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Just another story.....     

    Like most kids growing up in the 40s and 50s vacations were meant only to visit relatives.  Usually ones you wish you didn’t have to see too often.  Of course, there wasn’t any Disneyworld, Dollywood, or Six Flags, just those old dusty dirt roads in Oklahoma.

     Several times a year we had to drive up to see Mother’s sister, Aunt Rade.  Aunt Rade and Uncle Ben had a small farm right across the dirt road from the Bountiful Cemetery.  Aunt Rade had nine children which means I had nine first cousins. They all looked alike even the girls, all were tow-headed with runny roses.  I never saw any of them with shoes or shirt, just short pants of some kind, with a dirty diaper or two thrown in.  This horde of tow-heads reminded me of a litter of puppies, some bigger, some smaller with the inevitable runt.  The horde would move about Uncle Ben’s farm and would exact pleasure and fun from just about anything, especially if it was moving.  I once saw nine tow-heads try to corral a chicken with it’s head cut off and they had fun doing it.  If one had to use the outhouse, they all had to use it.  I never noticed a ringleader it was almost a collective thought.  Excitement and fun entered their brains at the same time.  Remarkable!

     Aunt Rade had a cow, chickens and a goat.  I always felt sorry for the goat because it had to put up with those nine wild children jumping on it’s back for a quick ride around the yard.  Speaking of the yard, Aunt Rade would actually sweep the yard.  No grass, no weeds, just chickens, nine children and one old goat.  Uncle Ben’s spot in all this was his straight back chair propped up in the middle of the dog trot, catching any cool breeze that came along.  Any work around the place was done by Aunt Rade. She milked the cow, swept the yard, washed, cooked and tended the garden.

     My mother, father, brother, sister and I lived in a fairly large Texas town.  We lived on a paved street, with street lights and garbage was picked up once a week.  Being very young, Aunt Rade’s place was always beyond my comprehension.  I could never figure out why they had to drink water out of an enamel washtub with a dipper?  Why was Aunt Rade’s sweet milk, warm?  Why didn’t they have a bathroom?  Why didn’t Uncle Ben have a job like Daddy’s?  Why didn’t Aunt Rade buy her chickens from a store, why did she have to wring their necks and pluck the feathers?  But most of all, I wondered why Aunt Rade had so many children?  For the life of me I couldn’t figure out who in their right mind would want nine snotty nosed kids.

     Some of the kids were older, some younger than myself.  I know they adored me.  I could tell by the way they touched my pretty clothes, fussed over my Toni perm and tried on my lovely little white gloves.  I reveled in their adoration.

     I left my town in Texas and moved pretty much all over the U.S..  After 36 years I returned to Aunt Rade’s old place.  She and Uncle Ben were long gone and were interred across the road.  The old house was leaning toward the east and no kids were in sight.  The outhouse was still there, but the roof was gone.  The most profound thing was Uncle Ben’s straight chair, still propped up in the dog trot.

     Annie, one of my cousins, pulled up in her brand new Cadillac.  We hugged and danced around and made over each other ’til I thought I would burst.  She brought me up to date on all the cousins.  Out of the bunch there were three teachers, an Army Officer, two business owners and three successful ranchers.  They all made good and made Aunt Rade and Uncle Ben proud.

     Driving away that day I finally realized they didn’t adore me like I once thought.  They were as amazed by me as I was of them.  Annie said she and her siblings never could figure out why I always wore shoes, and why I looked like Shirlty Temple with all my Toni curls.  But most of all, why would a snooty little girl wear gloves?  What were they for?