Chapter III

Julia, our first born, was a beautiful baby who learned quickly. She was happy with herself, yet clung to me. I disagreed strongly with my one time friend. Children are the best of companions long before the age of eight. They appreciate seeing and feeling and they want to know what their parents know. (Too often as adults we find ourselves ignored, set aside. Our children do not ignore us.)

Julia would greet me upon my return from work, bury her face in my shoulder, then turn to survey from "up" - where she’d been. She wanted to go where I went, see what I saw, and do what I did. She went shopping with me, helped me mix cookies, bake dinner. And she listened to my truth telling. She wanted to know who I was. With few other people have I been able to speak so frankly, with such passion. Most people won’t let me finish my sentences. They cut in with their own antidotes.

Julia has clear memories of before she was two. A favorite memory was before she could walk, when Jennifer would put grape juice into her bottle and she would grip the bottle’s nipple in her teeth to move from place, remembers even the feel of the bottle as it swung from side to side. And she remembers waking in the night and hearing her mother saying, "You go take care of her." I would lift her out of her crib and carry her to the rocking chair in the front room, to sing to her and tell her stories. She remembers feeling so peaceful there. It was for me also a heavenly interlude. Sometimes I would return her to bed, and she would know but not protest, rather savored the warmth and the gentle movement. And she remembers the big step up to the cement sidewalk on the Basin’s main street, how she had to crawl up. And she remembers when her mother took her there for her morning coffee, and spending hours looking at the wonderful colors of all the yarn shelved on one wall. Knitting was in those days very popular. I myself had knitted a blanket for her before she was born. She remembers also the twinge of anxiety when she had to begin sharing her very pleasant buggy rides with a brother. Quickly, however she learned to welcome his warming presence.

She rode the wagon all the way to the Johnson’s, about a mile from town along a country road, to get fresh milk. She grew through childhood’s ups and downs. Sometimes her mother dropped her off at work for me to take care of her near the day’s end. I was the PE instructor, and one of my students during one such visit said, "Isn’t she cute?" then grabbed hold of her and bit into her cheek. I secured her release with strong-arm tactics. Luckily the young woman’s teeth had long before been pulled because she was known among the more informed for her attacks on young children. Julia survived, but it was some time before her mother dropped her off at work for me. I remember the new friend who came to one of Julia’s birthday parties, and after the party, Julia discovered that her money purse was missing. Most of the money was eventually returned, but that friend was no longer a welcome visitor.