sisters
Writing about my own birthday seems…odd somehow. I was due on April 27th, which is my dad’s birthday, but I was…to quote what my dad used to say about me…stubborn, and I refused to arrive on schedule. Ok, ok, I know I’m a stubborn person…I always was, and it has not always been a bad thing. I stubbornly stick to something until I succeed at it, which in my opinion is a good thing. Still, my stubbornness wasn’t always completely welcomed in my parents house, when I was younger.
I was a debater, which my parents always called arguing…imagine that!! I simply had my own ideas, and somehow I think they just didn’t understand that. My dad probably gave me a little more leeway on the debates than my mom would have liked, and much more than my sisters expected me to live through. But, somehow, I survived my childhood, without my parents killing me for my stubbornness, and managed to move into adulthood.
I think it was in my adulthood that I grew into my stubbornness, so to speak. I have always hated losing, and it was my stubbornness that makes me keep trying and working at something until I succeed at it. I have always felt that my stubbornness is a big part of why my marriage worked…that and the fact that Bob has the same kind of stubbornness that I do, and that he hates to lose too. Of course, like everyone who is married, I have read all kids of opinions on what makes a marriage work, but I believe that if you don’t stubbornly determine to make a marriage work, it simply won’t. No one can keep up with all the steps to a successful marriage…at least not if they are going to live life. You just have to love each other and decide that you will accept who your spouse is and learn to get along. Of course, loving your spouse involves some of the steps to a successful marriage, but I think they happen spontaneously…not by planning.
My stubbornness plays a role in my career too. It is what makes me work hard, and makes me determined to succeed. It is also that stubbornness that makes me fight for the health of those I love. As a caregiver, I hate to have to put my mom or in-laws in the hospital. I 
want them to be healthy, and it infuriates me when I can’t keep them healthy, but I rejoice when I am able to bring them home and watch them get strong again.
I know that most people look at stubbornness as being a negative thing, and something to be avoided, but not me. I have learned to live with my stubbornness, and even to be thankful for it. It has defined me so to speak. I suppose that is because there are good kinds of stubbornness and bad kinds of stubbornness, and I have chosen to make my stubbornness work in a good way.
I have known my brother-in-law since he was six years old. He was such a cute little boy, and he absolutely adored his big brother. Bob and Ron were the only boys in the family, and I guess to a degree that meant sticking together…especially with 4 sisters in the family. Ron is 14 years younger than Bob, so anything that Bob did was cool as far as Ron was concerned, right from the very start. Maybe that is why Ron thought I was ok too, when I came along. Of course, I don’t suppose it hurt anything that he got to go along on dates…or at least the ice cream ones.
When Bob and I got married, Ron was seven. He was excited about it, because by then, he and I had become good friends. In fact, I became a goal of sorts to Ron. Now, I know that sounds odd, but the goal was to get as tall as I was. For those of you who know me…well, you know that tall is not a word that could be used to describe me. At 5’2″ tall, it doesn’t take long for a boy to pass me in height. Nevertheless, that was Ron’s big goal.
Every time we went out to my in-law’s house, Ron wanted to measure to see if he was as tall as I was yet. I can’t tell you how many times we measured over the years, but I can tell you that it was a lot. I always humored him, telling him that he was getting up there. And he always loved it when the measurement showed that he had gained some height. He just knew that he would get there the next time.
As the years went by, Ron began to realize that this goal of his was going to take some time. It was at that time that he began to measure less, but still he didn’t quit. The measurements were more like every month or so. And as the months went by, I could see the writing on the wall. Very soon Ron’s goal would be met, and he would find out very quickly that 5’2″ wasn’t something to write home about.
Finally, that big day arrived. Ron measured, and found out that he was indeed as tall as me. I will never forget the look on his face. When he measured that day, and Ron finally discovered that he was as tall as I was, his face lit up with excitement. He had achieved a new level of manhood. Then, he looked at the rest of the adults in the room…most of whom were still taller than he was, and his expression changed. His face took on a look of disappointed surprise…it finally hit him. After all those long years of waiting and working to be as tall as I was really meant nothing at all, because it finally became very clear to Ron that 5’2″ is…well, short!!
In our family, as in lots of others I’m sure, when Christmas rolls around and the kids are all excited about presents, the chance to open a present early is a big deal. My sisters and I were no different. We wanted to open a present on Christmas Eve every year, and since my parents were just about as excited as we were, we always go to. There was, however, an ulterior motive for opening one gift early. You see there would be pictures taken on Christmas morning…and it was going to happen before anyone got dressed for the day, so the logical Christmas Eve gift was, of course…pajamas.
