple’s did. The pencil made the curls tight and frizzy. My hair looked more like the little black girls who I saw when I was in town. When Mama kept brushing to get the frizzy tangles out, I would get frustrated and often spent Sunday morning in tears.
One day, when Mama had made me take a nap, I woke up in a grumpy mood. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I went looking for Mama. When I got to the other bedroom, right in the middle of the big bed was a baby girl, sound asleep with pillows piled around her. “Mama, Who is this person on your bed?”
Mama came in grinning from ear to ear. “Honey, you told me you wanted a baby sister so you’d have someone to play with. What do you think?”
“Mama. I don’t want that one. Her face is all red and besides she don’t look like no baby. Take her back. She is too big to be a baby and she is too little to play with me. Does Daddy know you got her?”
Mama continued to laugh. “You didn’t tell me you had any specific instructions. Her face is red because it is hot in here. Your face is kind of red too. What if I can’t take her back? Are you sure you don’t want this one?”
“No, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like that one. We don’t need no baby. Besides you said Daddy didn’t want one. I thought you said he would have to be okay with it. I don’t think we need a baby anymore.”
“Well, you are in luck, because I was just teasing you. We aren’t keeping her. She belongs to my friend. I’m just baby-sitting her. Her mother had somewhere she needed to go.”
I stomped off a little aggravated, because she had made me look bad and say things I didn’t want to have to say. Mamas shouldn’t tease kids and then laugh at them.
A few weeks later something really exciting happened. It came as a big surprise for me and a little bit of a surprise for my parents as well. They knew it was in the works, but not when it would happen. Mama and I had been in town waiting for Daddy to close the store and drive us home. It was after dark.
When we drove into our driveway, every room in the house was lit up. I hadn’t noticed that our house was wired for lights, or that we were just waiting for the power company to get through working outside and turn them on.
It was exciting to realize it would be brighter inside our house at night without the oil lamps. There was even a radio playing when we walked inside. Having a house with electricity was a big milestone. We still had the outdoor toilet, but one step at a time, we were starting to join the rest of the world.
This was a turning point for us. Now, my mom would no longer need to heat her iron on the stove or in the fire place. She got herself an electric iron, and started to enjoy this dreaded task, because now, she could listen to Oxydol’s Own Ma Perkins and other soap operas while she ironed our clothes.
My grandparents had not chosen to take advantage of having electricity. This was fine with me because I sort of like the smell and ambience of oil lamps. I wasn’t all that anxious for the world I’d been born into to change quite so fast.
My Grandpa’s house was primitive. He hadn’t owned it for very many years, but it was already quite old when he bought it. The boards were a weathered gray. The house had porches on the back and front and had a red brick chimney opening into his and my grandma’s bedroom.
Before the move, he had lived farther back in the country on some wooded acreage and had run a country store and gristmill. When my dad was old enough to get work in town, Grandpa moved the family closer. I’m pretty sure Daddy was ashamed of the old house, but I absolutely loved it.
His house was the most fascinating place to me. There was a wide hall running down the center past four big square rooms and leading to a dining room with a small kitchen behind it. Since the floor from one section to the other didn’t line up properly, it looked as though the house may have had another section added on later.
I loved the hundred-year-old mantle clock that ticked loudly and struck the hour. I enjoyed the sound on the tin roof when it rained. I was fascinated by the three large wooden trunks filled with all sorts of strange objects and the tall Victrola record player which had to be wound in order to play my dad’s old scratchy records. There must have been a time when he was a boy that he could tolerate music.
In Aunt Eva’s bedroom there was a wooden crate large enough to have contained a piano. From top to bottom. It was stuffed with quilts my grandmother had made. Her claim to fame was that she mailed one of her quilts to the World Fair in Chicago and had won a blue ribbon on it. Climbing into the box and playing on the quilts was a spot where my aunt would often find me.
When I got a chance to be at their house, I must have driven everyone crazy. I opened every drawer in each piece of the old mismatched furniture. Aunt Eva followed me around asking why I was so curious and calling me a rambler. “Why do you have to sort through everything we have? You leave a trail of stuff you’ve pulled out, everywhere you go. I have to walk behind you and pick it all up.”
