Paper Dolls
Fifty-five years ago, my father's health necessitated our selling the print shop he and mother owned in Seminole, TX and his finding a job working for someone else. I was about to be 11, so I don't remember the logic of this except to say that my parents talked about not having the responsibility of ownership--my dad could go home at 5PM every day.
We moved first to Littlefield, TX. After a month or so, his drinking lost him that job. We then moved to Odessa and then to Midland and then to Brownfield. All in the space of one summer. He lost all the jobs because of his alcoholism.
I can only imagine my mother's fears. At least with the shop in Seminole, she could always take up the slack. She knew how to do everything he did. She did these things BESIDE him when he was working and INSTEAD OF him when he wasn't. When he tried working for someone else, she had no control over the situation and she wound up spending the only unemployed summer of her adult life.
The paper dolls came in during our short stay in Odessa. A couple of times a week, I would walk down the dirt road to the nearby grocery and bought Katie Keene "funny books." In one of these, there was an offer of paper dolls of Katie and her boyfriends and sidekicks. They were all available for $1.00. Of course, my mom sent away for them for me. Don't ask whether we could afford them. I don't know.
I do know that the paper dolls were much nicer than I had imagined. Slick and colorful and a great deal of fun. They helped me pass the time in a delightful way and were one defining part of that summer--as well as the embroidery to which my mother introduced me. Fifty-five years later, needlework is still a big and enjoyable part of my life and I will always be grateful.
But I have to wonder: what, that summer, were my mother's paper dolls and embroidery?
I have learned that keeping one's hands busy with crochet or cross stitch or whatever keeps the demons at bay. The process has its place beside hospital beds and in lamp-lit living rooms at 2AM when one can't sleep.
When my mother would lie awake in our tiny trailer in several small trailer parks in several small west Texas towns that summer of 1954 (and I have to believe that she did lie awake), what kept her mind from running from one frightening scenario to another? What slick, pretty, interesting, colorful activity was hers to help pass the time? What kept her from worrying that the money was going to run out before the jobs or that we'd never find a place in which to settle permanently?
In Brownfield, my father got (and lost) the last job he ever held. He lived nine more years and my mother supported us the whole time.
As I said, I was only 11 but, if I could go back, I hope I would try harder to understand and watch and make sure my mom had the opportunity to play paper dolls, too.
We moved first to Littlefield, TX. After a month or so, his drinking lost him that job. We then moved to Odessa and then to Midland and then to Brownfield. All in the space of one summer. He lost all the jobs because of his alcoholism.
I can only imagine my mother's fears. At least with the shop in Seminole, she could always take up the slack. She knew how to do everything he did. She did these things BESIDE him when he was working and INSTEAD OF him when he wasn't. When he tried working for someone else, she had no control over the situation and she wound up spending the only unemployed summer of her adult life.
The paper dolls came in during our short stay in Odessa. A couple of times a week, I would walk down the dirt road to the nearby grocery and bought Katie Keene "funny books." In one of these, there was an offer of paper dolls of Katie and her boyfriends and sidekicks. They were all available for $1.00. Of course, my mom sent away for them for me. Don't ask whether we could afford them. I don't know.
I do know that the paper dolls were much nicer than I had imagined. Slick and colorful and a great deal of fun. They helped me pass the time in a delightful way and were one defining part of that summer--as well as the embroidery to which my mother introduced me. Fifty-five years later, needlework is still a big and enjoyable part of my life and I will always be grateful.
But I have to wonder: what, that summer, were my mother's paper dolls and embroidery?
I have learned that keeping one's hands busy with crochet or cross stitch or whatever keeps the demons at bay. The process has its place beside hospital beds and in lamp-lit living rooms at 2AM when one can't sleep.
When my mother would lie awake in our tiny trailer in several small trailer parks in several small west Texas towns that summer of 1954 (and I have to believe that she did lie awake), what kept her mind from running from one frightening scenario to another? What slick, pretty, interesting, colorful activity was hers to help pass the time? What kept her from worrying that the money was going to run out before the jobs or that we'd never find a place in which to settle permanently?
In Brownfield, my father got (and lost) the last job he ever held. He lived nine more years and my mother supported us the whole time.
As I said, I was only 11 but, if I could go back, I hope I would try harder to understand and watch and make sure my mom had the opportunity to play paper dolls, too.