What kind of a Home did you grow up in?

My mother in-law was a wonderful mother.  She was fun.  She took her kids, my husband and his sister, out to eat.

There is a short version and a long version of the home I was brought up in.   The short version:
A very strict religious home.  My mother was strict and taught us right from wrong, based on the Bible.  “Spare the rod and spoil the child” was not just a saying but practiced.  Church was the center of all activities.  There was Sunday morning and Sunday night services plus Wednesday night Prayer service.  Morning prayer before going to school where we knelt by our chair and mother would do the praying.  Sometimes she got carried away praying for the sick, the back-sliders and those who were not saved.  When she was finished, we had to run to make it to school on time.  Then there were prayers before bedtime.  The highlight of the week was Sunday afternoon for us kids.  Our parents either invited someone to our place for dinner or we were invited to someone’s home (an Aunt or Uncle), after which we cousins would go out to play.  It was the only free day of the week since during the week there were always chores to be done.  Although it was forbidden to work on the sabbath, an exception was made for feeding the animals.  
School homework had to be done, no excuses.  Getting good grades was expected.   Teachers were respected and they disciplined the students.  We were warned that if we got a spanking in school, we would get one twice as hard when we got home.  It was no idle threat.  Adults were respected by all kids.  They were referred to as Aunt, Uncle or if not a relative, as Mr. or Mrs.  No first names were used by children addressing adults.

That’s it for the short version.

Very interesting.  The  long
version would make a great book

Thanks Alice.  I have written about my childhood and upbringing for the benefit of my children and grandchildren. I never viewed it as something for publication.  To even consider publication I would need to fictionalize it and change names to protect myself from being sued.

Isn't the truth a defense against libel?

TelIing the truth can be hazardous.

We lived out in the middle of nowhere. My family was different.  We had no running water and my brother spent hours carrying water to our house in buckets.

Alice, your post about water reminded me of those things that today we take for granted.  In my youth, every home had a well with a hand pump.  Where I lived, there were actually two wells.  One well was used to collect rain water for cleaning purposes while the other well was for ground-sourced drinking water.  The rain water was called “soft water” as it didn’t contain minerals found in ground water.  The soft water was also used for washing clothes.  Until the invention of electric washing machines, a scrub board was used.  With the electric-powered washing machine, it had a ringer (a set of rolls) where the wash was fed into to press out the soapy water before placing the clothes into a galvanized tub of rinse water, after which they went through the ringer again before being hung out to dry.  Clothes lines were strung along the walkway leading from the house to the barn.  In winter, sometimes the clothes froze on the line and care was needed when removing them so as not to break the fabric. 
Alongside each pump, there was a container of water used to “prime the pump”.  A small amount of water was poured into the pump creating the suction needed.  A tin pail with a wire handle hung on the water spout.   When filled, the pail was carried into the pantry and the contents poured into a large water container, often referred to as the water cooler.  A dipper hung on a hook by the container to have a drink and to fill a pitcher for table use.
My first experience with running water from a faucet happened when we moved off the farm.  It was exciting to just turn the knob and have water instantly.  It was also the first time where we had a bathtub in the bathroom.  Water was heated on the coal stove and poured into the tub as water heaters did not yet exist.  Previously, baths were taken once a week in a large galvanized tub.  This was a Saturday ritual.  During the week baths were taken using a tin basin and wash cloth.  I remember the inspections by Mom, especially to see if we washed behind the ears.
Next episode, the toilet facility.

