THOSE WERE THE DAYS continuing story….

Grandmother/Mom
Grandmother/Mom

Mom, who was our grandmother, but insisted that her grandchildren call her mom, was a major force in my mother’s family and therefore in our family as well.  As a result of having to call her mom, we had to call my mother, mother.

When we were children, we often went to visit Mom with my mother.  She lived several blocks away and since we did not have a car, walking would have to do.  Three of mom’s daughters, she had eight, lived with her at the time.  And a few had married and had their own homes and families.  Two became teachers and the rest worked in the silk mills in the area and turned in their pay to mom as long as they were living at home.  Mom used some of the money to send two of the youngest girls to Teacher’s College.  Mom was very progressive especially being she was from the “Old Country”.

We, my sisters and I, were shy and would hide behind my mother if we were asked any questions when we visited.  Mom would comment on how bashful we were and my mother would scoff and say, “They are not that way at home!  Can’t keep them quiet there.”  Which of course, made us more bashful when we were out..

We kids enjoyed playing in mom’s large backyard where she kept chickens and had a vegetable garden.  We made up our own games and were usually pretty tired when mother would call us in for a snack of lemonade and cookies that mom had made.  Usually oatmeal and raisin cookies and the lemonade was so cool and refreshing that we guzzled it down.

After all the playing and then walking home we kids were pretty tired and usually took a nap, giving mother a brief respite and maybe a visit with her friend and neighbor, Mrs. Kelly.  Mrs. Kelly lived right next door to us and had a large yard in which were planted all manner of vegetables.  She used to give us vegetables on a regular basis, anywhere from carrots to tomatoes and onions.  My mother would make wonderful stews with chunks of meat and always potatoes added.  My mother had a small garden and even some chickens but with four children, was always grateful for donations of food especially around the holidays.

Mrs. Kelly, in addition to being very helpful to us, was also a bad influence on my mother, teaching her to smoke and sometimes drink alcohol.  But mother never became a big drinker and she never became a heavy smoker either, in spite of Mrs. Kelly.  But they did have a good time when they got together.  They both loved hearing and telling a good story.  There was always a lot of laughing when they got together.

To be continued.

THE RETURN

Mother and Girls
Mother and Girls

 THE RETURN

I had not seen my father in years.  In fact, I really did not care if I ever saw him again.  He left so long ago I barely remembered what he looked like.  So the day he returned was more of a shock, than a surprise.

When I came home from school that day, the family was all excited about something.  Mother, who was usually in an old house dress, was in her Sunday best. She had on one of her two good dresses. This one had big pink roses splashed on a field of black. It was my favorite. My mother was a good-looking woman and since dad had left us several years ago, she had finally started dating again.  She said at that time that she considered him dead anyway.

So that day, when mother asked me to go upstairs and make the beds, I did not jump to do it.
“What’s with the cleaning”? I asked.  I was told more than once, that I had a smart mouth.  I never knew quite how to take that, whether I should be insulted or complimented.   But mother seemed worried about getting the house cleaned and right away.  It was not like her to be so concerned about the cleaning.  Her usual attitude about it  was, ‘It will get done when it gets done’, and it always got done.

“It is a surprise, will you please do what I asked?”  Mother’s voice was getting a bit shrill.
“Ok,  ok, but I don’t know what all the mystery is about.  Is someone important coming”?   I decided to go and do as she asked before she got mad and started yelling.  When she started yelling, it never ended good.

I ran upstairs and started making beds.  My two younger sisters were in their  bedroom giggling and they were not doing any cleaning. But then they never did any of the cleaning anyway.  I hoped maybe they could shed a little light on the situation but when I asked them, they just ignored me and kept on giggling. What can you expect from kids, I thought. I was fourteen and as second oldest in the family thought I was in control of things. I was blond and blue-eyed and rather scrawny yet the boys were beginning to notice me. My mother encouraged me in my independence, because she needed me to help at home while she was working.  Since Dad had left us high and dry when I was seven, with no money to speak of; mom needed every penny she could get to raise her four girls.

I finished making the beds and as I entered my room, which I shared with my older sister, the smell of Summer drifted in through the window. The lace curtains fluttered lazily on the warm breeze as I flopped on the bed and lit a cigarette that I had swiped from  Mother’s purse earlier.  She did let me light hers for her once in a while so I thought  it was okay to have one  once in a while.  I went off into a world of my own and saw  myself as a dancer. Myself and Gene Kelly, who was my favorite movie star, swayed back and forth to the music and as we swung out and came together, I was lost in the moment.

