" I am pretty sure you deserved that beating!"

I am not old per say...I am officially middle age now....I remember my parents at the age I am now.....maybe I am old?

When I hear people say they were born in the 80's... or....the dreaded 90's....seriously there is nothing worse than sitting in one of my classes at school and hearing the birthdate of a fellow student is the year I graduated high school....damn whipper snappers and their youthful glow!

So my generations parents still believed in the corporal punishment..meaning...getting your butt whipped for wrong doings. There was no such thing as time out, or meaningful psychiatric sessions on why you decided to shave the dog with your mothers razor....you were not allowed to defend yourself....you were guilty before proven innocent.

And normally most people around my relative age or older have that story....you know that....

 "STORY"

That "Story" you pull out during the holidays in the presence of your parents about that unjustified beating you received as a child. You share the ghastly experience with much flair, oomph, and pizazz, about the injustice of pain that was brought down upon you, and how you will never forget it.

and normally your parents reaction is a blank stare followed up by the statement ....

"I am sure you deserved the beating!"

...and then they share several other examples of beatings that may have been justified...like painting your bedroom wall with Vaseline or shutting the family dogs tail in the door....

..and there you are left with no justice or apology..just various examples of wrong doings of your childhood....so you tuck it away in your back pocket to bring up at the next family celebration in hopes your parents will see the wrongs of their way.

My father shared his "STORY" while at a family reunion... and I even took a picture of the scene of the punishment or crime against humanity ....whatever you want to call it....

Lets face it, everyone has that "STORY", and we all understand and listen to these "STORIES" because we all have one and feel their injustice.

My father was playing in this area with his cousin. There was an old abandoned car that was his grandfathers that sat here, and the kids would play in the car. You can't see in the photo but there is a creek that runs through town, and it is a steep V shape,the walls are concrete with jagged rocks all along it. Well my dads mom brought my dads younger brother, and their other cousin outside, and asked my dad to watch after them. My dad states, that his mother looked at Miles (my dads brother) and Brenda ( my dads cousin) before going back inside and told them to stay away from the creek. About this time his other cousin (Cheryl) is having a hard time opening the car door on the abandoned car so my dad begins to help her, and he is just tall enough to see over the hood of the car, to see Brenda take Miles hand go to the edge of creek and fall down the steep concrete walls down to the creek and out of sight of my dad. Brenda did not let go, she took Miles with her. Miles was young, maybe 4 at most. Dad goes to the creek and Brenda is a little scrapped up, but just wet, but his baby brother was tumbling down the creek with reckless abandon. Luckily Mile's caught the edge of a rock further down the creek and washed up the side of the concrete walls. He had blood pouring from his head and face, he was beat up.

My dad gets him, and walks him back to the house. By this time his mom was outside, and here comes dad with his bloody baby brother in tow. Which by the way, Miles still has a scar on his chin from this incident.

Now here is where the "STORY" part is. It was technically Brenda's fault..but here is the problem, Brenda is mentally handicapped...so not really accountable...so who is accountable...the one left in charge even though he could have done nothing to prevent it. Brenda was patted on the head and asked if she was okay and then my dads mother picked him up, and as he says, "gave him the beating of his life!" ...and then his aunt (Brenda's mother) comes outside and pats Brenda on the head and then proceeds to pick up my dad and beat him also. So not just one beating, but two were given that day, even though it was Brenda's fault.

If my grandmother and great aunt were still alive I am sure their response would be.......

"I am sure he deserved the beating!"

So this takes place in 1950's now lets fast forward to about 1980 or so....and let me share my "STORY".

I know my mom thinks I am going to share the "Christmas/Ungrateful Brat" incident....

That "STORY" is debatable..I got my butt beat...it was more my sisters fault that things escalated.... but she was past the butt beating age... so I was the one that got the wrath of a haggard, tired mother on Christmas day.....It is a "STORY" but there is some reasonable doubt involved in that "STORY".....because I may, or may not have, kicked my sister in the shin at some point in that "STORY".....

