Isn't it funny how old memories are suddenly revived and awakened out of the clear blue?  If you are like me, you find yourself wondering what made you remember the oddest and funniest things from your childhood.  Speaking for myself, there are thousands of these memories.

Yesterday as my husband and I were driving, I noticed an old truck in front of us - I think it was a 1950 Ford or Chevy truck and I instantly recalled fun times riding with my father to the local dump.  My father was not a lazy man and strongly believed in staying busy and productive.  He had projects going all the time. No one should relax during the daytime!

Occasionally I was allowed to ride with him to the dump.  It seemed like the dump was a long ride away and it was always a treat to ride in that truck high in the front seat.  Once at the dump I was fascinated in watching the huge tractors rearrange the garbage, belching smoke and making incredible noise, and then looking up to see the moving cloud of seagulls.  And the smell...that distinctive stench of rotting garbage. It was a whole different world for me.

Of course I was never allowed to get out of the truck.  "It's not a place for children to roam around" admonished my father.  Of course when my brother got his turn to take a dump ride with Father, he (Mark) would excitedly report to me the delight he had in being able to get out of the truck and "help" Father pull out the trash out of the truck at the dump site.

 Father's explanation was that because Mark was a boy, it was "different" and boys were expected to get out and help with the unloading at the dump- but girls must stay in the truck at all times.  I never believed that baloney and thought it was pretty unfair....particularly since Mark would hide behind Father and laugh at me while I was being reminded of my place as a girl.

When I was about 5 or 6, I remember a memorable ride to the dump. I had my coloring book with me and I was busy with the coloring of a page (creating art in my mind) as we traveled along -and once we got on the dirt road, the ride became pretty bumpy.  I complained that this bumpy ride was causing me to go out of the lines! Maybe I was too loud, maybe I was out of line to even think of lodging such a complaint, I didn't know for sure, but what I did know was that my coloring book was suddenly ripped out of my hands and in an instant, it disappeared out the window!

Father was clearly angry and this is probably my first memory of his famous line ..."who do you think you are around here, the big cheese????".  I didn't even like cheese then, let alone understand what he meant, but the tone of his voice told me he was angry.

I sobbed over the loss of my art portfolio and we silently continued to the dump site.  As he got out to empty the truck, he handed me back my coloring book!  I was astounded at the magic of its reappearance!

It was a few years before I realized that the driver exterior door latch was a perfect place to slide in a rolled up coloring book while allowing your child to learn a lesson.

I am still not 100% sure what the lesson was supposed to be but I was smart enough to never again (well, not till I was a teen) mouth off to my father.  He considered that kind of complaining the same as being a smart-aleck and that was never, ever allowed in our home.  We kids had our place and we were expected to know exactly what and where that was.

Things have really changed....today kids are allowed to scream at the top of their lungs in the store at their parents ("well, they are frustrated and must be allowed to express this" explain the parents, despite the fact that every other patron in the store is going crazy listening to racket), make actual demands of their parents ("you need to take me to school now or I'll be late!") and worse, the parents seem to do it!

Wonder why this generation have become sloths and believing they are deserving of everything they desire?  Maybe they should ride in a truck with a strict father once in a while.....

My parents were strict.  More than strict, they were concerned about control. Control over me, especially.

I don't really know if this was a sign of the times or just because my parents were control freaks.  (truthfully it's probably more of the latter).  As an adult I began referring to them as Bob and Gwen (their first names) rather than dad and mom because it gave me an odd sense of freedom from their heavy "thumb".  Trust me, it will make for a far more entertaining story to hear them referred to as Bob and Gwen.

Gwen was a spoiled little girl growing up.  She came from a financially comfortable family and was the apple of her father's eye. She worshiped her father, (my beloved grandfather) Joe. She and her mother, my lovely grandmother Mimi, were very close as well. According to Joe's stories, when Gwen was growing up, she never got a spanking - instead she was taken behind a shed and Joe would bend her over his knee and slap his own hand and Gwen would howl and express remorse for whatever wrongdoing she had done.  Humm....well, it makes for a good story and apparently Gwen believed it in the retelling.  Regrettably, very little of Joe's techniques about sensitive punishments came through her as a mother...

Bob came from a poor family of 8 boys and one girl and he was the youngest. Growing up in the depression with a gloomy distant father and German mother with a heavy accent must have had its challenges.  His older brothers raised him and they remained close as adults. Bob was in the Navy for two tours and rarely would talk about his experiences while on a destroyer during WW II.  Soon after discharge, he met Gwen, and it was love at first sight.  They married within a year and were still on their honeymoon when Bob died.  They were devoted to each other, to the exclusion of all others.  Including the kids.

 

Bob, a self made successful businessman (with only a high school education), worked hard all his life and he (and his teachings) will be most of the focus of this blog.

He was colorful to say the least.  He was very vocal about his beliefs.  He was determined that his children follow his rules which according to him were the only right way to live.  He was harsh and strict yet when you would least expect it, he could be kind and understanding.  Sloth and playing inside on a sunny day was verboten.  Watching TV during the daylight hours?  Unheard of!