Remembering

STOP. 

Before reading, locate your ticklish bone. Put on your colored glasses while viewing this true story with a light heart. Leave criticism of my seemingly criticism of teeth, or the lack of them, along with sibling and parenting interaction on the shelf to find humor between the lines of life...

Yes. Those were the days. I remember them fondly. This time, I remember them as I think of my brother.

'Brother', I say. 'Get your teeth fixed.' You see, I'm the oldest of five. He's the only boy and fourth in birth order. The oldest. They feel they can boss their siblings around, no matter what decade of life they're in.  

Now Mom, a fine woman with a statue of 4'6", gave birth to five living children, five in seven years with losing one between giving full-term birth of her tribe. 

Mom centered by her silly four as the eldest, me, freezes them in time.

So. I give Bro a hard time for many years until he's left with a couple jagged things smiling back at me from under a nose that matured into looking like my Dad's. My brother does enjoy laughing, he certainly does. Apparently, tho I feel free to give him my wise counsel, finds obstinance a way of life. That is, until pain sent him to the finest of drive-thru denture establishments you can imagine. You've seen them. The service window is on the passenger side of the car. That way, while the victim, I mean patient, reclines in the passenger seat of the car, a friend can hold their hand during surgery and drive them home without ever leaving the driver's seat. Quite ingenious, I'd say.

And yes, sarcasm was a requirement in our family, passed down for many generations. Some used it for humor. Others, well let's just say, I chose to view it as water while putting on a duck's back.

Anyway...

Fast forward a couple years. Dear Brother now has his permanent false teeth. Uh, OK? Let's pretend that makes sense. Anyway, you've got the picture. Stop. You don't.

The boy never wears them. That's right. Under that dad-nose comes the same laughter, one that causes his cigarette in the corner of his mouth to bounce as the lack of pearly whites jets him into the distinguishing look of senior citizenhood. Oh, I can go on here, of how I quiz him on how he eats and his reasonings laced with contentment. If you were sitting in front of me, I'd even imitate his fine looks, that which my mom had as we five were growing up. But instead, let's get to one story from our childhood that  Mom's brood still laughs about: the subject of toothlessness and dentures.

Wait. I must first set it up with a broad paint brush.

Mom received a new set of teeth when I was around 8. Then, we had a station wagon. It was fancy in our estimation. The back seats could lay flat so we could slide all around as we sped along the winding country roads. Seat belts, you ask? No such things back then. So, we'd throw gravel in a hole of the rusted floorboard while watching the road beneath. I remember making sure not to put my full weight of 40 lbs near that hole in fear of losing a needed leg. But, it was great entertainment, unlike today's less stimulating vehicles.

It was in the back of that station wagon, with the seats laid flat, that I can still see clearly the back 'gate' being opened and Mom barely raising her head to reassure us kids that she was fine.  Still heavily sedated, deformed and blooded mouth, my mom's best friend, Emma, helped Mom into Emma's house to care for her while we ten kids roamed the cornfields, built tree houses, and marveled that chickens really did run around with their heads chopped off.  No, we kids didn't chop off heads. Emma's husband did. Now for those of you that are math challenged, Emma and her husband had five children, too.

Mom healed. But her false eating devise never fit as securely as one would wish. The up side of that is that it gave opportunity for Mom's five children to find laughter during trials in our home, at Mom's expense, of course. 

Many times, while being normal, carefree, irresponsible, playful, wild children, we'd hear Mom trying to figure out the name of the child that needed yelling at. Frustrated, she'd be going down the list of her kids, starting with the oldest, sometimes getting out only the first part of the names: 'Bobbie, Karen, Paul.., I mean War..., aaa Kath..., damn it, get in here.' Sometimes, about half way through Paula's names, Mom's top denture would dislodge and interfere with her ranting. Now THAT, did get our attention. We'd all stop, right where we were, and die laughing. 

The first few times Mom couldn't keep her 'mad' on and would laugh with us as she'd take her right thumb and push her teeth back in place. But soon, she'd muscle through and some of us would get 'what we were asking for'. Sometimes, if the culprit couldn't be found, she'd have all five of us line up along the couch to get a 'beating'. There was no wordy humiliation, no public demeaning. Just the switch, belt, razor strap, paddle, whatever was close. That was the way back then.

   
Now don't focus on the right or wrong of it all. Yes, my parents were very defective. But I grew up to be very responsible before the age of legally going into bars. I did plenty of that before I was 21.  Yes, I had a few years of rebellion and stupid living but I quickly saw the shallow and meaningless dead-end it'd bring. I also came to see my parents through adult eyes, not simply through a pained child. I gave them grace and forgiveness once I saw them as children in their parents' home. They parented better than their parents. I, in turn, parented better than mine. But my parents, they did they're best. They did love us. And I loved them. Forgiveness freed me to create more joy with them as their adult children and as they were grandparents. We five, became ten, then twenty-four, plus mom and dad, making a family now gone and I long for again.

5 Generations - Mom is standing behind Grandma, who is sitting.

Back when we were twenty-four plus Mom and Dad, we'd tell the story of when Mom would just lose it, her teeth, that is. Mom would we laugh with us. Good times, loving times, they were, even during the trials. 

Yes, those were the days.

Bless and be blessed,

Bobbie