Anyways I have a "STORY" where there is no reasonable doubt....I was beat, punished,....and...dare I say tortured.....

That is right...my parents probably have the quizzical look on their face right now...this was moms doing...so dad your off the hook.

Children of the 80's remember the beloved Hot Cycle?

Mine was that girl one.....with the blue and pink.....I loved that thing!!

So I had just gotten that beloved cycle, and me and the neighbor girl were playing together. We were taking turns on the bike and then this neighbor girl decided to no longer share MY bike...she would not give it back...so we began to argue back and forth. My mom must have heard us arguing, she came outside, grabbed me, and beat my butt in front of this neighbor girl, and then told me to go inside. Mom let this girl ride my Hot Cycle the rest of the day. I was sharing...the neighbor girl was not sharing.......and she was rewarded... and I was beat.

My mother does not have a response for this story, she decided to go with,

 "I don't remember doing that, that never happened!"......

The ol' I don't remember angle..uh huh....

It is my "STORY" and I remember it like it was yesterday.


I bring all this up because in one of the twins classes they exchange a journal back and forth with their teacher. One of the questions the teacher asked was, "What has been the worst day your life"..... The response of the twin was...

... the day she was sent to her room... not once,......not twice...but three times for various things that were not her fault!

So I am prepared and I am armed for the day when we are sitting around ...when they are adults with their own children...and she brings up this day of infamy in her head...

...the day injustice was done to her......and shares her "STORY" with me....

and I can say.......

"I am pretty sure you deserved it!"

Let Me Tell You A Little Bit About A Man I Have Never Met.

Do you have those months that seem to go by like a blur? This last month was crazy busy...between work, the girls and I going back to school, and all the other daily life tasks that need to be done. I am not ready to discuss the minor anxiety attacks I already have had over school. I just keep trying telling myself to take a deep breath and relax ....but some days my body and head are not working together in a calm organized fashion.

Anyways I had a weekend trip to look forward to ...take my mind off of conversions and ratio exams for pharmacology. I had planned a trip to my dads childhood home. My dad did not live there his whole childhood but it is the place he calls home. I have not lived in Idaho since seventh grade and yet I always call Idaho home..so... Creede, Colorado is his home.

 

 

The reason for going was a family reunion. The Miles/Fairchild reunion....my great grandmother divorced and remarried a Fairchild so like most families nowadays it was a blended family. It is kind of funny because you can tell which side of the family people came from. The Fairchild side had  fair features..blue eye's, fair hair... and the Miles side exudes their Native American dark features...dark eye's and dark hair. 

 

 

This is the first time my dad has been back since his grandmother passed away, which was in the mid 70's. I think it brought back a flood of memories...good memories and memories of those who have since passed on. I personally have not met most of my dads family, I grew up with my dads brothers, and my grandma, a great aunt... that was virtually like a grandma, and some of my dads cousins ....but that was about it. It was finally a chance to connect all the stories I have heard over the years with faces and places.

 

My dads side of the family that I grew up around was loud, amazing story tellers, they drank a lot, teased ruthlessly, swore profusely,  and laughter was never lacking. They were big huggers, amazing cooks, and overall kind people. The Creede family...the family I have never met.. was exactly like the family that I grew up around. It is a blend of families... some look like the Miles side and some look like the Fairchild side..ultimately they are all family and come together as one.

 

I have stories I could share, and pictures to go along with them,  I want to share some because for me this is a journal in a sense and I don't want to forget some of things I heard this weekend....but homework is sitting next to me, calling my name, so stories will wait another day. However, tonight I would like to share one part of my trip and I think the most memorable.

