I grew up in the fifties. One girl surrounded by three brothers. I had to learn how to climb a tree faster, hit back when necessary and out perform my brothers in order to survive. One of six children, right in the middle, taking root in modern day suburbia. Back then, children rode their bikes to school, ran barefoot all summer, and played outdoors… all around the neighborhood….right until the fireflies came out. It was an innocent carefree time to grow up.
I was a “regular-plain-Jane” adorned with short bangs and two neat braids. I embraced life with great enthusiasm and questioned very little. I was like a straight arrow…. never missing church…and rigorously following the teachings, instruction and models I was exposed to. I asked Jesus to come into my life at my Mother’s knee at five years old after attending many Bible Clubs and Sunday Schools faithfully.
As long as I could remember when anyone would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say with great pride,… “A mom with five kids!” You know, I think most gals back then had their mindset towards homemaking dreams of grandeur. Endless hours each day were spent, playing kitchen with plastic pots and pans, caring for baby dolls that cried real tears, wet diapers, or dressing up for a romantic ball with “Prince Charming.” If you really were spoilt and well off, you might even have your very own playhouse in the backyard, with real windows and doors…a place all your own to act out your dreams of homemaking.
And who can say how much a new invention called the television impacted my young mind? I remember with awe the day the small box was delivered to our small ranch in North Carolina. We were totally captivated and sat down right in front of the screen taking in the magic. It was an era after the war which focused on the family with shows like “Leave it to Beaver” or “Life with Father”. Warm. Inviting. An innocent world with little violence, immorality and heartaches. All shows seem to have a strong family theme.
Girls especially gravitated towards those light blue mystery books, the Nancy Drew series, and the other bright red covered fiction books, the Cherry Aims nurse series. Nursing became more viable as a career with each new red book I delved into. Soon I was setting my "dream sails” and tacking in that direction as well. For me, teaching was less glamorous, as “Our Miss Brooks” didn’t really inspire me to follow in her steps. Clearly, I fancied myself dressed in a perfectly starched white uniform with a beautiful white coifed hat resting on my curly teased hairdo; glamorous, intelligent AND with no braces, short bangs, or pimples that desperately needed the miraculous pasty Clearasil.
In the fifties, there always was always the exception to this career rule, ….the “horn-rimmed glasses” gal in your class. She was the unpopular one that reached for the outer limits, sat up front in class and desired to become a doctor or even perhaps a lawyer! But for most average girls, there were only three choices in the fifties, plain and simple……being a homemaker, nurse, or teacher. Boy, have times changed!
Life has a way of tinting and shading your naive experiences with a strong dose of reality. Soon my outlook of innocence was shaken to the core. One day at school in eighth grade, I was summoned to the office where a friendly neighbor greeted me, and drove me home. I was given no reason for this early dismissal but I was not worried at all. But when I opened the front door of our ranch house, I soon realized that life can take a turn that can’t be erased or rationalized. I stepped over the threshold into a heart rendering situation that imprinted on my mind forever. My sister, Martha….at 5 months old, perfectly created, had died this beautiful sunny day. Our family was jettisoned into a world of grief. Aching arms stayed sadly empty. Hearts split wide open. Tears flowed. Conversations went on way into the wee hours of the morning. Crib death was the diagnosis but it all didn’t make sense to me. At the funeral, I remember vividly how I leaned down to give Martha a kiss goodbye in her small casket and experienced for the first time the coldness of death. I was an impressional thirteen year old. Plainly she was gone and I was shaken deep into my inner being. I honestly can say that my Mother and Father bravely faced this horrible happening with the faith I had witnessed in them all my life. Our deep down faith was that nothing could separate us from GOD’S love: death can’t, life can’t, angels can’t, demons can’t, fears for today can’t, worries for tomorrow can’t, powers of hell can’t. (Romans 8 )Nothing in creation can.
