Only Forgotten Son: A Memoir

1

As I drove through the winding tree-lined stretch of my last mile or so home, I mused about the warmth and greenery. Early November in Southern California. Yet more spring like. With the implied promise of bright new life—not a hint of the impending death of winter. I rolled down the window and breathed deeply, enjoying a brief moment of tranquility. Then it hit me. Overwhelming dread, doom, utter despair. Joey, I thought. Cold nausea began building deep within the pit of my stomach and all I could think of was Joey.

I drove up the driveway and stared at my house, gripped by an oppressive stillness. The car parked at the street—it belonged to Joey’s friend, right? I prayed he wasn’t alone. Of course he had only been alone for a short time—maybe 20 minutes or less. Jessie and I always coordinated our schedules to be sure Joey wasn’t alone for any length of time. Although we never really verbalized our fears, after more than a year, synchronizing our schedules was our usual routine. I sat in the car for what seemed like an hour, staring at the stillness as if it were a visible barrier and trying to dispel the gnawing anxiety. I left my groceries melting in the car and entered the house.

Joe? No answer, not that I expected one. Not anymore. I’m home! Just the eerie stillness and a solid wall of silence. I slowly traversed the hallway to his room. His bed was empty.

2

It all started innocently enough. Joey was a happy-go-lucky child. A big baby at 8 V pounds, compared to his sister, Jessie, born just shy of 15 months earlier at 6 V pounds. Quiet and content for the most part, crying mostly when hungry, and then easily satisfied. Of course, having a very active 1 year old already, even a good natured infant added a certain degree of insanity to life. Thankfully, the closeness in age alleviated any early sibling rivalry, and Jessie actually enjoyed having a live baby toy to play with. In her mind, Joey was a new plaything contrived strictly for her entertainment. They bonded from the beginning, peas in a pod, playmates and companions, siblings yet best friends. How blessed I was! If only I had stopped long enough to realize it then. I was determined to be home to raise them—and possibly two to four others. I had no corporate career aspirations—my mom was a career mom—I wanted to be one, too. Coming from a family of eight children, with five younger than me, I had trained for it all my life. The Brady Bunch was one of my favorite shows, too. My mom and Carol Brady were my role models.

Since daddy worked construction—sporadically—finances were pretty strained. We were lucky enough to find a little old house—major fixer-upper opportunity—on a small piece of property. We became absorbed in fixing up the house and creatively finding ways to use the property practically. A little bit of paint and a lot of elbow grease made the ancient house much more livable. And if we really scrimped, I could be a stay-at-home mom. Yikes—two babies and in cloth diapers—these were the days before Pampers were a household name! So many diapers, I had to wash them every day—and hang them out on a clothesline. Then I kept my fingers crossed that they’d dry before I ran out!

We planted a garden for vegetables, and it soon became an entertaining occupation as well, as infant Joey grew to a toddler at 9 V months of age (his sister having walked just prior to 8 months old, I figured this was a reprieve from God that he was slow!), and as Jessie became a terrible two. Digging in the dirt was great fun, and actually yielded results! The kids were so excited to see their veggies sprout and grow. It was all I could do to keep them from picking the carrots and radishes every day—growing under the ground where they couldn’t see—what a temptation!

The kids would rather be outdoors than anywhere, so we’d get up early, get dressed, have a good breakfast and then head outside. The chores could all be games, all it took was enthusiasm! We laughed a lot, sang silly songs, chased each other around the yard, dug in the dirt, played with the animals. They loved animals so much, that we ended up collecting a small menagerie. To ensure equality and no perceived favoritism, I always got pairs of animals. Two baby ducks, two baby chicks, a pair of bunnies at Easter time. And of course naming each new pair was a huge event. What shall we name them? I’d ask. The kids would pipe up (as if it were an unbelievably creative idea) Let’s name them Jessie and Joey! So Jessie and Joey the children played with Jessie and Joey the baby ducks, Jessie and Joey the baby chicks and Jessie and Joey the baby bunnies. Each time the naming game yielded a very original result (or so the kids thought!) … all Jessie and Joey’s!

Up early, digging in the dirt all morning, they were filthy by lunchtime! So filthy, I had to give them a bath before I could even sit them down for lunch. Then down for a nap—yea! Thank God they napped or at least rested quietly for a while in the afternoon. A couple of minutes of peace actually a few quiet minutes to accomplish something I couldn’t while they were up and demanding my full attention. Like making their clothes. I used to buy remnants of fabric for practically nothing and make these one-piece overalls for them to play in. Poor babies, I guess they looked like little orphans in their homemade outfits. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to notice that they weren’t exactly a toddler fashion statement!