In my early youth, every home had an outside toilet, referred to as the “outhouse” or as called by some, “The shithouse”.  The usual outhouse had two seats, however depending on the size of the family there could be as many as four to six seat holes.  The one-room schools that I attended had outdoor toilets with multiple seats, and in the boy’s toilet, a separate area for urination of simple wooden construction built on a slant for drainage.  The outhouses at homes contained reading material, like magazines and newspapers, later referred to as “the reading room”.  It was aggravating when an interesting article was torn out and used as toilet paper.  Magazines were shared with neighbors. My parents never had a magazine prescription.  A cherished magazine for boys was the National Geographic magazine that had pictures of topless African women.  These magazines were prized and traded.  Many outhouses also included a Bible.  No pages were ever removed from this holy book.  I don’t recall the first time using soft toilet tissue at home.  That was a luxury.
We had a Chamber Bucket for night use and my brother and I were assigned to empty it in the morning.  We alternated with this chore on a weekly basis.  The stair steps were narrow and the incline steep.  A vivid memory was when I slipped on the steps while carrying the bucket downstairs with the bucket tumbling after me.  I laid on the floor at the bottom of the steps, crying.  I wasn’t crying from being hurt, but at the mess I made and having the contents of the bucket spill over me.  Under the steps was a clothes closet.  The liquid seeped through the cracks in the steps and my mother was frantic pulling out the clothes before they became saturated.  I don’t recall that she was concerned that I may have been injured, but rather about the mess that needed to be cleaned up.  I do remember the strong smell of the disinfectant she used that lingered long after.  I forget the name of the disinfectant, (could have been Lysol) but it was much stronger than the smell of the liquid from the bucket.
It was a big event when we got inside toilets. I recall digging a large hole in the backyard to accommodate a septic tank for the collection of the sewage.  Care was taken for proper run off of the liquid so as not seep into the well water.  The septic tank was emptied on a regular basis by a service firm.  I think it was at that time when we began using toilet tissue so as not to clog the pipes.

Riveting, Abe.

Thanks Alice.  Writing this took me down memory lane.   It was also a reminder to appreciate the things we have today.

Life is definitely an improvement now.

My brother is no longer living.  I regret the way he was reared.  He was very intelligent  and fun-loving.

He never had a childhood and unlike me could not make up for it when he grew up because he went to Vietnam.  

He lost his mind and did not recover it.  He should have had mandatory  counseling before his release from the military.  I think everyone who has served in the military, active duty ,should undergo this.

He was physically disciplined far too much as a child.  I don't know why my parents could not have thought of a different manner of dealing with him.

Sorry to hear about your brother.  Many returning Veterans suffer from ptsd and don’t get the treatment they need and deserve.  It seems like they are used and then discarded.  Veteran benefits have been the subject of discussion on FB and has become a political issue.  Dick Stodghill often mentioned the excellent care he received and was fortunate to live near a VA facility.  Those not having easy access to a VA facility are not covered for expenses at local hospitals or for doctor visits.   Universal healthcare would solve the problem for Vets and everyone else.

Abe F. March wrote:

Sorry to hear about your brother.  Many returning Veterans suffer from ptsd and don’t get the treatment they need and deserve.  It seems like they are used and then discarded.  Veteran benefits have been the subject of discussion on FB and has become a political issue.  Dick Stodghill often mentioned the excellent care he received and was fortunate to live near a VA facility.  Those not having easy access to a VA facility are not coveredr expenses at local hospitals or for doctor visits.   Universal healthcare would solve the problem for Vets and everyone else.

Wish you were running things.

After we recovered him from the hospital from a major illness he told us he had the brains of one soldiers head in his hand.

He saw too much gore.  I am sorry and would not wish 
 it on anyone.

