The picture above is of my parents, Eloise Mae Smith, and Laurice Gilbert Clark. I believe the date to be 1942, and the place to be Milton, New Hampshire, where my mother's father lived. My father would have been 36, and and my mother , 19. They were to be married sometime in 1944. Their lives were not easy, as both had limited education, nor profitable skills other than farmwork. They were little prepared for marraige or children. Sandra Lee was born on 10 May, 1944. Bruce Gilbert 18 February, 1949, and William Frederick 4 July 1956. We were not a close family, I cannot remmeber being hugged, cuddled, or even told that I was a good kid. My life revolved around the surrounding woodlands or our little shack. I found peace and solace there. I think it is where I first learned to meditate. When you are dirt poor, you dream big, and you dream a lot. Day dreaming creates a "what if" scenario that allows us to "peek" into thoughts and feelings that may never come to pass. Although, it is a preparatory glance. There were so many dreams that I look back upon and say "I sure am glad that one didn't come true!" I wonder about the dreams of my parents. Was there a feeling of hopelessness? Environmentally deprived, with family histories of poverty, did they dare dream? I remember my youth and my thoughts of being nobody, no chance of anything but back breaking poverty. How incredibly sad it must have been for them wtih three children and living on government subsidy. My dad was up before the sun and wasn't back until it had set. It was not a 40 hour week, it was 6 days a week driving truck and an extra job on Sundays delivering papers to retail stores. My mother drank a lot, I remember walking into the house one time, I must have been seven or eight yrs old. She was crying, a bottle of beer in one hand and 4 bottles left in a six pack by her chair. I asked what was wrong. She told me that we were unable to pay the rent, ($6.00 a week). I was so confused, I knew the six pack was $1.00 becausse I had gone to the store and got it for her. And we couldn't pay the rent? I asked about that and problably took the beating of my life. How dare I question her? I was to mind my own business. Of course the beating didn't take place right then, it happened late that night, I was awakened by the force of the belt. I could only bite my pillow. I am not complaining, my mother was overwhelmed by our poverty, and her psychological issues. I guess I was the ventillation kid. The others didn't get it like I did. My brother remembers very little as she died when he was 8, and my sister left home at 15. She did not see the daily downward spiral of my mothers life. My father just survived, signing over his check every month, $400.00. He never complained he just trudged on as if it was the way things were supposed to be.
I am 57 now, and the memories are not fading. In fact, they are becoming more vivid to me. I think what is most profound is that I can review my memories, and actually look into the minds of the players, even my own. There are so many ways I could have made things better, but I too was "behind my eyes", I could not see past my destitution and hoplessness. I was rebellious in my anger. Walking straight and steadfast, making my own way. Sandy was gone, and Bill was the baby. And me? I didn't exist. I could have done better. I should have supported my family, somehow. I could have changed it all. I would leave my life today just to be there again, and to make things right. I was estranged. An unwanted visitor in my home. That came across loud and clear to me. Someone could have said, " You can leave anytime." and it would not have surprised me. All of us are responsible for that. I was part of the mix. I own that.
I could have changed it all.
