The Cul-de-Sac ~ by Charlie Simpson, Atlanta, Georgia

During the early part of World War Two we lived on a cul-de-sac in Neosho, Missouri, while I was in the first grade and half of the second. The short cul-de-sac had six houses on it, just like the twelve or so identical cul-de-sacs in the subdivision, which consisted of the main subdivision road with cul-de-sacs coming off each side of the road every 300 feet or so. It was quickly constructed either by or for the Army. All the houses, which had been equally quickly and cheaply built, were occupied by Army officers, who were training at nearby Camp Crowder.

I don’t know whether or not everyone was shipped overseas at the same time because my Mother and I left a day or two after my Dad’s departure.

The cul-de-sac was gravel—no time for paving or curbing.

There were a lot of kids in the neighborhood, almost all older than me by a year or two or three. The cul-de-sacs, particularly the one just up the hill from ours, made good baseball fields. There wasn’t a tree or fence or any other obstacle in the entire subdivision, so access to the other streets was very easy—you just walked through the yards, none of which had grass because there wasn’t time to plant or grow it. Starting my baseball playing days with older kids had some challenges, including the time I was hit square in the eye with a very hard-thrown baseball, but it proved to be valuable, similar to Johnny Cash’s song, “A Boy Named Sue.”

The middle of the cul-de-sac was useful as the location for the can in games of kick-the-can, a challenging game because there was no place to hide except behind one of the houses, which left a long, exposed run trying to kick the can before you were caught.

I don’t remember the names of any of my friends there. I think we all sensed that we would never run across each other again, even if we didn’t really understand all that was going on. We all knew these cul-de-sacs were not home.

A note from Allison and Marcia:  Charlie wrote this story for one of our workshops, reminding us all of the importance of home.  What are your memories of places you have called home?

The Hole in My Closet ~ by Allison Rhodes, Decatur, Georgia

My grandmother Nonnie was an incredible woman who happened to be deaf and mute. When I was ages 9-14 I lived with her to be her “ears” and some company at night. My parents and sibs were just down the hill and I was there for much of the time. But evenings, nights and early mornings were spent with Nonnie. My bachelor uncle George came for the weekends but the rest of the time it was Nonnie and me. I am grateful I had that arrangement, but that is another story. This is about the hole in my closet.

Behind the hanging clothes there was a hole about 8 inches wide in the back wall of my closet. I never questioned why it was there; I just knew it would be a great hiding place. The ledge right inside the hole became the secret repository for writings and drawings documenting my early adolescence.

As my body began the transition from girl to young woman, I came face to face with what my culture said a girl should be. It was the early 60’s, the era of the blonde, ponytailed cheerleader, the homecoming queen and Sandra Dee. And we were to all grow up to be the perennially cheerful Donna Reid, cleaning house clad in an ironed shirtwaist dress, wearing pearls and married to a doctor.

This was a far cry from anything I was or could be but my fantasies gave it a whirl. I would write little stories about me wherein I was popular and pretty. I was sought after by the cutest boys and had a wardrobe of the perfect clothes. My mother generally made all my clothes but in my writings they were procured from the finest department stores. I even drew pictures of these fabulous outfits, designed for slim, perky cheerleader to illustrate the life I thought I should have. In my stories I was always going to dances and parties and even got discovered as a movie star. 

One Sunday I was returning to Nonnie’s as George was leaving. I hung my clothes in the closet and noticed with horror that the hole was gone. Patched, painted over, gone. George came into my room holding a shoe box filled with my writings. He handed me the box with no comment, just a smile. I was too embarrassed to ask if he had read them but at that point I ceased writing down my make-believe stories. Perhaps it coincided for me with the reality that I was who I was or maybe it was because I didn’t have a secret place anymore. Nonetheless the writing served a purpose as I began the journey to womanhood. It was an outlet for expression and fantasy. 

As a woman I have written off and on through the years, but I continue to feel a deep kinship with the chubby, brown haired girl who was a bit quirky, funny, child-like and out of step with cultural stereotypes. Only now I wouldn’t put her in a closet and pretend, even in my writings, to be someone else. I really like her. 

Our stories help us see ourselves and gain perspective on this ongoing journey we call life. What stories do you remember that reflect on your journey?

Six-Word Memoirs on First Love

 An unfathomable light that ne’er faded.

 Cile, Bellingham, WA

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sweet innocence, real gentleman... grateful memories

Brandi Diamond, Atlanta, GA

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Can't keep you outta my dreams!

Nancy Doran, Atlanta, GA

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kissed a girl on a rainbow

Joanna Michaels, Sarasota, FL

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glance held too long. slow smile.

Efton, Sarasota, FL

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Fifteen. French movie. French kiss. Ew.

Anonymous

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Her bewitching smile between two dimples

Frank Nix,  Tucker, GA

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Blinded, bedded, bloodied, too young, goodbye

Molly Talbert, Warner Robins, GA

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He still is my first love.

