The child is father to the man....

[TC Chris]

I found a 2nd baby book from my infancy in which my mother had recorded various important data. I was the first kiddo, so I was a big deal. Each subsequent kid got less recorded data. My first baby book records my first words as "Go Car." The second one says it was "hello" when I saw a phone, and "go car" next.

I won't repeat the details of bowel and bladder training, but there is a note "Chris saves everything--even shiny bits of paper he finds." Well, not so much shiny bits any more, but yeah, I save lots of cool stuff. And under indoor amusements, Mom listed "Playing with extensions cords, vacuum cleaners, flashlights, shaver cord, radios, etc." Yup, an inclination toward electric stuff and radios, and it hasn't gone away. My favorite outdoor toy was the red fire truck, one of those pedal-operated carts that some other family had given them when their own kids had outgrown it. The only things that don't show up are boats and books. We were landlocked in NC at the time, so no boats, and I was too young to read, so no books. Cars, radios, electric stuff. Some things don't change.

Chris Campbell

[electra225]

I would sit by the hour and watch a fan run when I was a kid. When I rode on the tractor with grandpa, I always rode where I could watch the fan run. I still like watching fans run. Funny the habits we adopt as infants. I also was curious about how things worked. I bugged grandpa to let me work on something. When I was five, he let me "Fix" the lawn mower. He had removed the spark plug and bent the gap closed. By the time he got home, I had it ready to start. I was chicken to actually start it.

[TC Chris]

I also was curious about how things worked. I bugged grandpa to let me work on something. When I was five, he let me "Fix" the lawn mower. He had removed the spark plug and bent the gap closed. By the time he got home, I had it ready to start. I was chicken to actually start it.

Two gifts--curiosity, and adults who encouraged it, right? When you're curious, you just keep learning. And remembering the ones who taught you, or tolerated all those questions.

Chris Campbell

[electra225]

I got my tendency to be, shall we say "tight" from my grandmother. "Tight as the bark on a hickory stump" grandpa used to say. Anyway, I was raised that you didn't get something just because it was the newest thing. If what you had was serviceable, it was good as new. You bought the best you could afford, took care of it, and was grateful you had it. Grandma cooked on a wood stove until she got old enough she didn't want to pack firewood in all the time. She got indoor plumbing about the same time as an electric cook stove. Grandpa made good money for that time. They had lived thru the Depression, so they looked at things differently than some of the other parents. I never got new sneakers. I went barefoot as soon as the frost got out of the ground, resuming leather in the fall. I was a kid in long pants before I wore shoes to church, went barefoot before that. Grandpa was a deacon in the church, so he had to wear his good suit every Sunday. I got my sense of curiosity from him. And my ability to fix things. He taught me a lot, but logical order was the most valuable. Everything has a logical order.

[William]

This is a great discussion and one that brings back so many memories. I too had people in my life that instilled wisdom and training that would influence me forever. I was fortunate to have grandparents that lived long lives. I lost my first grandparent when I was 26 and my last 10 years later. My parents, grandparents, and others in my life taught me how to treat others, work hard, figure things out for myself, and not cry when things didn't go my way. I never looked for an award for something I did, and if I did not come in first place, I just accepted that and moved on. Of course, they all went thru the depression too so that has a bearing on what I was taught and how I have lived my life. What Chris said:

"Two gifts--curiosity, and adults who encouraged it, right? When you're curious, you just keep learning. And remembering the ones who taught you, or tolerated all those questions."

Rings so true in my life.

[Firedome]

Real Vermonters (a rare breed now), and traditional New Englanders in general, are notoriously thrifty.
"Use it up, Wear it out, Make it do, or do Without'" was their mantra, and was just the norm in the old days.
You'd never see a VT farmer buy new clothes just for work back in the old days.
They went from new "Saturday market go to town" to tattered & patched barn use over many years.

[electra225]

I had so many colorful characters in my life, I probably should write a book. I had a great-uncle who wouldn't have said a cuss word if his life depended on it, yet spent part of most Saturdays of his life in jail for fighting. He liked his white liquor and liked to "scrap". He was so big and stout, that when he was "on the jug" and was "scrappin'", he frequently sent someone to see old Doc Hudson. Then he got tossed into the can to dry out. Grandpa and Aunt May would go get him, sober him up and make sure he was fit to go to "Sunday preachin'". He was a sweetheart of a man otherwise, a sawyer by trade. Another of grandpa's friends, named Mag, lived in a little unpainted shack down behind the big grain depot in town. He ran the machinery in the basement of the elevator, six stories underground. Did that for almost 40 years. He was the illegitimate son of the guy who owned the elevator, the richest man in the county, maybe for several counties. Mag inherited the man's estate when he passed away. So the richest man in several counties, a millionaire several times over, lived like a pauper because he was taught it was better to manage looking from the bottom up, than looking from the top down. Very few people outside of my grandpa and their immediate circle of friends know about Mag's circumstances. He would give me a silver dollar for going to his International pickup and getting him a cigar out of the glove compartment. I still have two or three silver dollars Mag gave me in the 1950's.

