Childhood

Flaxen age of joy,

Blissfully spinning through days,

Unaware of time.

Pleasant Memories

Sometime between my fourth and fifth birthdays, my mother announced that there was someone special in her life that she wanted me to meet.  In those days, we lived in Andrews, Texas, but spent many weekends in the larger nearby town of Midland.  Mom would pack us up on Friday evening and bring the laundry to her parent’s house.  I would spend Saturday night with granny and grandpa while she went out socializing.  I guess that was how she met my soon to be father.  His name was Lorenzo, but most people called him Junior, because his father also had the same name.

He came to our house and mom said that we were going to drive to his house in Midland.  The hour and a half drive seemed long to me at such a young age.  Mom told me that Junior lived “out in the country”, so when we got close to his house there weren’t many lights to see by.  Pulling into the driveway, I remember a frightened bunny hopping across the path.  I met him, and then we went next door to meet his parents, Lorenzo, Sr. and Aimee.   These would become my Grandma and Papi.  Papi was a veteran of WWII who sat in a chair and smoked pungent cigarettes that he had rolled himself.    We often saw his spectral presence wandering around his property and tending to the many chores, but he did not speak much to us children.  He was a first generation American whose parents had come from Mexico in the early days of the 20^th century.  He spoke with a heavy accent and we rarely understood him.  Grandma was French woman whom Papi had met while stationed in Europe.  Her father was Italian and she later told me that he had had to hide in a cave for several years to avoid being dragged back to Italy to fight for Mussolini.  She and Lorenzo had three sons, my father the youngest.  Papi had brought her home on a ship and settled in his hometown of Midland.  She learned to cook Mexican food (with a French palette) and to speak Spanish.

A few weeks or months after that first meeting, mom told me that she was going to marry Junior, and that if I wanted him to, he could be my father.  I happily agreed, thinking that now I would get to know what it was like to have a dad.  We went shopping one day for a dress for mom for her wedding.  She chose a draped dress made of peach polyester, with string ties and a low cowlish neckline.  I got a little girl’s dress in the same color.  The wedding was at the courthouse, and after that we moved to Midland.

Dad lived in a three room house, which he had built himself on some property adjacent to the home of his parents.  The outside was decorated with white rock.  There was only one bedroom, and I got it.  My parent’s bed was in the “big room” which also served as the living room, dining room, and den.  The kitchen was also in this area.  The third room was a tiny bathroom with a window.  The surrounding landscape was typical of West Texas:  Mesquite trees and cactus and weeds growing solid, except where they had been cleared for houses.  To one side lived my new grandparents.  Their property was like a wonderland for my cousins and me.  They had a front yard with a little goldfish pond, a back yard with a wishing well, a swing,  huge oak trees, and a patio,  a side yard with pomegranate, crabapple, and mulberry trees, and orchard of apricot, peach, and plum trees and a huge garden in the back.  I still cannot say, to this day, how they were able to get so many wonderful things to grow in that dry West Texas soil.  Their place was an oasis.  To the other side, our neighbors were my dad’s brother and his wife and their two daughters, Jenny and Michelle.  Jenny was four and Michelle was six and we soon became playmates.  They had a large house, but we spent most of our time outside.

Dad had a Springer spaniel named Cain that ran around through the brush.  He always carried a slimy stick in his mouth and would fetch it if you threw it, no matter how far; and he did some other tricks that dad had taught him.  About every week he would come up with a new stick.  I guess the old ones got too slimy or fell apart or landed up where he could find them or get to them.  Jenny and Michelle had an English sheepdog named Lebo and an overweight Chihuahua named Benji.  Benji was mean and would bark and snarl and growl at everyone.  Lebo was bumbling and sweet, but he always had hair in his eyes.  Except for once or twice a year when he got shaved and then we got to see how skinny he really was.

Between my grandparent’s house, our house, and my cousin’s house we had about 10 acres of outside space to inhabit.  We zig zagged through the mesquite fields, climbed trees and ate fruit, and kept company with the outside dogs.  Mom and dad were often busy with building projects, and my dad also played in a band, so there was a lot of socializing and practicing.  It was summer, but as my cousins began talking about school, I became anxious as to whether I would get to go, too.  I had been in daycare since the age of six months, but school sounded different, and I knew it would be wonderful.

Dad adopted me, and I had a new family.