 

 

My dads father passed away when my dad was a young teen. Talk about moments in your life that forever change you. He died of a heart attack, so it was sudden. The last time my dad has been in this spot is basically June 21, 1963. My grandpa was buried in Cedaredge, Colorado...not in Creede. His family lived in this town and kind of took over the funeral arrangements and he ended up here, but I think most in the family agree he would have preferred being buried in Creede.

 

I obviously never met my Grandfather. So here is what I have been told....

 

...his first name was Butler...but no one called him that ...he went by Bryan..his middle name

 

 

 

He worked in the mines...He is the one in the middle of the picture below.

 

 



 

My dad remembers him working the mines but my dad mostly remembers him being an Asayer in the mines. This is the guy who chemically figures out how much silver, gold, zinc etc was being mined in a particular spot.Below is a picture of the kind of equipment he used.

 

He helped construct and owned this theater in Creede.

 

 

 

He helped with the plans and construction of the local school. Apparently the mob came to town while building the school trying to convince my grandfather that it needed to be unionized. My grandfather said no, so they sent out a golden gloves boxer from out east to convince him otherwise....it did not go as planned..my grandfather knocked out the boxer in one punch...not so smart to mess with hard rock miners...they were as tough as the granite on the hills.

 

 



 

 

He loved my grandmother and my grandmother loved him. My grandmother gave me her wedding ring from my grandpa before she passed away..... I wear it on occasion.....

 

 

Friends and family said everyone loved him. He was fun and personable and all around a great guy. He is in the hat...second from the left....

 

 

 He was an undersheriff in Creede ( which is a deputy in Colorado ) also the coroner...It was a small town...everyone had a few jobs in town....One of my dads cousins is an undersheriff in town now. Just carrying on family tradition.

 

 



 

He loved his boys...his boys loved him...

 

 

He liked bourbon or whiskey. My dad has his Zippo lighter that he sat and flipped open and closed...sort of a habit of his...the lighter reminds my father of him....

 

So here is what I know..though I have never met my grandfather...I know he was there when my sister and I were born. He was there for holidays and when family came together to celebrate. He was there when I got married and when my babies were born.

 

...and.....

 

...I know he was there....

 

...when my father and I stood by his grave... and buried an amethyst stone from Creede beside his grave.....

 

...We brought a little piece of the place he loved back to him....

 

B. Bryan Beck  1912-1963

 

 

 

 

 



"When Wonder Woman Left Me, and Napoleon Dynamite Took Over."

As a kid I was invincible...nobody could tell me otherwise....In fact I had a pair of Wonder Woman Underoos set that told me I was invincible. I proudly wore these underwear and camisole everywhere around the house, and if I added accessories such as gold bracelets and a cape, I felt the outfit was suited for outside apparel...much to my older sisters embarrassment. Leana (the older sister) would stand in the front window yelling for mom to come get me because I was outside in my underwear.

Really..... she should have been happy because apparently on irrigation day ( you flooded your lawn with irrigation water instead of using sprinklers and it left a lake of water on your lawn) ...I would run naked with the neighbor boy through the water. So at least with Underoos on, I was wearing something.


I am going to get off track here for a moment and discuss the irrigation water. So our neighbors behind us had a pool, and you could hear them diving off their diving board, yelling Marco...Polo..., and splashing about. We did not have a pool...we had dirty canal water. Our solution...pull out heavy duty garbage bags and make a "Redneck" slip and slide out of it.....when I look back on this memory all that comes to mind is....

..."You Might be Redneck If...."......

 
Anyways  back to my train of thought......I continued going through childhood with this same invincibility attitude...

...and then junior high hit......

So let me paint a picture. I moved to Utah in junior high...

I went from a fairly small town where I knew everyone to a big city and didn't know anybody. I was going through that weird puberty/ awkward body time. It was the 80's so I was sporting a horrendous perm. I had this perm right before I left Idaho. I believe I had it done at the local mall, and for some reason back then they found the smallest rods, and did your whole head including bangs.

So I may be exaggerating but I am pretty sure I looked something look this...

