"Born Annoyed" is going to be the title of my Autobiography.
Chapter 1-- I was born the year that Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. WWII.
Mother would rock me in the big rocker in her bedroom and nursed me. And Sing-
"Oh dear what can the matter be, Dear, Dear what can the matter be, Oh dear what can
the matter be Johnny's so long at the fair. He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,
He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbon, He promised to buy me a bunch of blue
ribbons to tie in my bonnie brown hair". (repeat) This song was written to instill the
nagging dark cloud of worry. (My Dad's name was Johnny)
Another song, (from the civil war period) that she sang, - " Johnny, oh Johnny please let me go-
with you."
"No , -no my love no."This song was written to make you feel sad and
create the agony of separation.
This was the back drop for feeling annoyed before I was off the breast.
Mom took me off the breast and put me on the bottle when I started to bite. But how else was I to let her know that her choices of songs were dreary.
I was placed in a crib, in a small room off my parents bedroom. It had a small window but
it got very hot in the summer. Before I was a year old I learned how to climb out of the crib--
I would scooch my diapered bottom up the end of the crib, throw my legs over the railing
and slide down the bars. Mother would tie one leg and one arm to the bars to keep me in bed.
I cried, "Mama, Mama." But no one came. I cried and cried, until I could cry no more. Then
exhausted I layed quiet. Wet with tears.
I still can remember hearing the dogs bark, the crickets chirp, and the mourning doves crying.
There I was, tied down and making the best of being annoyed. I began to learn how not to feel.
Mother cried every day. She cried when she was canning peaches. She cried when she was doing laundry, in the garage on the old wringer wash machine. When she scrubbed the floor , the big
brown radio would be on with the organ music and soap operas, and she would be crying.
I asked my Mother why she cried every day...She said, " Because I read the back pages of the paper."
"Estimated number of casualties; The rumors of the Concentration camps."
The little boys made airplanes out of sticks and they bombed the dirty Japs, and made noise of
explosions. The girls bandaged their dolls. The children that played and the adults that talked
recovered the best.
Mother's Brother, John Bell was in the Navy in the South Pacific. And Dad's brothers--
Art, Chuck, Frank, Herb, and Warrenie were in the Service. Mother had a big map of the World
on the wall in the living room. She had colored pins on the map--showing where all my
Uncles were stationed. All the Stubbs Boys came home. The term"Post Trauma Stress Disorder",
wasn't used then, maybe just "Shell-Shock". They went to work, when they got home.
Dad's best advice was always--"Get to work."
