Until seven years old, I slept in a small sort of hallway room, off the living room. A stairs on one side led to the upstairs bedrooms where the older boys slept. The room had an entrance on either end and was mainly used as to pass thru to the bathroom, the one and only bathroom in the house. It was certainly not a private room.
A curtain for a door was usually pulled back left open to make it easier to pass through. The small room had recessed shelving nook with open book shelves. On the shelves were a few books, one large really big book called The Martyrs Mirror, a dictionary, bibles, family books, our German Prayer and an array of songbooks. On one shelf was a wooden keepsake box containing old hand-written notes, obituaries, native American arrowheads, some photographs, and a few other trinkets.
There was one book, a special thick blue story book that she covered in clear plastic bound with scotch tape to preserve the books. It was a common practice to cover the front and back with clear plastic over the front and back cover on our favorite and most used commonly did to keep books nice and last well through eight children. This particular book was a children’s book called “Stories of the Bible.” Beginning at the garden of eden, following through the dreadful old testament stories and on through the entire new testament. Graphic colorful pictures reinforced the frightful stories from the old testament.
My mother bribed me with a five-dollar bill, if I read it all the way through cover to cover. I’ve often wondered what I did with the five bucks. Reading this book set a foundation that has been helpful to understand the sequence of stories and events of the bible. Some of the graphic pictures of the horrific old testament mythology, still live in me sixty years later. They endure not as stories of endearment, or of a loving god but rather quite the opposite! This was one mean god not to be messed with! And… he just happened to favor one singular bloodline of people.
The room had a window facing east toward the barn. One entire week I was housebound, stuck inside with the chicken pox. The room had a window facing toward the barn where my pet goat soon understood where I was hiding out. Through the open the window we nattered and chattered to pass the time. I’d toss things for him to chew and eat. or try to eat anything! It was not an easy time being still and staying in bed. Billy helped pass the time!
When I was eight years old, I moved to a room upstairs at the head of the stairs. Finally I was upstairs upstairs but… once again in a small pass through sitting room at the head of the stairs. Having a room upstairs however was significant, a sort of a rite of passage, signifying that I was growing up. At least grown up enough to be upstairs totally away from mom and dad. Hardly alone though, usually there were two or three of us all in the same bed.
But the spring of 1961 brought a big change to our family. My two oldest brothers got married that spring. Willie married Edna Raber in February and John married Esther Miller in April, only two months apart of the same year. Their leaving home meant that I would move once again. This time though, into the large upstairs room that had two regular sized beds. This room was my bedroom along with brothers Bob and Perry until age twenty, when I left home and moved to Goshen Indiana.
Easy Rider Poster
Around sixteen years old, with permission I repainted all the woodwork, and remodeled the bedroom to suit my taste. Mom helped me install new wallpaper that was a most unusual red white and blue design. It was loud, funky, sort of hippie protesting the American flag. I’ve always been astonished that mom and dad allowed this “really far out” wall paper in their home. Friends loved to hang out in my bedroom, listen to music and play guitar. At one time a there was a cheap but complete drum set, all set up and ready for anyone to play. My friend Elton especially loved banging away on those drums!
I had three posters on the walls that I recall. One was an “Easy Rider” poster with the defiant counter culture rebel Peter Fonda on a motorcycle. The second was a poster of a panda sitting on a sharp tipped fence with the caption, ”if it feel good do it” Mom questioned that particular poster a few times saying, “that poster can give a wrong impression” The third poster was of an very old bent over guy, carrying a heavy load on his back with the caption “Keep on Truckin”
An eight track tape player and speakers on a white shelf, an antique oval shaped library table and chair stood along one wall for reading and writing…writing many many letters addressed west bound for Middlebury Indiana. All these letters still exist, both mine and Patricia’s, and to this day have never been re-read. Perhaps someday when I’m old and gray, we may just open those boxes of letters… letters that will reveal the unfolding of a beautiful Love Story! I get a queasy feeling of nostalgia just thinking about taking that trip back in time. The deep emotions that such a day will bring, keeps the letters unread! Someday!
Pablo