Every year we knew what was in the package before we opened it, but we were excited nevertheless. It was always so great getting new pajamas…that soft, new feeling. And even though we knew what the gift was, we didn’t know what they would look like. They might have been a night gown, or a top and pants, Baby-doll pajamas, or T-Shirt pajamas, it didn’t really matter. They were new and we always loved them.
When my girls came along, Bob and I continued the tradition. They always loved their new pajamas, and sometimes they were really special, because their grandma made them for the girls and their cousins. Really, what could be more cozy than being all snuggley and warm in a pair of flannel pajamas in front of a crackling fire on a cold winter night. Those were special days. The presents were all wrapped and the kids waited…impatiently for morning to arrive. The very air was filled with electricity.
It was always so hard to wait for Christmas morning to arrive, and even today I find it difficult. Watching my kids, and now my grandkids opening the gifts that I have searched high and low for, is so gratifying. And when you have found the totally awesome gift the anticipation makes it even harder to wait. So here we are…Christmas eve has arrived, and while I don’t give pajamas anymore, there will be a gift opened tonight, because it is tradition, and with each tradition comes the memories it creates, past, present, and future. Who knew way back then what those Christmas pajamas would start.
The closer we get to Christmas, the more my mind begins to reflect on the Christmases of my childhood…My Christmas Past. In those early years, an artificial tree was unheard of. We would go to the tree lots and get a tree, usually shortly after Thanksgiving. Dad would bring the tree in and decide how much would need to be trimmed off. Then he would begin to cut on the trunk of the tree. The smell of pine was everywhere.
Once the tree was set, the decorating would begin. We would sing Christmas carols as we decorated the tree, and we would have candy and hot chocolate or some other treats to munch on while we worked. Soon the tree was finished and the house was filled with festive, twinkling lights. I couldn’t wait for evening to come each day, so the tree lights could be turned on again. It was my favorite time of year.
It was the time of year for buying gifts for my sisters and my parents, hopefully without disclosing what I bought. A time to try our best to keep the secrets for the days and weeks until Christmas finally arrived. Gifts were hidden around the house or better yet wrapped right away so they could not be found, but that brought it’s own set of problems. As kids, it is so hard not to peek. We would shake and squeeze our packages hoping to be able to figure out what we were getting, and stopping short of opening the packages and re-wrapping them…mostly because I would be sure to be caught.
Probably the most fun we had, however, was the shopping for our parents. As kids, we didn’t really have a lot of money, so the gifts we could get for our parents were usually small or even homemade, but as we got older, we schemed, scrimped, and saved so that 
we could buy them the kind of gift that would really knock their socks off. Those gifts brought the best memories. And there were a few times that our gifts were so surprising to them that it almost brought tears to their eyes…and usually did with my mom.
My Dad has been in Heaven now for the last 4 Christmases…this will be the 5th, and at times, I find myself…less than enthusiastic about the coming holiday. I miss him so much, but I know that he would want me to be excited about the holiday that he loved so much. So I’ll soon be ready, and the day will be great, but I think I’ll always wish we could, maybe just for a little while, relive…My Christmas Past.
It’s somewhat rare…being double cousins, but it does happen. I suppose it is rare enough that many people don’t even know what it is exactly. It might not even be a exact term, but it is the only one that describes this situation.
When two brothers marry two sisters, their children become double cousins…and that is exactly what happened. My grandfather, George Byer married my grandmother Harriet “Hattie” Pattan on December 24, 1927. Then my uncle, Theodore “Ted” Byer married my aunt, Gladys Pattan on November 2, 1928. Hattie and George would go on to have 9 children, Evelyn, Virginia, Delores, Larry, Collene, who is my mother, Wayne, Bonnie, Dixie, and Sandy. My Aunt Gladys and my Uncle Ted would have one daughter, Margaret. From the moment Margaret arrived, the children of the sisters and brothers were double cousins. And later there would be double second cousins, double third cousins, double second cousins once removed, double third cousins once removed, and so on.
Now as often happens, the children of the double cousins weren’t as close as the double cousins themselves. As the years go by many of the cousins don’t know each other well, or at all. I have been blessed in that for me 
things would turn out differently. When my girls were little they began bowling with two girls who were also sisters. Little did we know, until my mom heard their dad’s name, that these girls were the grandchildren of Margaret Byer, the very Margaret whose birth began the double cousins in the first place. So, every Monday night, during the winter bowling league season, I get the privilege of spending the evening with my double second cousins twice removed, and their daughters, my double second cousins thrice removed. Margaret’s son Ted and his wife Donna, and their daughters, Jaime and her husband Willie, who also have three children, Kaleb, Kielei, and Haley, and Ted and Donna’s other daughter Jackie. I am very thankful that I have had the chance to know them all these years. They are awesome people. Love you guys bunches.