I seemed to be day-dreaming  more and more lately.  It was a way to close out the real world and go to my own special place. Ever since dad had deserted us, there never was enough money,  but now things were beginning to get better with myself and my older sister working.  I only worked part-time because I was still in school but it was enough to buy my clothes and give a little to my mother.  Dad had refused to send home any money to help support us from his Army allotment.  So the decision was taken out of his hands and the Army sent money to us anyway.  Yes, dad was a real nice guy.

Dad was drafted even though he was over forty because he was a deserter of his family and the Army needed all the men they could get. The second World War was in full progress at this time and that’s all that we  heard about on the radio. The war!  Rationing, black-outs, not enough sugar butter or gas. The sugar was what concerned me the most, I loved making candy, one thing dad had taught me.   Fudge with peanut butter was my favorite.

Whenever mother spoke of dad her voice was bitter and I learned to despise his memory even though I didn’t remember him all that much. Mother managed to fill in the blanks with, “We wouldn’t be in this shack with hardly enough to eat if he were any good.”  She called him “Mr. Rat” most of the time.  And he managed to live up to that name.

I often wondered if dad would come back and how she would feel if it ever came to that. I  knew however, with mother’s attitude, there was slim chance of that happening. As I stubbed out the cigarette, a train whistle blew in the distance and I wondered what it would be like to be on that train. I always dreamed of going to New York, which was not that far away and becoming an artist or a dancer.
“Are you finished yet?” Her mother’s voice broke her reverie.
“I’m all done.” I yelled back.

Mother worked hard trying to support the family. She did housework for several people. She was usually tired when she came home and so she put me in charge of watching the kids and cleaning the house in her absence. I liked being in charge. I could boss my younger sisters around whenever I felt like it. They rebelled of course and there was many an argument. They were eleven  and nine at that time. They clashed loudly with me over who was “in charge”. “We’re going to tell mother,” was the usual refrain when I pushed too hard to make them do anything like their homework or make their beds.

The house we rented was a two bedroom over a shoemaker shop.  Myself and my older sister, shared one bedroom and my two younger girls shared the other. Mother slept on the couch downstairs.  She said she had to keep an eye on the coal stoves anyway, so they wouldn’t go out and then we would freeze in the winter. Of course we had to have the stoves going in the Summer also to do our cooking. Which made for a very warm house in the summer.

My older sister was sixteen and as the oldest had to quit high school to work and help support the family. As a result of her bringing money in, she became very independent. She assumed no duties at home and paid little or no attention to mother. The younger girls didn’t really remember their dad or if they did, it was just a fuzzy outline. Their lives consisted of going to school and playing with their friends.

My reverie was interrupted again when I heard my mother’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs.
“Come on down girls, there’s someone here to see you”, mother said.

My sisters ran down the stairs giggling to see who it was but for some reason I hung back. I had a strange feeling come over me. I really didn’t want to come down and see who was there.  I heard men’s voices that I did not recognize. So I stayed in my room until Mother finally came up and insisted that I come down and meet the visitors.

To be continued.

THE RETURN

Paddy Glennon circa 1943Word Press/Shaping Your Story

Week Two

Intros and Hooks

I had not seen my father in years.  In fact, I really did not care if I ever saw him again.  He left so long ago I barely remembered what he looked like.  So the day he returned was more of a shock, than a surprise.

When I came home from school that day, the family was all excited about something.  Mother, who was usually in an old house dress, was in her Sunday best. She had on one of her two good dresses. This one had big pink roses splashed on a field of black. It was my favorite. My mother was a good-looking woman and since dad had left us, she had started dating again.

So when mother asked me to go upstairs and make the beds, I did not jump to do it.
“What’s with the cleaning”? I asked.  I was told more than once, that I had a smart mouth.  I never knew quite how to take that, whether I should be insulted or complimented.   But mother seemed worried about getting the house cleaned and right away.  It was not like her to be so concerned about the cleaning.  Her usual attitude about it  was, ‘It will get done when it gets done’, and it always got done.

“It is a surprise, will you please do what I asked?”  Mother’s voice was getting a bit shrill.
“Ok,  ok, but I don’t know what all the mystery is about.  Is someone important coming”?   I decided to go and do as she asked before she got mad and started yelling.  When she started yelling, it never ended good.

