Memories

I remember the day my brother Mike came home.  It was late June in 1957.  I was 2 years and 4 months old.  Of course I don't remember everything.  I must have been staying at grandma's house while mom was giving birth.  They laid him on grandma's brown  davenport ( that's what we called the couch).  I remember that I was not impressed with him.  The very first time I saw him and he needed his poopy diaper changed.

Several days later, my second memory.  It would have been early July.  My dad wakes us up and takes us to the storm cellar.  A tornado.  I didn't understand anything, but I remember.

I lived in a small house in Maxwell, Iowa for the first year or so of my life.  I don't remember anything except the stories.  They called me terrible Terry.  My parents were so young.  Dad used to tell mom she needed to watch me better so when he was supposed to be watching me and I took off down the middle of the road he found out how hard it is to watch a runaway toddler and I got a swat on the butt.

Dad tells me that we moved from that little 3 room house ( it had an outhouse) when my brother Steve arrived.  I do not remember this! We moved to Uncle Doc's farm. Uncle Doc was my grandpa Scott's youngest brother.  Grandpa was one of 11 children.  Uncle Doc was a bachelor. His farm house had 4 bedrooms and a huge bathroom.  I lived there until we moved to Nevada when I was 5.  We had a TV and a dog, plenty to eat, clothes to wear, plenty of love and attention.  My mom had me and my 2 brothers 1 year apart, 3 kids by the time she was 20.  It was a happy time for me.  We used to dress up the dog in my doll's clothes.  My favorite doll was soft plastic and had plastic hair.  This is the same doll my brothers used for target practice, colored with markers and basically totally destroyed when we were teenagers.

My mother killed a skunk.  I confess I am not sure if I remember the event or the story of the event.  I know our dog had to be put down because he fought with the skunk.  My mother killed it by throwing a flashlight at it.  It's a good story.  I believe it.

I was sitting under the kitchen table while my mother was working, cooking, cleaning?  My brother Steve came running past me.  Blood was running down his face.  The explanation is that he was running around behind the big old oil stove in the living room and slit his head open on the damper.  I don't remember if we had to take him to the doctor.

We had plum trees on Uncle Doc's farm and my mom made plum jelly.

I got sick to my stomach after eating a banana and have never liked them since.

When I had a cold( I was sick a lot) mom would have me rest in her bedroom.  She left the cough syrup next to the bed and every time I coughed, I took another swig.

I used to play with my belly button.  I had an innie-outie.  It drove mom crazy.  I still don't know why it was such a big deal.

My first dog's name was George.  The one that replaced him was named George the 2nd.  You will see a pattern later that started right here.

I went to kindergarten roundup in Maxwell, but I never went to school there.  We moved during the summer before I started kindergarten.

Maxwell was where I first went to church.  It was where every other house on Main Street belonged to one of my Scott relatives.  There was a movie theater where we saw Francis the Talking Mule movies and Grandpa would buy us a bubble gum cigar at the grocery store.  Looking back, everyone was white.  As far as I know everyone was Christian.  Adults were there to take care of you, teach you, scold you, love you.

More later.....