Doc Hudson's surname was not Hudson. I don't remember what it was, if I ever knew. His first name was George. He drove a dark metallic blue with a white top Hudson Hornet. It has Kelsey-Hayes wire wheels. I called him Doc Hudson because of his car. He was a black man, very sharp dresser, a small man in size. One of my heroes.

[TC Chris]

Some of you may remember the story of where my Edison cylinder phono came from. It was from Virgil, a disabled (syphillis) older man who lived alone (except for two big dogs) in an old travel trailer. The family home there had burned down when the ice on Saginaw Bay moved ashore in the spring of 1946, knocking houses down. His family home burned when the house tilted and the oil burner tipped over. After that he lived in the little travel trailer. Virgil had speech and gait impediments from his medical condition, and goodness knows where he got the funds for the electricity via an extension cord from the meter on the pole, or for food, or for taxes on the lot. His clothing was at the hobo end of the spectrum. But desite his eccentric nature, my mother taught us to treat everybody kindly, so we would greet and chat with Virgil. I learned that he was grateful because he would bring gifts. The best ever was the Edison phono, even if it did need refinishing.

Now in theory we should treat people kindly without any incentives like gifts. And we treated Virgil kindly before the gifts arrived, because that's how we were raised. But receiving the gifts was a good lesson. It taught that others are gratified to be treated with kindness. Any fool should realize that from personal experience, but seeing that others have the same reaction is a good lesson for a kid.

Chris Campbell

[19&41]

I went to get my hair cut today. My barber raises tomatoes and I told him they reminded me of my grandfather when I was little. My grandparents had 2 vacant lots and Grandpa would care for them. He would get up his scythe and stone, and he would take a section out of the newspaper too. He would go there and I would follow and watch him work the stone on the blade, then he would take a page of the newspaper and make sure the blade would slice through it along it's full length. He'd send me home and tell me that grandma would tell me when to come back. After a while, she'd call for me and give me a sack and tell me to take it to grandpa and he'd be about done with the first lot and would sit down with the bag. It had a large tomato and an onion and some cheese and a few slices of bread. He'd get out his pocket knife and slice himself up a few sandwiches. We'd sit and he'd ask me about what I was learning in school. (My first to 4th grade) He'd finish that up with a bottle of milk and get back to stoning the blade for the next go round. He gave me a piece of one of his sandwiches, once. I thought it was horrible, but I got it down. My first experience trying to be a manly man. That scythe worked like a laser wand, cutting the grass and weeds. Later in life, I tried to use one. It cut like a lawn mower using a 2X4 for a blade. My grandparents were very special to me. Their families migrated from the hills of North Carolina, to Indiana and each of them could each fill a foxfire book with all they knew. I lost both of them while I was away in the Army, but they live strong in my sister and I's memories,

[William]

That's a great memory, Rex, thanks for sharing.

I spent a lot of time with both grandparents between the ages of 5-8. My parents would be gone to Mayo's for the Mayo doctors to operate on my Dad. He developed cancer of the brain and all they could do back then was operate and remove what they could of the cancer. They made lots of trips to Mayo for the surgeries and checkups. I was 8 when my Dad passed away.

My mother's dad and I were buddies. He took me everywhere with him, mushroom picking, hunting, fishing, you name it I was with him. One of the things I remember most was me asking him to try his Redman chewing tobacco. He kept saying no, you won't like it. One day as we were traveling out to the farm, the farm was Centennial on my grandma's side outside of Hart, he reached down and pulled some tobacco from the pouch and stuck it into his mouth. Before I could say, "grandpa let me try it", he took one string and handed it to me. I stuck that piece into my mouth proud as proud could be. I bit down, turned 16 shades of green and threw up out the car window. He laughed and said, "I told you would not like it". I never asked to try his tobacco again.

Bill

[electra225]

I live these stories. Thank you all for sharing. We should do this more often.