I remember hearing women talking about their husbands screaming in the middle of the night having dreamt about their war experiences.  There were many who refused to talk about it not wanting to relive those memories.  It was later recognized that talking about it was the therapy they needed to relieve those memories.  For some, it continues to this day.  Psychiatrists’ are paid to listen.  My daughter works with the elderly and has the unique ability listen to the stories of patients who kept the horrors of war hidden for many years.  They feel such relief to finally get these horrors off their chests.  For some, it is the memory of killing people in battle while for others it is the memory of living through the aftermath of war and the struggles to survive.  I noticed a change in my daughter when talking to her.  She is intent on hearing what I have to say without interruption.  I have also become aware of people who express their impatience by saying or implying, “get to the point”.  It has helped me to slow down and listen before jumping to conclusions or interrupting their chain of thoughts.  Being older has many drawbacks that include the ability to learn new things quickly.  It is also frustrating to adjust to frequent changes as with computer software. On the plus side, there is the benefit of wisdom.  Slowing down is a gradual process.  The art of Listening is an important part of that learning curve.  The words we use whether in writing or in general conversation are important.  A single misused word can change one’s attitude about a person. How often have we heard someone say: “My comments were taken out of context”? “They failed to understand my point”.  “I was misquoted”, etc.  Recognizing that we live in a multi-cultured world with a variety of languages and expressions is a reality we must deal with.  The English language is not easy to learn especially with some words having the same spelling with different meanings.  With some languages the rise or fall of intonation can alter the meaning.  Listening with the intent of understanding is important.
As for Veterans, it is not just the soldier that suffers, but also the soldier’s family.  I recall Carol Trostler’s manuscript about her husband, Tom, who flew missions over Cuba during the Cuban missile crisis.  She was placed on alert to take her family and head north from Florida believing that they would be attacked should the US fail to reach an agreement with the Soviet Union.  War was averted with the level-headed leadership of JFK.  The panic for the families were real.
I hate war and even the thought of war.  I support those who seek peaceful solutions and oppose the war hawks.  The consequences of war are a serious matter.  We will not survive a nuclear war.

We had no TV.  We should have had one.  It would have distracted us from daily battles, but my folks thought TV was an invention of the Devil.  They also were very particular about the music we listened to and never would have okay-ed Elvis Presley.  He is my favorite singer now.

Alice, it would appear that we experienced similar events.  We had no TV as it was viewed as a tool of the devil.  Later I came to the conclusion that it was the expense involved rather than a religious thing.  Some member of our church got a TV claiming they did so to watch religious programs.  That was an open door to justify getting one.  When we finally did get one, it was purported for viewing religious programs.  Prior to the entrance of TV, visiting friends and relatives was common.  When TV entered the scene, visiting took a big hit.  Even with the decrease in visits, those that did occur found everyone sitting around the TV watching programs and conversations were cut short. The viewing expanded to include westerns and comedy programs.  It was a step-process.  One preacher claimed that he watched “worldly” programs to educate himself on the sin that was being promoted and that it gave him material for his sermons as a warning. 
The first TV program I saw was at a neighbor’s house.  It was a small TV set with a screen about 9 inches.  The picture was snowy, fading in and out with constant adjustment required with the so-called “rabbit ears” for picture enhancement.  Tin foil was used on the tips of those metal ears claiming that it helped with the signal.   Since we no longer lived on a farm, we got our milk from a farming neighbor.  We took our milk pail to the neighbor and had it filled.  While the milk container was being filled, we watched westerns on their TV.  They always had the TV channel on westerns. The Cisco Kid was a favorite of mine.  Kit Carson and Roy Rodgers were also popular.  There was never a problem getting one of us to go for milk, in fact we used to fight over whose turn it was.  Mom knew the reason we wanted to fetch the milk in that we wanted to watch TV.  Her warnings about watching TV faded with time.  It may have been the unconscious beginning of the realization that what was prohibited, was what we wanted.  Sneaking a view became the subject of conversation with us kids as we shared our experiences.  First movie I saw was when I sneaked out and joined some friends.  It gave me guilt feelings requiring me to pray for forgiveness.  Even with the guilt, I wondered why it was wrong to watch.  That question continued to plague my thoughts and when I joined the USAF, I did all the things that was once prohibited or considered sinful, but that’s another story.

I see I have missed a lot in the last two years.  I will be back. Please forgive my selfishness about my health. I shall return.  Abe, and Alice I love the stories of your youth. Sometimes it is hard to unlease your youth. It says a lot about the intimacy of this forum that you feel comfortable telling your self. Love, Betty

Sometimes the bad memories of youth override the good, Betty. Better to keep the painful thoughts deep down and hidden rather than allow them to resuface.

On the forum or off, you are always in our thoughts.

True, you are Shelagh.  I shall contain myself.  I know there are more troubles in the world that dim my own past. I am over that stuff and have been looking forward for quite a while. Thanks for all the thoughts on and off.  Love, Betty

Dear Betty, your recent medical news is cause for rejoicing and is far more uplifting than some of your childhood memories. We are happy to share your joy!