Baby's Own Story

205 North Franklin Street....where my story began...

My parents, Ernest and Olive were married on January 20, 1946.  My father returned as a recently discharged war veteran on New Year's Day and my mother had resigned her position  at the office of the Farm Security Administration.  They purchased a home and began their lives together.

Their courtship days before World War II were happy, exciting ones.  My parents loved to dance at the Lakeside Ballroom, exchanged letters (I have many of their "love" letters) and I giggle as I read them.  They lived only 30 miles apart and spending time with their large families meant laughter and fun!  They made a handsome couple....a beautiful stylish brunette and a dapper young fellow who loved to dress up in suits and drive the finest of cars.  My father was full of fun to be around yet more on the quiet side while my independent mother kept the relationship rocking and rolling!

My mother was four years older than my father, so they decided to start a family right away and were so excited to be expecting their first child in December.  As I mentioned in another blog, a favorite photo of mine is of a very pregnant lady being hugged by a very proud man.

The war years changed most everyone.  My father was in the infantry and in nearly every famous battle.  My mother kept a scrapbook and a list of every "move" he made during the war.  My father didn't like to talk about the war...once when I asked him what it was like he said, "Horror, sheer horror - I sat in a fox hole for five days with my friend who had his head shot off."  He said he never wanted to talk about it again and I never asked.  Like so many of our war veterans, they suffered from post traumatic shock disorder.  I didn't know what PTSD was as that time but now I realize that PTSD took it's toll on my father and something inside of him died. 

Men and women returned from the war...sweethearts waiting....oh my gosh...the beginning of the baby boomer generation!  The problem was that many of the men and women returned as wounded physically and/or psychologically and the women and men had expectations that their relationships would be the same as before the war. 



Dorothy Bell 5 Months Old

 I arrived on December 2, 1946 at 7:40am at the Minnewaska Hospital.  I weighed 6#11oz and was 20" long.  My eyes were dark blue around the edges and light blue in the center - my hair was brown (which lightened to blonde during the summer).  My birth was cause for celebration and parties.  I was baptized in the Lutheran  Church on January 26, 1947.  My baptism, was written up in the local newspaper stating that over 30 guests were present to honor "Miss Dorothy Bell"!  I still have my baptism dress and keep telling myself that I need to have it framed.  My mother wrote in my baby book that I was a very pretty baby and had a dark brown freckle on the back of my head near my hair line.  It's still there!

My mother was very detailed in writing about me in my baby book.  It's a good thing that 205 North Franklin was a fairly large home 'cause there were lots of parties there to celebrate a myriad of occasions.

I was a precocious little rascal talking and walking by the time I was ten months old.  In my book my mother called me a "climber".  She had a hard time keeping me down from chairs, tables, stairs and that I'd had some pretty bad falls.  (I might add that my mother was pregnant with my brother who was born when I was 11 months old.)   My falls were many -- out of my baby buggy, high chair, down the stairs at home and down the basement stairs.  Who was watching me?  I know that my mother told me that I was hard for her to handle and that I drove her crazy with all my whys, hows, and read to me (I loved books and still do).  After doing much research, I think that my mother went from an independent, busy lady to a stay at home mom and motherhood wasn't quite what she pictured it would be.  No Pampers in those days and washing machines were the old wringer type.  Clothes were washed then hung outside to dry in the summer and in the basement in the winter.  With one active little girl of eleven months, my mother gave birth to a baby boy who had colic and didn't sleep for 3 months.  She told me that she was exhausted and my father was working as much overtime as he could at the Soo Line Railroad to support a family of 4.  Life began to get more and more difficult for my mother.

One night I came downstairs and found my mother crying and smoking a cigarette (my mother was a closet smoker).  I put my arms around her and asked her why she was crying...she said that my father was at the gas station with the guys (which he did most nights) and she was lonely.  I kissed her on the cheek, told her I loved her, and she said, "Off to bed, young lady!"  I can close my eyes and remember that event quite vividly.  My mother was sad a lot when I was little.  She missed working, she missed adult conversation, she missed the awards and praises she received as a "star performer" at the Farm Security Administration.  Motherhood meant work and not much praise.

When I began my childhood trauma counseling, it was pretty rough because I had so many blank spots in my life.  When I started writing in my journal with my left hand something strange began to happen...I wrote as a child.  I wrote in broken sentences and when something painful would start to come to mind, I would quickly change the subject.  At first, I could only write for a few minutes...later the snapshots began to appear and that's when my work got tough.  I wanted my family to be perfect..I wanted to be the cause of the problems because then I could fix them.  It didn't take me long to realize that I couldn't fix other people.  I needed to face the truth!  That was really tough.  With a father with PTSD and a depressed mother our family became one of secrets - neglect and emotional abuse.  I lived a shame based existence.



Me & Teddy Want to Dance

 The journal I chose was the I Hope You Dance Journal written by Mark D. Sanders & Tia Sillers.  I love the story at the beginning of the journal - I Hope You Dance and the beginning of the journal:  By the powers vested in me by me I say "Brain, start your engines!  Nonbelievers, shut your yaps!  Ready or not, here I write." 

It took a lot of courage to plot my course and keep digging.  I believe that God created me to persevere.  I am not here to judge and the words I write come from flashbacks, ancestry.com, tapping, and interviews with as many as would speak with me.  With truth has come pain BUT there has also come a peace when the anger and mourning turned to acceptance and compassion.  It's ok to say "What you did hurt me" and still love that person.

This week I had a Cervical Discogram so I've had a few days of rest and time to think about my dream board.  I haven't had a real vacation in many years other than to visit my kids...I'm thinking that I would like to go to Fredricksburg besides making a trip to Minnesota and to Florida.  I like to think BIG!



My cousin Phillip & I wish you a Great Day!!

Chat with you tomorrow!  May your dreams come true and your blessings be many!