Ann Giles, Tampa

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Unrequited eye loved, he never could

Jem, Paris, FR

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A surprise kiss, that changed everything

Anonymous

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Loneliness, Longing, Lust, Love, Leaving, Longing

Nigel Poole, Oglethorpe, GA

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Still doing time for sexual assault.

Anonymous

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Hasn't happened. Can't wait. Tall Please.

Emily Morgan, Decatur, GA

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Sweet love, unimaginable journey, beautiful passion.

Anne Cox, Atlanta, GA

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Gave me peanut butter-laden kisses
Charisse Byers, Atlanta, GA

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13.  First kiss.  Walking on air.
Cheryl

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Carolina breeze bringing us Hotel California
Ashley Davis, Warner Robins, GA

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innocent yet forbidden;  intoxicating, never duplicated
Rosemary Longueira, Savannah, GA

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Sorry I was not a girl.
Bubs, Portland, OR

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Friend, best friend, love, husband, repeat
Dianne Talbert,  Warner Robins, GA

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Butterflies, excitement, anticipation, uh-oh, diarrhea.
Pizelda, Portland, OR

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Slowly suave...skipped beat...broke heart!

Jayne Ann Milling,  Atlanta, GA

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You were always on my mind.
Faye Lacey, Warner Robins, GA

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Son of a preacher man, poignant
Rhiannon,  Portland

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Let her go. Regretted it since.

Anonymous

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Powerful, exciting, scary, intense, funny, missed.

Lanell, Atlanta, GA

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Next-door neighbor, stole a kiss.

Sue, Alpharetta, GA

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If I'd known then, what I ............
Anonymous

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Eyes twinkling, quirky mouth, lost forever

Freda Marshall, Scotland

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He left me breathless and obsessed...
Amy Rubado, Atlanta, GA

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Awkwardly passionate but oh the potential!

Jim Boon, Marietta GA

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Lousy, good for nothing, jerk face
Nicki Young, Eatontown, NJ

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The whole thing breaks my heart
Mary Lee, Portland, OR

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Really hot, really hard, short lived
Jake Thompson, Atlanta, GA


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Too young.  Too scared.  Lost him!
Chris

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Treasured my dreams as his own

Frances,    Portland, OR

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Daydreaming for hours about holding hands

Courtney Doran, Atlanta, GA

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Black satin gown....prom excitement abounds!

Wanda Rose Stewart, Atlanta, GA

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Twin tin lunch boxes with pb&j

Nancy Cardenuto, Kutztown, PA

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Curly headed six-year-old neighbor 

Ernie Lee, Savannah, GA

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fun, sensitive, safe, my best friend!

Katie Covington, Atlanta, GA

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Destined for each other by God!
Judy & Norm Schoch, Stuart, FL


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Heart Skips Beats, Remember To Breathe
Helen Hawver, Atlanta, GA

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A predestined love, tested by time

Becky Toole, Walhalla, SC

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Molten, silky coating enveloping my senses
Aggie

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Kissed on playground, got in trouble
Anonymous (so far) 

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The sulfur strike lingers long after 
Lee Edward, Macon, GA 

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One eyed, Thumb-sucking-inducing, smelly koala bear
Taylor Mayo, Washington, DC. 

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he had me at bud light 
Mary, Decatur, GA 

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He never knew, neither will I

Anonymous, Atlanta, GA

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I could tell at first sight!

 Richard N Schock

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laughter for forty-one years and counting
Georgeanne

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I thought it was a girl!
Anonymous, Atlanta, GA

Stepping Up on a Birthday Memory ~ by Marcia Mayo, Atlanta, Georgia

February is my birth month; I was born on the 9th. One of my earliest memories has to do with the day I turned four. In the foyer of my childhood home in Waycross, Georgia, we had this huge hall tree made of burled wood, with ornate metal hooks for coats and hats and a full-length mirror that was losing its silver lining - but not for me because I was four years old and quite proud of it. There was some kind of rounded shelf at the bottom of this massive piece of furniture, just perfect for a little girl to step up on to see what four years old looked like. I remember inspecting myself for an overnight change and being a little disappointed that four looked very much like three.

I’m pretty sure, in a week or so, I’ll look at myself and discover that sixty-one looks much like sixty. All I can say is those other birthdays must have been hell because sixty looks absolutely nothing like four.

They say that, by the time you attain a certain age, you have the face you deserve. If that’s true, I must deserve quite a few wrinkles because I’m overrun with them. While some of my errant skin arrived on my face and body from too much sun as a teenager and too many White Wine Spritzers as a young woman, many of my worry and laugh lines were gifts from my three children, whom I love more than life itself. And now those children are going about creating other little beings for me to worry over and marvel at as I head into my future birthdays, God willing. Pretty soon I’m going to be mistaken for one of those dried-up apple-face dolls everyone was making about twenty years ago (when I was a mere forty).

Back to the hall tree. I don’t know what happened to it.  I do remember that it followed my family from Waycross to Savannah and then to Sunbury where my parents had a home after my brother and I grew up. I’m pretty sure they must have sold it or given it away when they moved to a retirement home.

I’d love to be able to step back up on that childhood memory one more time to wonder where all the years have gone.

What are your birthday memories?