I ran upstairs and started making beds.  My two younger sisters were in their  bedroom giggling and they were not doing any cleaning. But then they never did any of the cleaning anyway.  I hoped maybe they could shed a little light on the situation but when I asked them, they just ignored me and kept on giggling. What can you expect from kids, I thought. I was fourteen and as second oldest in the family thought I was in control of things. I was blond and blue-eyed and rather scrawny yet the boys were beginning to notice me. My mother encouraged me in my independence, because she needed me to help at home while she was working.  Since Dad had left us high and dry when I was seven, with no money to speak of; mom needed every penny she could get to raise her four girls.

I finished making the beds and as I entered my room, which I shared with my older sister, the smell of Summer drifted in through the window. The lace curtains fluttered lazily on the warm breeze as I flopped on the bed and lit a cigarette that I had swiped from  Mother’s purse earlier.  She did let me light hers for her once in a while so I thought  it was okay to have one  once in a while.  I went off into a world of my own and saw  myself as a dancer. Myself and Gene Kelly, who was my favorite movie star then, swayed back and forth to the music and as we swung out and came together, I was lost in the moment.

I seemed to be day-dreaming  more and more lately.  It was a way to close out the real world and go to my own special place. Ever since dad had deserted us, there never was enough money,  but now things were beginning to get better with myself and my older sister working.  Dad had refused to send home any money to help support us from his Army allotment.  So the decision was taken out of his hands and the Army sent money to us anyway.  Yes, dad was a real nice guy.

Dad was drafted even though he was over forty because he was a deserter of his family and the Army needed all the men they could get. The second World War was in full progress at this time and that’s all that we  heard about on the radio. The war!  Rationing, black-outs, not enough sugar butter or gas. The sugar was what concerned me the most, I loved making candy, one thing dad had taught me.   Fudge with peanut butter was my favorite.

Whenever mother spoke of dad her voice was bitter and I learned to despise his memory even though I didn’t remember him all that much. Mother managed to fill in the blanks with, “We wouldn’t be in this shack with hardly enough to eat if he were any good.”  She called him “Mr. Rat” most of the time.  And he managed to live up to that name.

I often wondered if dad would come back and how she would feel if it ever came to that. I  knew however, with mother’s attitude, there was slim chance of that happening. As I stubbed out the cigarette, a train whistle blew in the distance and I wondered what it would be like to be on that train. I always dreamed of going to New York, which was not that far away and becoming an artist or a dancer.
“Are you finished yet?” Her mother’s voice broke her reverie.
“I’m all done.” I yelled back.

Mother worked hard trying to support the family. She did housework for several people. She was usually tired when she came home and so she put me in charge of watching the kids and cleaning the house in her absence. I liked being in charge. I could boss my younger sisters around whenever I felt like it. They rebelled of course and there was many an argument. They were eleven  and nine at that time. They clashed loudly with me over who was “in charge”. “We’re going to tell mother,” was the usual refrain when I pushed too hard to make them do anything like their homework or make their beds.

The house we rented was a two bedroom over a shoemaker shop.  Myself and my older sister, shared one bedroom and my two younger girls shared the other. Mother slept on the couch downstairs.  She said she had to keep an eye on the coal stoves anyway, so they wouldn’t go out and then we would freeze in the winter. Of course we had to have the stoves going in the Summer also to do our cooking. Which made for a very warm house in the summer.

My older sister was sixteen and as the oldest had to quit high school to work and help support the family. As a result of her bringing money in, she became very independent. She assumed no duties at home and paid little or no attention to mother. The younger girls didn’t really remember their dad or if they did, it was just a fuzzy outline. Their lives consisted of going to school and playing with their friends.

I had a part-time job at a soda fountain not far from home in the summer when school was off. My mother knew the owners and helped me get the job.  I loved the job because I could meet different guys usually older than me, some of them were in the service and looked good in their uniforms.  I  was able to eat ice cream sundaes, cokes and burgers and made money besides. I made enough money to buy my clothes for school and even give some to my mother.  So between working at home and my part time job, I was kept quite busy.

My reverie was interrupted again when I heard my mother’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs.
“Come on down girls, there’s someone here to see you”, mother said.

My sisters ran down the stairs giggling to see who it was but for some reason I hung back. I had a strange feeling come over me. I really didn’t want to come down and see who was there.  I heard men’s voices that I did not recognize. So I stayed in my room until Mother finally came up and insisted that I come down and meet the visitors.

