All images were created on a smartphone using basic photographs and a combination of multiple image and graphic apps.
Helen had grown up in a family of seven children, and that was the life she was attuned to and destined to continue. So it's not surprising our parents, Lyle and Helen, practiced Catholic birth control, which meant she was pregnant most of the time. Besides her seven children, she had two miscarriages and a newborn girl who died shortly after birth. 10 pregnancies in 16 years, then a hysterectomy. Meanwhile, after dealing with kids and cooking and cleaning all day her only rest period had to be shared with dad’s bedtime ritual of camels, Carson and nightcaps. Why he died at 64 is understandable; but how she lived to be 85 is beyond comprehension.
Our home benefits included: Every child had his/her own TV thanks to fix-it-up dad – TV’s hypnotic qualities kept us stationery and quiet and somewhat retarded; We also had unlimited soda thanks to mom who was overcompensating for missing out on soda as a child (the American Dental Association also thanks you mom); and best of all, thanks to the conniving sensibilities we learned from TV and sugar highs, we could easily bypass their overburdened adult supervision.
Our father's inner turmoil remained something of mystery to us during his lifetime, but going through mom's files we found Dad's 1955 security clearance paperwork (see below) -- the information about his past helps us to understand his darker nature, the one that could be destructive and alienating. A wounding childhood creates a wounded adult. We discovered that he had attended 6 different grammar schools as his childhood was volleyed and bounced around after his parents separated. His father Frank was rural country and a drinker; his mother Evelyn was city folk and had uppity airs about her; little boy dad got caught in between. When granddad-we-never-knew Frank died during an unidentified medical procedure, Lyle was just 14 and not prepared for such news; he dropped out of high school soon after and began work as a carpenter's assistant. Then World War II military service left him with open scars before he had any reasonable chance to heal from his childhood. My mother ( he sweetened her name to Mandy) rejected him at first because she thought he was too cocky and drank too much, but after awhile she may have realized insecurities were driving such behavior. He was persistent and won this rejection battle in 6 months. He wanted a home, a family, the American dream he had fought for, and a second chance at experiencing a stable childhood he had missed. My mother must have appreciated his effort, the value he placed on her and his seeming to overcome a difficult upbringing. One factor that undoubtedly opened her screen door was his disarming sense of humor, candy for Mandy. They would need it. Parenting, they would learn, is no laughing matter. That might come later, in eulogies.