Saturday, August 23, 2014

Saturday Mornings, Raisin Omlets, Baseball and Sheriff Matt Dillon

My mom worked. It was during an era when that was much less common for a woman with a child to have a job outside the home. My mom was also divorced; something else not common for a woman in the 1950s.

My dad came home from WWII with what today would have been called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the end of World War II, it was called Shell Shock. Though he loved my mom and I, he was violent and often dangerous. My mom protected herself and her child; me, and left him.

My mother's family lived in Pennsylvania. She had come to California with my father at the end of the war to his home in Northern California, and that's where I was born. By the time the marriage ended, we had moved to the Southern part of the state. As a  Navy WAVE, she was pretty much guaranteed a job with any United States Navy base, so it was a natural progression that she went to work at Port Hueneme, the Sea-Bee Base right outside of Oxnard, California.

During the week, she walked me to school and went to work. I got out of school and went to Mrs. Alford's house where I played with Cut Out dolls on the floor while Mrs. Alford listened to The Guiding Light on her radio. Shortly after it ended, mom got home from work and we would walk to our tiny house.

We were very poor but I don't think I knew it. I knew that after dinner I ran across the street to the local park and played while my mom did people's ironing. When the sun started to fade, I would come home, get my bath, and go to sleep with my mom reading me a story. I think in many ways, I had a very rich life.

On Saturday mornings we both slept until we were ready to wake up. I will never forget the sweetness of waking up to soft breezes blowing through my bedroom window and the smell of strong drip-o-lator coffee. There was a small cloud from mom's Viceroy cigarette as she sat at the kitchen table drinking her coffee and reading the newspaper.

I knew I was loved. As soon as my mom saw me, I remember a huge smile, her open arms, and "Good morning Snicklefritz!" as I hugged her.

During the week, I had cold cereal and a glass of milk for breakfast. Not so on Saturdays. On Saturdays, we had precious time, and mom would cook for us. Her specialty was a huge omelet, filled with Velveeta Cheese and raisins. It came with toast and orange juice! Part went to me and she literally ate the leftovers.

After breakfast, we did laundry. That meant a scrub board, a sink full of hot water and Felz Naphtha soap. I had to wash my panties and my socks, but she washed the rest. I helped hang our clothes on the tiny line outside, while mom washed dishes and cleaned our house. The rest of the day was pretty much mine to play in the park or with friends who lived one or two houses away from me.

In 1950, my grandma died, and mom got a tiny windfall from her life insurance. We bought a Television set. It was black and white, had a huge cabinet, and a very small screen. On Saturdays while I played, mom set the ironing board in front of the Television and watched her beloved Los Angeles Angels play baseball.

Saturday evenings we ate dinner, got ready for bed, and I got to sleep in her bed (which was a hide-a-way of our couch). We watched Gunsmoke and when I could stay awake, The American Hit Parade.

Sundays were cinnamon toast, chocolate milk, Sunday School, Church, and lunch with friends; often our pastor, his wife and their children. After lunch we napped even when I was nearly twelve. That was just what we did on Sundays.

Sunday evenings were You Are There (a wonderful living history program with Walter Cronkite who would be the 'imbedded reporter' at the storming of the Bastille, the battle of New Orleans, General Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox Courthouse, etc.). After that was Victory at Sea; docudramas of battles at sea during World War II. The theme song was The Navel Hymn, and I was always moved by my mom's soft tears when she would hear the sad, lovely song. In my own life, I came to know that it was her patriotism and love of county that moved her to tears.

When you are a child, there are things that you see, but never know that you are seeing. My friends families all had cars. We walked every where. I guess I knew mom was sick, but I never remember actually knowing that she was sick. I guess I thought everyone's mother had Grand Mal Seizures. I guess I thought that it was normal not to be allowed to drive. I thought it was normal to occasionally have to go to the hospital and leave your child with their paternal grandparents.  

A few days after I had my twelfth birthday, my mom went to the hospital and never came home. Her brothers came from Pennsylvania and I left my home in California. I was twenty one years old when I went back and finally got to visit the Veteran's Cemetery where where is buried.

I remember my early childhood as very sweet. I knew I was loved. I knew that Saturdays were about Raisin Omelets, Baseball and Sheriff Matt Dillon.


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