I am sure I have actual pictures around here but it was a traumatic time in my life and I try to block this period of time out of my memories. So in Utah the style was more like.....

which also looked stupid but in junior high you just want to look like everyone else.....and once again I may exaggerating but I am pretty sure I looked something like this....

I made it through Junior High...I survived...I lost my invincibility mojo along the way...I was no longer Wonder Women in my head....it changed me..


My twin daughters start junior high this year. I had anxiety walking into the school. All those years of hell flashed through my head. I felt my anxiety growing as they couldn't figure out how to open their lockers, they couldn't find where their classrooms were going to be, and they had to take their yearbook photo that day and none of us knew that....they were not picture ready....

and then...

I saw other kids struggling to open their lockers, unaware pictures were going to be taken, and confused about where their classrooms were going to be...

aaahhh junior high...that place where all your super hero attitudes seep away...

...that place where you learn just how vulnerable you truly are...

The twins will survive...they may come out a little bruised and battered like we all did...

...maybe....

I should take them to the mall this weekend and see about getting them...

..a perm.....

Childhood Magic

....See this is my opinion we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds, and read the clouds, and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic chopped right out our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God's sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they'd allowed to wither in themselves....

~Robert R McCammon

This story has spread across the internet, and I think like everyone who has watched it...it touched my heart.

It brings make memories for all of us...our childhood imagination....the carefree magic of childhood.

We are burdened with the responsibilities of life and we feel ourselves being pulled further from the imaginative world that we saw as a child.

However....there are moments...moments where a smell, a song, or a picture conjures up distant memories of childhood mindfulness.

Watch Caine's Arcade...watch a father who allows his boy to be a precocious child and never hinders his imagination...be touched by this boys determination......

smile at the magic  Caine brought to East L.A. .................

enjoy....



Memories

You know what I love about old pictures. It is not the picture of me but what is in the background and the memories that each of them have. I remember the shirt that my sister is wearing, that couch, the curtains and of course the dog, Vader. I think my dad swore at that dog more then any other dog we owned.

This is me dancing in my Aunt Wanda's living room. My Grandma Viv and Grandpa Mac are sitting on the couch.They both have passed away. I remember the shirt I am wearing. My parents went to Reno and I stayed with my grandma Viv while they were gone. They brought me that shirt and a stuffed animal that was a lion. I am sure music was playing and that is why I am dancing. There was always music and dancing and laughter in Aunt Wanda's home.

I still have these shelves. They are now in my family room. Our family dog Robbie. I remembered the day she died, my heart broke that day. The stereo in the back ground. I used to sit on my living room floor and listen to scooby-doo stories on records. I remember that dress and the one my sister is wearing

This picture was also taken at my Aunt Wanda's. She always had something to give you to eat. She always made me honey and peanut butter sandwiches. She was a wonderful cook and this picture reminds me so much of her. She had a laugh that makes me smile when I think of it.

Those are the feet of my Grandpa Howell. He was a kind man who loved us kids. I used to cheat when I played the card game old maid with him until he figured it out and beat me at my own game.

My first pet. His name was Tweety. I loved that bird! He loved gum and would attack you if you knew you had gum in your mouth. He had a bell in his cage that he thought was his mate and he once got his toe caught in that bell and had a deformed toe because of it.

This was the house I was raised in. The wheelchair in the background was my Grandmother Howell's. I never knew her I was two when she passed away. My daughter Kaitlynn's middle name is named after her, Ruth. I wish I would have had a chance to get to know her. I also never meet my fathers father, he passed away when my father was young. I am glad my children know all their grandparents and even a few great-grandparents.

That light in the background was my Grandpa Howell's camera to make home movies. He loved technology. He would have loved all the computer, and digital things we have now a days. All us kids would scatter when we saw that light come out because it would blind you. In all the home movies we are squinting. I am glad he made those movies. They are all wonderful memories.