To be continued.

HOME

Mother at Christmas
Mother at Christmas

 

This is a picture of my mother around Christmastime.  Christmas was always a little brighter when she was around.  She had a ‘heart of gold’ and a disposition to go with it.  Wherever we lived, be it palace or barn, it was always better when she was there.  She made it ‘Home’ wherever we lived, so I can never think of home, without thinking of her.

For Photo Challenge

Developing your eye, #1

THOSE WERE THE DAYS continued

Grandmother/Mom
Grandmother/Mom

My grandmother, even being from the old country, Ireland, quickly took on some new ideas from her adopted country.  Although she kept many of the customs of her past, like wearing long dresses to her ankles and these were mostly  dark colors in paisley prints.  Her shoes were always black with low heels, like nurses used to wear.

The one thing she insisted on was that we, her grandchildren call her “Mom” and not “Grandmother”.  She did not want to be considered old, so as a result, we had to call my mother, “Mother”, not realizing how different that was, especially in the United States, where most people call their mom, “mom”.

We, of course, thought nothing of it at the time but as we got older, it seemed a bit odd.  Not that we ever objected to it or even said anything about it.  Until we were adults and friends would sometimes remark about it being a little strange.

Mom’s husband, my grandfather, was called “Pop” by both his children and his grandchildren.  That always seemed odd to me, even as a child.  But I do not remember ever questioning anyone about it but I do not think he cared one way or the other what we called him.  Mom usually set down the rules about these things in her house and among her family.  You disagreed with her at your own peril.  My mother took it all with a grain of salt and I followed in her footsteps.

To Be Continued.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS

Grandmother/Mom
Grandmother/Mom

My grandmother on my mother’s side was an old-fashioned woman.  I remember as a kid going to visit her and my aunts, who still lived at home. My aunts were Anna, Wynne and Alice, the youngest.  They were working girls, staying at home to take care of my grandmother and going out to work.  Anna and Wynne worked in the silk mill and hard work it was, so I’ve been told by my mother, who also worked there when she lived at home.

My grandfather, died as a result of the “Black Lung”, as it was called, from working in the coal mines.  So Grandmother was left as a single mother at an early age with eight children.  That was a time before there were any Unions in the mines or any union benefits.  Grandmother had to struggle to keep the family together.  So the older children were taken out of school when they graduated from eighth grade and sent out to work.  Then they helped the younger children to finish school and some of them even went to college.

Aunt Cecelia and Aunt Alice being among the youngest, were sent to Teacher’s College to become teachers. The both got a good jobs teaching at a local Junior High School.  They of course, made more money than the other children.   Aunt Alice also had handsome boyfriends courting her on a continuing basis, as she was a good-looking woman with a sparkling personality.  I think she was the tallest one in the family also, at least by my calculations.  I think she was about five foot, nine inches in her bare feet.

Mother took us many times to visit my grandmother, especially in the Summer it seemed, and we usually enjoyed ourselves.  We kids always got treats and were allowed to go out in the big backyard and run around with our cookies and lemonade.  My grandmother always wore long dresses to her ankles and the colors were always dark.  She wore her hair in a bun, so she always seemed older even when she was not that old.

She was from the Old Country, Ireland.  She lived in County Mayo, southern Ireland and was a staunch Catholic.  She came to the U.S. when she was fourteen with her mother and her sisters and brothers.  Her father had come first and got a good job and settled into a nice house in Northeastern Pennsylvania, coal country, before sending for his family.  The Coal Mines were to play a large part in both my grandparents and my parents lives.

TO BE CONTINUED.

The Lady in the Mirror.

Mother at Christmas
Mother at Christmas

Today’s post is one that I originally published a while ago.  I changed it a bit hopefully for the better.  So here it is again.  Hope you like it!

Today’s post is supposed to be about an overheard conversation, wherever you may have heard it. Could have been anywhere, at home, in a coffee shop, a restaurant, etc. Not sure that this qualifies as an overheard conversation but it’s certainly a story that has been told and repeated many times in our family. And it bears repeating I think but I will let you be the judge of that.

My Mother was a great story-teller.  She kept my girlfriends interest when they would come over to visit.  Sometime the stories were about the supernatural and graveyards at midnight and would scare my friends so much that they were afraid to walk home in the dark of night.  But they would always come back for more.

