Saturday, April 21, 2012

S Is For Stories

Today's post will be stories from my very early childhood. These are stories that I have been told, not events that I actually remember.

The first thing actually happened before I was born, and has to do with my name. My mother had a friend in cosmetology school named Parthena, and so that was what she wanted to name ME, and call me "Par" for short. I can just imagine the jokes I would have had to endure, so I am forever grateful that my father put his foot down and also that he came up with Teresa.

The next anecdote comes from when my parents were attempting to wean me off the bottle, particularly at night. They would spell out the word bottle, presuming I wouldn't understand what "b-o-t-t-l-e" meant. That theory had to be tossed out, however, when I called out from the crib "I want my B-T, I want my B-T!"

In the summer of 1962, we took our first family vacation, shortly after my first birthday. Mom, Dad, and I, along with my paternal grandparents, drove from Ohio to California, to visit my father's brother and his family. Along the way, we visited Mount Rushmore, The Grand Canyon, The Painted Desert, and The Petrified Forest. While with my uncle and his family, we went to Disneyland and Knotts Berry Farm, the World's Fair in Seattle, Washington, and to Tiajuana, Mexico.

The next story is something that took place the following summer. Mom sent me outside to play in the front yard while she was washing dishes. Our street was a dead end, and usually not traveled by anyone who didn't live on it, so it was always fairly safe to let children play in the yard unsupervised. Shortly after sending me out, Mom noticed that the few cars going by were going even slower than usual, and the drivers appeared to be laughing at something in our yard. When she came outside, she was shocked by what she found. My clothes were folded neatly on the porch, with my shoes sitting next to them, and I was running around the yard naked. She quickly hustled me back inside and re-dressed me.

Somewhere around that same time, I called Mom into my playroom to show her the picture I had drawn for Dad...unfortunately, I had drawn it all over the hardwood floor of the playroom! She allowed the picture to stay there until Dad got home from work, so that he could see it, and then she set me to work scrubbing the crayon off the floor. Needless to say, I never did THAT again!!


  1. wow yeah my mom would have freaked big time if any of us had drawn on her beautiful wood floors--loved your stories :)

  2. What a fun post! Great stories :)


  3. Hi, found you on the 'surprise me' button.
    I look foward to reading more of your posts.
    New follower from A - Z


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