Mother and I slowly packed up the nursery together, all but one pink and blue blanket, Martha’s favorite. Each piece of clothing was thoroughly smelled and hugged before we closed the trunk and wiped each other tears. This Martha-lesson threw me into the trenches of life and colored how I would go through other tragedies. Formative years. This seemingly didn’t fit in with those innocent dreams I set when younger for sure.
Then two years later, my second sister, Melissa was born. At first, we were all so excited as this baby would be loved doubly. Our arms just wanted to hold a baby once more. I was fifteen then and reveled in the new birth. But life had another lesson for me go through…one more baby to mourn for….another advanced course in life to learn from.
Happiness soon vanished as we gradually learned that Melissa had a condition called Down Syndrome. Little did we know back then about this condition but soon the doctors painted a clear picture of what her life would probably be like. And once again, I witnessed my parents resolve and faith as they waded through all the decisions they were faced with. Our family had to maneuver through this painstaking trial of placing our special treasure into a home for special children faraway in Ohio. No trip home from the hospital for Melissa. My brothers and I stood in the driveway to say our sad farewells because if we held her or brought her inside…well, we just didn’t trust ourselves. So we all watched her drive away with Mom and Dad for distant Ohio. For you see, doctors, pastors and friends, all advised us strongly that this was the right thing to do, given that there were four teenagers in the household. These “experts” and concerned friends, underscored the negative affect of bringing a special needs child into a family, predicting that the whole family would focus around her like cogs of a wheel. Dutifully, we obeyed and implemented this choice numbly.
And a few weeks after, it was time for Mother and I, to pack up the trunk all the bits and pieces of what was going to be Melissa’s nursery. Our hearts literally ached once more. A second nursery put away and it didn’t get any easier the second time around.
However, the story doesn’t end here. After several months, we drove to Ohio to bring Melissa home for Christmas. You probably can guess the rest. We ignored all the advice of the “learned” and kept her all to ourselves! Not caring if she had one more or one less chromosome! We almost felt like happy thieves as we watched her acclimate to her new surroundings, our home. Those months were completely joyful as our love was requited finally!
This second-Melissa-test also led my parents to dream a rather life-changing dream. It seems that as they had looked for a special place for Melissa to live in the beginning, they had seen many unhappy institutions for little ones with handicaps like Melissa. This realization soon grew in their minds and they were determined providing care for children like Melissa could simply be done much better with God’s help! So they started a home called Melmark for Melissa. "Mel" for Melissa and "Mar" for Martha and "K" for Krentel. The whole family was united to what this would mean to us. We indeed began to focus around Melissa and others like her, just like the experts had foretold. Like cogs in a wheel. I watched as my parents threw themselves into this project 200%….selling our family home….taking other children into our family….writing two books all about this opportunity for service (Melissa Comes Home and Melmark the Home that Love Built)…..networking with other charities…fund raising…dad giving up his job……inviting staff to live with us like new brothers and sisters…buying a mansion for the children to live in.…countless changes. But this is another whole story. God makes no mistakes. There was a reason for the Martha-Melissa lesson I slowly began to understand. By this time, I was seventeen years.
Childhood has a way of tiptoeing by quickly in spite of rather large happenings like these. It has been said that youth stays only long enough to strengthen our shoulders for the burdens ahead.
College years were here before I knew it right around this time and with great flawed anticipatory zeal, I set my cap to live out the world of my old dreams. Before long, I packed my suitcase and trunk, making sure I had plenty of knee-highs, mini skirts, tease combs, hairspray and my trusty girdle with seamed stockings. I was facing the world I created in my mind…and was determined it would innocently be just perfect. I had great faith.
And this new journey, I soon realized was in an arena much different than what I ever had imagined it to be. The luggage I brought with me was not only the physical suitcases, packed to the brim, but a prior knowledge of life’s experiences that formed the scaffolding of who I was, how I would make decisions and face the ups and downs of life. For me, reality didn’t always match up with the fantasy world I had so believed in…..”so-right”, “ so-fair”, “so-exciting” and full of those things that I thought “ought-to-be” or “should-have-been “ .
years of life.
Guard your heart above all else for it determines the course of your life. Proverbs 4:23
