Laurel's Heroes

I was born at midnight one sultry summer night before our local hospital had air conditioning. The nurse attending was hot and tired. In those days, silver nitrate had to be mixed with sterile water before applying to a newborn's eyes. The nurse forgot. Full strength silver nitrate burned my left eye and the skin around both eyes. The doctor said once the burned skin and subsequent eye infections had healed I would probably be blind. Mother was determined that would not be the case if she could help it.

For the first six months of my life, within her limited financial means, Mom doctored my eyes with cool compresses and mild boric acid washes. She applied home made eye patches and special mittens so I would not scratch the eye areas in my sleep. She took me to eye doctors, devised exercises to correct my tendency to have crossed eyes.

By the end of my first year, I had seriously impaired vision in my left eye but perfect vision in my right. She could finally relax and enjoy her first child.

When Dad came home from war, my previously normal life became scary. Rages fueled by alcohol replaced the quiet life I'd known previously. Dark scowls and angry slaps came at unpredictable moments. When Mom intervened, Dad turned his wrath on her. He often left Mom in a heap on the floor, crying, with me beside her confused and frightened.

I don't know how Grandma and Grandpa knew about the scary life Mom and I were living. They started keeping me with them more often than ever before. I got to sleep in the big old bed in their back bedroom frequently at night. Grandpa read stories to me during the day -- Uncle Wiggly, Alice in Wonderland, and my all time favorite, Stone Soup -- and Grandma worked with me to memorize their phone number, how to dial "O" and ask the operator to connect me to them. She didn't say, "Call us when your Dad is mean." She simply said to call them any time I needed them.

For years, "47OJ" was my lifeline to safe haven. Many nights I slept in the rocker beside our phone, close to my lifeline, wrapped in Mother's sweater. At the first sound of fists on flesh, Dad's angry voice, or Mom's crying behind my parents' bedroom door, I dialed "O" and whispered, "47OJ" to the disembodied voice that said, "Number please." Grandma or Grandpa would answer and tell me to watch out the north window. Soon, a tall shadow would appear beside the tree outside that window. Grandpa! I'd race to the bedroom door and yell, "Grandpa's here. He's standing outside the window." then scurry back to the safety of Mom's rocker.

More than anything, Grandpa's appearance outside that window in the middle of the night modified Dad's behavior. Dad was scared of my tall, strong Grandpa and feisty, outspoken Grandma. They weren't skilled at hand to hand combat, never fought in any war. Grandpa was a soft spoken man with a twinkly smile, but his presence beside that tree in the night hours was, to me, an act of quiet heroism. He and Grandma did what they could to protect their daughter and grandchild and to make life safe for me.

Wish I knew how to make this photo bigger. The looks on their faces make clear how they felt about their troubled little granddaughter.

From my earliest remembrance, Aunt Maxine and Uncle Kenny were almost like surrogate parents. Maxine was my mom's oldest sister and a Registered Nurse. It was because of her influence in my young life that I became a Registered Nurse and attended the same nursing school she did.

Kenny was a blustering, red headed Irishman, a tough hombre with a big soft heart. Like Grandma and Grandpa, Maxine and Kenny doted on me and guided my life path from my birth to their deaths. When I was small and times were scary at home with Dad, Maxine and Kenny helped provide the protective framework that kept me safe and secure.

Some say it takes a village to raise a child. If that is the case, my village was populated with strong, loving people. I'll soon be 67 years old and they are both gone for too many years now, but their impact on my life and philosophy guides me to this day.

Sadly, I don't have a photo of Maxine and Kenny to post here. The photo is Aunt Maxine with me -- the niece she eventually dubbed "Little Iodine" and that name stuck. Probably because I deserved it!!

Aunt Lois was a pretty and popular young woman when I was born. Every special skill and gift she had went to good use when she married Uncle Jerome and moved to his family farm -- the Lueers' Homestead. She became the perfect wife and complement for a hard working young farmer. She was a seamstress who made her clothes, Jerome's, and later their children's. She was a world class cook whose creations won ribbons at the County Fair. She planted and raised a huge garden and canned everything she could to feed her family and share with others. She transformed the Homestead from a farm house into a comfortable home, and did it all while cooking for farm hands, raising children, and helping Jerome in every way she could.

Jerome was a soft spoken man with an angelic Irish tenor singing voice. He whistled and sang while he worked and treated everyone with respect. From my frequent observations of their life and interactions, I learned what marriage could be and should be. Home, family, each other, and God were their priorities.

Being part of their life comforted me and taught me important lessons as a child that would serve me well into adulthood. From them, I learned that every marriage is not violent and frightening, that married people can respect and love each other, that life can be fun despite the hard work that goes into it.

I don't have a photo of Lois and Jerome together. The picture here is Aunt Lois before her marriage, holding me.

Don and Carol lived in Pennsylvania most of my life, but that did not stop them from providing guidance and support. Just like my mother, grandparents, and other aunts and uncles, their words and actions reflected clearly how life should be through good times and bad. They faced hard times with humor and optimism and treated each other with respect. I needed that message.

Uncle Don taught me how to ride a bike. He worked patiently to train my non-mathematical mind to absorb fractions so I could turn my "F" in math into a "B". His concern for my well-being has encompassed a lifetime.

Aunt Carol is a gracious, talented artist. Her creations have funded a myriad of charities. Selfless devotion to others is one of her gifts and a lesson I learned by watching her. From her, I also learned what it means to be a lady instead of the clumsy tomboy I was in youth.

Because Don sends me pictures via email, I have many photos of them in my file. I think you can see from their picture here what kind of people they are, and what lives in their hearts.