When Mother got older, she moved in with my youngest sister and her husband.  My sister would take mother to all her doctor’s appointments and they usually stopped at a coffee shop on the way home.

This particular day when they went to a coffee shop they had frequented, they were seated at a table facing each other and there was a large mirror all around the restaurant taking up most of the wall, which mother was facing.

They had finished their sandwiches and were just enjoying their coffee and chatting.  Mother said that she noticed these two women sitting nearby, who had their heads together and were chattering away.

“Don’t look now but those two women haven’t stopped to take a breadth since they came in, especially the older one,”  mother said.

“No, don’t look, the older woman is really taking over the conversation.  What a chatter box.  The younger one can’t get a word in edgewise.  Poor thing.”

“She is still at it!  Going a mile a minute.  Haven’t seen her stop flapping her lips since they got here,”  mother  said in an irritated voice.

Now my sister was going to turn around to see these two, who were annoying mother so much. “No, don’t turn or they’ll know we are watching them,” mother insisted.

But by this time, my sister was too curious and had to get a look at these two gossips especially the older one.  So she turned slowly, pretending to pick up her dropped napkin and get a look at the women. When she turned back to mother, she was laughing so hard that tears were in her eyes. “Well I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” Mother said with a frown on her face.

“Mother, those two women you have been watching in the mirror are us!  And here you are getting annoyed at yourself.  Because you are that older woman.”

Well, mother’s face was red as a beet for a few minutes.  When she thought about it, she had to laugh at herself.  But then she said, “Oh, I guess you are going to tell everyone about it now!”

 The story was passed around the family for years after, along with a lot of other stories about mother that were just too good to keep to ourselves.

MY MOTHER’S STORIES

 

My sister and I
My sister and I

Over the years as I was growing up and even as an adult, my mother was a great story-teller.  She also had some interesting, witty but profound sayings that have stayed with me even now.

I remember when I was in high school, my girlfriends would like to come to my house to hear mother tell her stories.  Sometimes I had to drag them away because they were so engaged with mother’s stories.

Her favorite stories usually included eerie, ghost-like entities appearing to people and scaring the “bejasus” out of her listeners.  My sisters and I always thought that she embellished these stories to make them more interesting.  But she would never admit to doing that.

One story I remember well was of a friend, who was driving past a cemetery late at night.  All of a sudden a woman appeared in front of his car waving her arms.  She was wearing a white dress which billowed around her.  She had long stringy, white hair and seemed to be in trouble.  So of course he stopped the car and let the woman into the front seat with him.  She was crying and she told him she had a message for him.  He started the car and turned to her but as she  started to speak, suddenly she vanished!  His hair at this point was standing on end!  The car was moving but she wasn’t there.  He thought he must be hallucinating  as he stopped the car to collect himself.   His attention was drawn to the cemetery as he saw the woman again walking among the graves as though looking for one in particular.  He decided it would be best if he just went home after that.

My sisters and I never knew whether to believe her because she had so many stories that involved the dead appearing to people and warning them about something or giving them messages.  But our girlfriends would always sit with rapt attention begging for more.  Then they would be afraid to walk home in the dark.

Later she was to keep my  kids engrossed with her stories, when they were old enough to understand.  My mother’s mother came from Ireland and I am sure that she and her sisters were brought up with story telling both real and imagined.

I wish now that I had recorded her stories for posterity.  It would be wonderful to hear her voice again, especially telling her stories.

The Day I Smashed The Window! Continuing…..

At my Grandmother's funeral.
.

The blood from my wrist was running down my arm but father didn’t seem to notice.  His face was red and he was yelling so loud; I had never seen him like this before.  But I was so scared,  all I could think about was getting away from his grip.  So when I finally broke free, I ran for the stairs.  I made it upstairs to the bedroom with father in hot pursuit.

I didn’t know if mother was home or not.  I tried to get under the blanket on the bed thinking it would protect me.  I had taken my coat off on the way up the stairs.  He yanked the blanket off me and I only had a cotton dress and thin panties on, my legs were bare.  I saw him trying to get his belt off and I knew I was in for it!

He started hitting me on the butt and the legs with his belt and I started crying and yelling how I did not mean to break the window.  But he wasn’t listening; he was too enraged.  This continued for a while and I don’t know who was louder me begging for mercy or him cursing me.  All of a sudden mother appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.  She started yelling at father.

“Stop, you are going to kill her!  She shouted!

“Do you know what she did?”  He yelled back!

