I went to the picture shows as far back as I can remember, maybe as young as 6 years. My brother went with me and he was a year younger. I could escape into the darkness with my coca cola and popcorn and dream for awhile that I was one of the people on the screen. I became Margaret O’Brien who was looking for her dad in every man who crossed her path all the while sobbing away and never comforted. We always stayed for all shows because back in the 40’s they played all day. Someday, I believed my father would come rescue me.
Whenever mother was around, which wasn’t often because she worked many jobs. I, with my heightened sense of drama from watching so many movies, envisioned her as a beautiful princess who loved me unconditionally and always wanted to be with me. I remember her telling us stories at bedtime she made up about candy land with ice cream mountains and gum drop trees and singing to us.
Grandma, however was ever present. She never left except once a month when her checks came in the mail. I was afraid of her. I thought she looked like a witch because she always wore black clothes and had a mean expression, and she was mean to Larry and I. She tied him to a chair and once locked him in the kitchen cupboard when he wouldn’t mind. As soon as we started going to school, I in first grade and Larry in kindergarten, we were always outside playing to escape. She would call to us and we would be hiding in back of the garage snickering.
She made me wear ugly brown boys shoes with long stockings and garters that pinched my skinny legs all winter. I couldn’t wait until Easter so I could take them off and run barefoot. My friend Sue, who lived up the street wore white patent leather mary janes with white ankle socks and I used to wish for some. I also wanted a Margaret O’Brien velvet bonnet with feathers. But, I was a tom boy and played in the dirt and hung around my brother and his friends. Once, I got a white puppy which I named Snowball. Grandma made me keep it in a box on the back porch. One day I came home from school and it was covered in maggots and was dead. I still remember how I felt but there was no kindness shown and I did not feel I could cry over my dog. I don’t remember ever crying when I fell and skinned my knees or when I was made fun of at school by bullies because I showed my new sundress and matching bloomers to my teacher and was laughed at. I instinctively knew it was not the thing to do. It remains so with me in my 79th year.Don’t feel, and do not, under any circumstances cry or show feelings.
I was pretty much a stifled child when it came to expressing feelings. I am not much better at it today. It was more important that I do what was expected of me but the pressure would build to a point and then I would do something that would get me in trouble with someone, either at home or at school. But that hope still remained that my father would someday come to the door and gather me up and we would leave together. I never once considered my brother leaving with us. It would be all for me. I never thought I would miss my mother, my grandmother or my life. Everything would be transformed into a lovely movie version of my new life.
Forward many years from the forties to nineteen nineties. I persuade my husband of many years ( how I pulled that off I will never know), to drive me to where I now know my father lives, four hours away. Now you have to understand, my husband never does anything unless it will benefit him in some way, shape or form. So this was a miracle in itself. So he agrees and we make the long drive to the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. We arrived in the small town of Independence, Kansas and on main street find the Arby’s restaurant. I went in and asked where the street was and if they knew Everett Slater. Yes, they did and gave me clear directions. It was close by. Driving up on a quiet street I see a small white house with a chocolate brown Ford Vic parked by the curb. How neat and well cared for was the house and yard and I immediately feel frightened and intimidated. I know I shouldn’t be here, intruding and being where I’m not wanted. But, Dave parks the car and I can’t displease him either after driving the distance so I get out and walk up the sidewalk. I notice the rather large home next door in disrepair, is for sale. Stepping onto the porch I feel weak in the knees and ring the doorbell. My feelings are so shut down I feel frozen with fear. I hear footsteps and the door opens and I see a small white haired elderly kindly appearing man with a big nose. He asks, “May I help you”? Oh my! I blurt out, “Hi, my name is Sharon Shutts ( one of my friends) and I am interested in the house next door.” He said, ” Well, come right in. I know the people and will call them to get information for you.” I walk into my father’s home and see a small birdlike woman wearing a red wig, sitting on a couch. He said, ” this is my wife Della. She is home from the nursing home for the weekend. She has cancer.” “Della, this lady is interested in buying the house next door.” I’m thinking, this is the same woman who pulled a gun and threatened to shoot my mother. She said,” Oh, maybe you can move in and come to visit us every day.” My heart was beating so hard I thought they could both hear it and I almost felt I would pass out from sheer terror. Everett went to phone the owners of the house and I sat down. I do not honestly remember the conversation at that point but I knew if I did not leave soon I would betray myself and they would order me from their home and never darken their door again. So I remember standing and saying I need to go but may I hug you both? They both smiled and I hugged my Dad for the first and last time in my life and his. I also hugged her and said goodbye and I left. I remembered that Everett said he would be taking here back to the nursing home the next day and I asked Dave if we could stay so I could talk to my father. He said no and as always I accepted and dealt with the no. Dave was like that. But, I had been given still, a great gift. I actually met my father in real life. He was a part of me and I, him. No one or nothing could ever change that. Another piece of the puzzle of me was added.
I will always know that this was a God thing, serendipity, because the following year he passed away at 91 years of age. Did he somehow suspect who I was. I like to think so. Someday I believe we will meet again and really know one another.
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