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500 Beecher Street, Elmira, NY 14904, with parents, then…
Nights are still an issue. Admittedly, I must confess, afraid of the dark. I remember on one occasion while spending the night at my grandparents’ house. I settled in the guest room on the second floor, listening to the sounds of an aging house, eventually dozing off. Occasionally, able to hear voices from the first floor. Stairwell lights filling the sleeping area. I heard someone coming up the stairs, using the bathroom, flush, leaving the bathroom, and walking back down the stairs then at the bottom of the stairs, flipping off a switch. Suddenly the hall light went out, leaving me in a dark room! I’m sure my grandmother heard me shout and quickly switched the light on, plodded quickly back up the stairs to ensure me that grandpa had just forgotten, and apologized, “everything is alright?”
More stories. Sure, here is one that stands out. One evening, watching television with grandpa, while sitting on grandma’s lap, the unexplainable happens. I had a toy rubble knife. I started to saw, gently, on grandma’s wrist. Back and forth. No pressure. Back and forth, back and forth, suddenly. There was a puddle of blood! No pain, no cutting of the flesh, just a quarter size pool of blood. Freaked everyone out. How, why, no one could offer an explanation. To this day, I can visually see blood. And wondering, did I do that?
1007 Broadway, Elmira, NY 14909, then…
I remember this was again a multi-family building with neighbors close at hand, and like always, two stories. On Easter, one of our neighbors purchased their child a rabbit. You guessed it; the seller assured all it was a male, produced a colony of little rabbits. Cute, soft and fuzzy. Took some time for me to figure that one out.
Still not yet five-years-old and I have lived in eight different places. Still, considering all the traveling, my world seemed tiny, and my understanding of the world was negligible. From my current point of view, all that remains are snapshots, visions, stories share by family, and feelings.
255 Allen Street, Elmira, NY 14904, then…
Somehow, we ended living back in Southport, New York. Many of these cities identified as Elmira are actually in Southport, New York. The address, 255 Allen Street. I recall vividly the identical houses that lined the street were two-story duplex buildings, my bedroom being upstairs. On the front stoop there was a milk-box where once a week we place the empties the milkman collected and left the next week's glass filled order.
Odd tidbits of unrelated events pop into mind, like our neighbor had a dog. I know because I fell in a pile of poop and learn what a gag-reflex was; I remember they had a tree in the yard next door because my dad, now consistently in the picture, was not a fan of training wheels, placed me on my bike and pushed me off where I immediately ran into the tree and learned an important anatomy lesson.
I learned about the neighborhood ice cream truck. And their catchy jingle. I learned not all people had blackout blinds, and no one had bars on their windows or that I had to stay inside and the, never go outside the building rule, evaporated.
I learned lots of new things in this new world. I walked to school. In the evening we sat on the front stoop with neighbors eating homemade peanut butter cookies, small talk as the sun slipped away. I learned in the summer the sun stayed in the sky, even past my bedtime. We had family nearby. I had a turtle that vanished, for a while, until we unrolled a rug and there he was, add water and he seemed fine. Never step on the floor register in the wintertime. It leaves marks. I was going to kindergarten, September 3, 1954 - Pennsylvania Ave School in the morning with Mrs. Olthof and then changed to Edgeworth School in January 1955, in the afternoon with Mrs. Niles.
This seems normal, not exactly like the families you see on television but Dick gainfully employed (forty-hours a week able to earn extra when on call), family growing, Keith in school, and neighborhood friends, and routines. I can breathe.
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