“I don’t care, you need to stop; she is bleeding!”  Mother yelled as she grabbed his arm to stop him from hitting me again.

Father pulled his arm away from her but she jumped in front of him and pushed him back away from me.  Mother was no lightweight and she was putting all her force against him to push him away and he staggered back.  Father was not that big of a man but he was strong.  He was always exercising and lifting weights.  He seemed to lose his rage as he fell back against the wall.

Mother then sat me up and looked at where the blood was coming from on my wrist.  She gasped and told him to go and get our neighbor, Mrs. D.  He seemed in a stupor, so she yelled at him again to go as they needed to get the blood stopped and Mrs. D. was our source in any emergency.  She always knew what to do and she always had bandages and tape and whatever else was needed in an emergency.

Mrs. D. had three boys in school, who were constantly getting into trouble,  so she had to be ready for any emergency.  We depended on her to be there for us and she never let us down.  It seemed that I was the one in our family who was usually in trouble and I counted on her to help me on many occasions.

So it was no surprise when she came and assessed the situation, cleaned up my wound after taking a piece of glass out of my wrist  and bandaged it.  I was feeling much better after that.  No one thought of calling the doctor, because we could not afford one usually. So I have a few scars to show for the scrapes I was in as a child.

Father managed to get his coat on and leave the house not wanting to hang around in case anyone wanted to question him.  We found out later he had gone to his mother’s house, where he was always made to feel better about himself no matter what.

Although, I must say from that time on, he never hit me again.  That wasn’t necessarily true of my mother, even though she saved me more times than I can count as I did get into trouble a lot it seems.

The pane of glass in the front door was fixed with a piece or cardboard from a box we had and stayed that way for quite a while.  Father remained away for a long time but then that was what he did.  Oh, I still have a scar on that wrist to remind me of that day.

The End

 

THE DAY I SMASHED THE WINDOW!

Marion and Kay

THE DAY I SMASHED THE WINDOW

It was a bright snowy day as I trudged home from school that cold winter afternoon.  My older sister, who was usually with me as we walked to and from school, most if not all school days, was missing.  Today she had to stay later to practice for the upcoming play that she was starring in.   She was playing the part of Gabriel, the angel who announces to Mary that she was to be the Mother of God.  She had some singing in latin, which required not only a knowledge of latin but it helped if you had a pleasant singing voice.  We of course were attending Catholic school, so our plays mostly had a religious theme.  Of course two years of latin was required also in high school.  And the mass was in Latin at that time.  She qualified on all points, plus she was very pretty with long blond hair.  She made the perfect angel.

I approached the house which my mother called, “the shack,” ever since we had moved here from the nice house we had previously.  And it was a shack! The roof leaked, the wind whistled through the cracks in the house and the toilet was practically outside.  There was a lean to attached to the house and a roof and door that closed, so it wasn’t too bad.   It was cold though and the toilet seat would freeze over in winter.  I was starting to get chills from the wind which had picked up and my feet were soaked.   As I approached the house I was looking forward to sitting by the stove and warming myself.

I did not remember whether father was going to be home today or not.  He was supposed to be out looking for a job, which meant that mother would be home and I was happy about that.  I did not want to hear them quarreling again and mother usually had a snack for us after school, cookies and cocoa or tea always warmed me and made me feel good.

Mostly, I went around to the kitchen door and took my boots, if I had any, off and shook any snow off before coming into the house.  But I was so cold and miserable I decided to go in through the front door.  I tried the door and it didn’t budge, so I tried it again.  No luck.  Then I decided to knock because I knew someone was home, I could hear the radio.  I banged on the glass in the window.  There were six separate panes of glass in the top of the door, the bottom half was wood. No one was coming to the door.

I did have a temper and after knocking several times I was getting angry in addition to being cold and having wet feet, so I banged harder than I should have.  Just then, on the third bang, the glass shattered!  Some of the glass chips cut into my wrist and I started to bleed.  Now I could hear footsteps coming to the door and also yelling and cursing!  My wrist was bleeding pretty good at this point from the broken glass shards and I could feel myself being pulled inside!

“What the hell?”  Father was screaming as he dragged me inside.  The sound of his raised voice and his grip on my arms was starting to hurt.  The blood was getting all over my coat as I managed to get away from him.  I quickly ran upstairs and sat on the bed.  But he followed me upstairs and I knew I was in for it.

 

To Be Continued.