Aunt Eva had one of the four bedrooms and Uncle Bill had another. Grandma and Grandpa shared the front room with the fireplace, but the other front room on the opposite side of the hallway wasn’t normally in use. In that room, I found something which really disturbed me. On a writing table, there was a picture in a gold-colored metal frame of a little girl with sausage shaped curls hanging to her shoulders. She wore a big smile on her face. “Who is that girl?" I asked crossly.
“That’s Shirley Temple, honey. Isn’t she pretty?” Grandma asked.
“No, she’s ugly. What is she doing here? Why don’t you have a picture of me.”
“Her picture was in there when someone gave me that frame for a gift. I don’t have a picture of you that would fit that frame. Besides, you’re over here all the time. I can see the real little girl. I don’t need a picture.”
This didn’t sit well with me at all. The second she left the room. I opened the drawer and put the picture inside. Then, a few days later, I was over at their house again, and the girl’s picture was back on the table. This time I hid her under the bed. Thus began a game of hide and seek between my grandma and me. I often heard her chuckling to Mama and others about how jealous I was of the little movie star.
I didn’t understand why I felt such dislike for this girl with the silly curls or why my grandmother thought she was so adorable. I figured it had to be those funny looking curls. I couldn’t help it because I was born with straight hair. It seemed like mom was sorry about that too, because she was always braiding my hair to get it out of my eyes or rolling it up on a pencil to make it curly before I went to church.
My curls didn’t come out like Shirley Temple’s did. The pencil made the curls tight and frizzy. My hair looked more like the little black girls who I saw when I was in town. When Mama kept brushing to get the frizzy tangles out, I would get frustrated and often spent Sunday morning in tears.
One day, when Mama had made me take a nap, I woke up in a grumpy mood. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I went looking for Mama. When I got to the other bedroom, right in the middle of the big bed was a baby girl, sound asleep with pillows piled around her. “Mama, Who is this person on your bed?”
Mama came in grinning from ear to ear. “Honey, you told me you wanted a baby sister so you’d have someone to play with. What do you think?”
“Mama. I don’t want that one. Her face is all red and besides she don’t look like no baby. Take her back. She is too big to be a baby and she is too little to play with me. Does Daddy know you got her?”
Mama continued to laugh. “You didn’t tell me you had any specific instructions. Her face is red because it is hot in here. Your face is kind of red too. What if I can’t take her back? Are you sure you don’t want this one?”
“No, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like that one. We don’t need no baby. Besides you said Daddy didn’t want one. I thought you said he would have to be okay with it. I don’t think we need a baby anymore.”
“Well, you are in luck, because I was just teasing you. We aren’t keeping her. She belongs to my friend. I’m just baby-sitting her. Her mother had somewhere she needed to go.”
I stomped off a little aggravated, because she had made me look bad and say things I didn’t want to have to say. Mamas shouldn’t tease kids and then laugh at them.
A few weeks later something really exciting happened. It came as a big surprise for me and a little bit of a surprise for my parents as well. They knew it was in the works, but not when it would happen. Mama and I had been in town waiting for Daddy to close the store and drive us home. It was after dark.
When we drove into our driveway, every room in the house was lit up. I hadn’t noticed that our house was wired for lights, or that we were just waiting for the power company to get through working outside and turn them on.
It was exciting to realize it would be brighter inside our house at night without the oil lamps. There was even a radio playing when we walked inside. Having a house with electricity was a big milestone. We still had the outdoor toilet, but one step at a time, we were starting to join the rest of the world.
This was a turning point for us. Now, my mom would no longer need to heat her iron on the stove or in the fire place. She got herself an electric iron, and started to enjoy this dreaded task, because now, she could listen to Oxydol’s Own Ma Perkins and other soap operas while she ironed our clothes.
My grandparents had not chosen to take advantage of having electricity. This was fine with me because I sort of like the smell and ambience of oil lamps. I wasn’t all that anxious for the world I’d been born into to change quite so fast.
 Recognized |
Living in Mississippi in 1940. This is a chapter in a book that starts with my ancestors and will continue to the early sixties.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. BethShelby All rights reserved.
BethShelby has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