All the outdoor activity should have been so healthy, but Jessie began having asthma attacks and continual sniffles, ear infections and tonsillitis. As it turned out, she was allergic to milk. Now what? Babies needed milk to grow up healthy, didn’t they? That’s what all the experts said (at least they did at that time). Her doctor suggested goat’s milk. I shopped around—organic foods and soy substitutes were not easy commodities to locate in the ‘70’s—but I finally found canned goat’s milk at a little market not too far away. Boy did it smell bad! Jessie wouldn’t touch the stuff. Now what? Then a neighbor told me about a goat farm about 50 miles east of where we lived. So the kids and I took a little road trip. Well, we’d found a source for goat’s milk, but drive out there once or twice week for milk? About two hours, round trip—with two babies in the car—twice a week? And with the ongoing energy crisis, sitting in line for gas sometimes for hours, only buying gas on even or odd days, depending on your license number, complete outages at other times—just not possible. But the milk had to be fresh—it’s not like you could stock up for a month! And while the cow dairy may have delivered (within a few miles at least), the goat farm did not. So I ended up buying a goat, and begging the lady to give me a crash course in the care, feeding and milking of a goat. It sounds really crazy now, but it seemed like a good idea at the time—what else could I do? We milked that goat every morning and every night, and the kids had another pet to play with too. Fortunately, she already had a name when we got her, so we didn’t have to worry about having one more Jessie than Joey!

Luxuries were pretty much out of reach on our budget, so we just had to be a little more creative about ways to entertain ourselves. If the kids were especially good one day, we’d pop some popcorn, and take a trip to the airport to watch the planes take off and land. That was even better than television—there was no cable and the cartoon network wasn’t even conceived yet! On rainy days when we couldn’t go out, we’d pack a picnic lunch and set out for adventure on our boat. I know, I know, struggling to feed ourselves and we had a boat?!? O.k., so it was a water bed—we’d just spread out our lunch and give it a little wave action! Sometimes the weather would really kick up so it was all we could do to hang on! If anyone had walked in, I’m sure I would have been committed on the spot—maybe I should have been. One day we did get caught at one of our more outrageous games. For some reason, Jessie loved the old television show The Incredible Hulk. She called it the Big Icky and would pretend to turn in to him, stomping and roaring around the house. So one rainy day, we bought some green poster paint (cheap entertainment again!), painted our arms and faces green and went around the house roaring like the Hulk. As luck would have it, my neighbor picked that moment to stop by about something or other. She stared at my green face in disbelief, as I tried to explain our game. Well, she didn’t have any kids, so that’s probably why she didn’t understand. Surely another mother would have …

Well I was home with my babies, and so lucky to be there for their first words, their first steps, to soothe their little bumps and scrapes and squabbles. Jessie was incredibly bright and outgoing, Joey was sweet and sunny—what more could I ask? Why didn’t I simply cherish those times for what they were? Why did I allow financial strain and other insignificant challenges to steal my joy? And I had friends beginning promising careers—sometimes I wondered wistfully what I might be missing. It certainly looked easier on TV. for the Brady Bunch—even with 6 kids! Of course, Carol Brady didn’t hang loads of diapers on a clothes line or milk a goat twice a day—and she was married to an architect! So she could afford an Alice .

I was so worried that the kids would grow up feeling deprived—remembering how we struggled, home made clothes, home grown food, growing up without the latest toys, sharing a room in a tiny, rundown house. I even had to buy them canned fruit—fresh fruit was so expensive at that time. I’d buy cans of fruit cocktail, thinking at least they’d get a little nutritional variety. But Jessie didn’t like the peaches, and Joey didn’t like the pears. So Jessie would eat her pears and Joey would eat his peaches—then they’d switch bowls and Joey ate Jessie’s peaches while Jessie ate Joey’s pears! As happened so often, they were the perfect compliment to each other. Neither ate the grapes or the cherries—so much for variety. Funny, when they got older they never mentioned the struggle, or what I perceived as deprivation. We may have been poor, but they didn’t really know the difference—at least not then. No matter what I suggested, I’d just act really excited and they were ready to go! Despite the struggle and worry, what I really wanted most in the world was to be there for my kids and enjoy every stage of their lives. I had the luxury of being home with them—although material luxuries were out of reach. Looking back, that time seems so simple and serene.

Eventually, though, it was necessary for me to seek a part time job, at least for the summer. Of course, since I had graduated high school, gotten married and had babies right away (not necessarily in that order!), I had no conceivable skills to offer any employer—other than possibly a fast food restaurant. I was fortunate to have a very good friend whose family owned an independent grocery store, and they readily agreed to give me some part time hours as a cashier. I was able to arrange with my two younger sisters and my mother-in-law to trade off days of babysitting for the summer. With the kids safe and having