Years ago, when the different booths at the fair used to give baby chicks or fish as prizes for the different games you could play. My mom and dad were at the fair, and a little boy came up to her and asked if she would take his baby chick, because his mom wouldn’t let him keep it, so mom took it, and decided to raise it in the hope of having eggs. She named our chicken Queenie. We loved Queenie. She was yellow and fuzzy and so soft. Of course, the thrill of having Queenie wore off for us kids pretty fast, and Mom was left to her care.
With dreams of eggs for some time to come, my mom took great care of Queenie. And our little chick thrived on the care. She was probably the only chicken to ever live in a house. Mom kept her in a box in the utility room. She was a household pet…not that everyone liked her. She had a tendency to peck at the little kids, and they somehow didn’t think that was a very good idea. So mom had to keep Queenie away from the kids, and that meant the back yard was off limits sometimes…to the kids.
As Queenie grew, there began to be some…strange occurrences. Sounds that Queenie shouldn’t be making were coming from her. I’m sure many of you know what was going on, but my mom didn’t want to believe that her chicken was really a rooster. Her plans of having eggs were dissolving before her eyes, and try as she might, there was no denying it.
The neighbors started asking about a rooster in the city limits, and of course, mom was told she couldn’t 
keep him there, so she talked to her sister, my Aunt Dixie, and it was decided that she would take the rooster named Queenie, since she had a place in the country and other chickens.
My mom kept telling herself that Queenie was out at my aunts house, living it up as the King of the chicken coop, but we all knew that Queenie probably ended up as most chickens and roosters do…as fried chicken, or some other such tasty dinner entree, and it’s just as well, because whether we liked Queenie or not…eating him was definitely out of the question. He was a household pet, after all.
When my dad was a boy, he and his family, including his sisters Laura and Ruth, and his brother Bill, lived on a farm in the Great Lakes Region. The winters were bitterly cold, and long. The snow got deep, and you only went places if you had to. This didn’t stop the kids from getting out and playing in the snow, which is typical. Bundled up warmly, their big sister takes the boys outside to pull them on their sled for a while. I’m sure the free time that provided to their mother, who had been cooped up with these bored children, was a blessing.
Living on a farm back then, the kids needed a good imagination to entertain themselves, because there were no video games to play with. Kids had to make their own fun, and my dad and his brother were very imaginative. What began with two sweetly innocent little boys, would soon graduate to the pranks and antics 
of boys with big ideas. Once summer arrived, the possibilities were endless. From setting off dynamite on the forth of July at daybreak…a prank that makes me wonder how many times their mom wanted to throttle them, to sneaking out by the river with buddies to cool off and maybe try their hand at smoking. You put a group of boys together on a summer day with nothing much to do, and they will be sure to come up with something…a thought that makes me cringe.
Of course, there were the chores too, and my dad and his brother were never real troublemakers, just typical boys.The did use the dynamite to work the place too. The would blow tree stumps out of ground that was needed for some other uses, and they fixed fences and gate posts…sometimes after the sunk the post into the ground with one of their dynamite adventures. They took care of the family pets, and other such chores, like cutting and stacking wood. 
But they always found time to play, and of course ride the horses…a mode of travel that was far more common to that era that this one. My Aunt Ruth, however, was the one who seemed to me anyway to be the one to thrive on the horses. She can be seen in many of the old pictures riding a horse or in a wagon hitched to two horses, to take her to a quiet place where she could sit and enjoy the warmth of the afternoon sun.
That was just a different time and place, when life wasn’t so fast paced. When people worked hard, and then took time out to relax and enjoy the beauty of the country they lived it. It was simply life on the farm.
At the time Bob was a teenager, before his little brother, Ron came into the picture, Bob was the only boy in his family, and with 4 sisters, there were plenty of potential victims for his many pranks. Ron would not be born until Bob was 14, so until Bob was 16 to 18, Ron was too little to get himself into too much trouble, or get very involved in the pranks his older brother was pulling. That would come later on. Bob got into plenty of trouble with his older sisters, but this story is about him and his younger sisters. You see Bob was the third child, with 2 sisters older, and 2 sisters younger and finally his little brother joined them later.
Bob, like most boys loved to tease his younger sisters. His sister, Brenda told me that he would chase his sister, Jennifer, with spiders…something I can very much envision, since he has teased me and my girls in the same way. Mind you, it wasn’t with a live spider, but more of a…”Here, don’t you want to see it” kind of thing, which still makes me and probably most other women cringe to say the least. Spider guts are only slightly less disgusting than a spider is scary. I hate spiders…just in case you couldn’t tell. Now, I don’t know what Jennifer did to be the one who was threatened with spiders or spider guts, but one thought would be that she was the best screamer over it. That, to a boy is a really good motivator to continue the torment that I am quite certain continued for quite some time.
Now, his sister, Brenda, got a little bit different treatment. I don’t know if it was because she was younger, or more cooperative when he asked her to call some girl he liked, but was too shy to call, maybe she wasn’t as scared of spiders. Brenda tells me of the times she called girls for him, so I suspect he had to be a little nicer to her. Brenda got candy and chocolate bars, so she would stay motivated to help him out. I guess you would have to say Bob was thinking ahead anyway. And so was Brenda…she had seen the torment Jennifer went through. I suppose you have to compromise sometimes. I know for a fact it’s what I would do, if it meant the difference between spiders and chocolate bars.
When my mom and her brothers and sisters were young, making fudge was one of their biggest treats. They would make it as often as they could. One day my mom and Aunt Bonnie wanted to make fudge, but they didn’t have enough cocoa for it. So, they decided to borrow some.
Mom and Aunt Bonnie walked down to the Lattimer’s house. The girls asked to borrow some cocoa, and Mrs Lattimer invited them in for a few minutes. So, after a short visit, the girls started down the street with their cocoa in hand. On the way, they would walk past the Ford’s house, who were the next door neighbors to the Lattimers. Mr Ford was a police officer in Casper.
There was a big tree that stood near the street between the Lattimer and Ford homes. As the girls walked under the tree, my Uncle Larry and Uncle Wayne jumped out of the tree yelling, in an effort to scare the girls. Well, as you might have guessed their “attack” worked perfectly and the girls proceeded to scream at the top of their lungs. Mr Ford, being a police officer, came running outside to see what was going on…fully expecting to encounter a murder in progress, I’m sure. Well, when he found the two brothers scaring the daylights out of their sisters, he seriously thought about beating the daylights out of the boys…and in those days, you could do that, so I’m sure the boys were rethinking the wisdom of their little plan.
Mr Ford scolded them and sent them home. The fudge was made, but I have to wonder if the boys were allowed to have any of it. My mom tells me that while the boys escaped the beating from Mr Ford, they did get a severe talking to when they got home.
Mom tells me, however, that for all their mischief, the boys did have a few redeeming 
qualities. One time when mom had gone to the little store around the corner from their house, with her brothers, she saw a set of salt and pepper shakers that looked like deer. She commented on how beautiful they were. Then the three of them moved on. The boys, however, got together and bought those salt and pepper shakers and gave them to my mom. She said it was such a touching thing to do, that it still brings tears of joy to her eyes.
Yes, boys will be boys, and the pranks they pull can make you want to wring their necks, but sometimes the things they do can be so sweet, that it makes up for a lot of their…well, other qualities.
Today I went to my niece’s graduation party. There were a number of small children at the party, and a good time was had by all. In particular, there was a incident in which one of the small children, Zackary, was being held down, and tickled by two adults. As they gave him a moment to breathe, another niece, Jessi said to her boyfriend Jason, who was one of the adults tickling him, along with her sister Kellie, that when it came to tickling, you must show no mercy.
Well, that got me to thinking about another child, who was very ticklish…my sister, Caryl. She was always quite a giggly kid. She had a laugh that was infectious, but it was not her laugh that really got my sisters and me laughing…it was the tickle torture!!! Caryl was so ticklish that it is something none of us will ever forget. After performing the tickle torture on Caryl several times, we had given the attack that name. And the name was fitting, because it truly was torture for her, but we did it in the spirit of fun.
Caryl had to be one of the most ticklish people in the entire world, and she would scream and kick and laugh, but it was so funny that we just couldn’t get enough of the tickle torture. We would all get in on it. We held her down and tickled her until tears rolled down her face and she was begging us to stop. I suppose that was mean of us, but it was just so funny…and she did survive it, after all.
And because my sisters and I were, horribly mean, we would often descend on Caryl without warning. She would start begging us not to even before we got started. But, it wasn’t our fault, it was Caryl’s, because she was so funny…and we were, after all, just kids.
As I said, Caryl did survive our torture, and has grown into a wonderful woman. She became a Respiratory Therapist and works in the Cardiopulmonary Department at Memorial Hospital of Carbon County. She still has a great sense of humor and yes, she is still very ticklish. I like to think my sisters and I played a small part in the lovely woman she became, but I seriously doubt if she would say that the woman she became was due to the tickle torture.
