When I was a teenager, I remember thinking that I was not going to be as strict with my own children as my parents were with me. Being the second of five children, but the older daughter, my parents felt that I needed more protection from Life’s diversions than my brothers did. For example, I was not allowed to date until I was sixteen years old. At that time I could only go out on a date on Saturday night as long as I was home by ten o’clock. It didn’t seem to matter whom I was with or where I went; the rules never changed. These draconian restraints made me angry because my brothers, on the other hand, were allowed to stay out late all week long. Sometimes they would smell of stale cigarette smoke and stagger slightly from consuming too many beers and other alcoholic beverages; yet, they were repeatedly entrusted with the keys to the family car. 

He smelled like Old Spice After Shave as long as I knew him.  There was a time he wore Vitalis in his wavy brown hair.  All the guys did. Elvis probably started it with his slick-black hair and sex appeal.  I used to go to my father’s bedroom closet after he hung up his suit from a nine-hour day of demanding retail sales, supporting a family of six.  I’d slip my childish hands into every pocket searching for a LifeSaver or two.   If a half-opened roll of Reed’s Root Beer candies were discovered, I’d race back to my father’s chair and beg for “just one”.  Being his only daughter, and the apple of his eye, he’d smile and say, “Sure, Snookie.  Anything for my little girl.”  Sometimes there would be a compact case of Sen-Sens in his coat pocket.  I hated the taste of anise.  Around that time everyone grew up watching Hollywood’s Rich and Famous glamorizing the lifestyle of a cigarette smoker.  Sales were finalized when a cigarette was lit at the retail counter.  Afterwards this tiny matchbox of black licorice  and anise squares were the perfect breath mint popular in the 1960s.  On occasion in my daily quest, I would come across my father’s easy-squeeze leather coin pouch. He said it kept loose change under control and saved the lining in his dress pants.  

This family of four was forced to live on a pittance. Three months, countless interviews, and a stack of resumes later, the house in southern Indiana was closed up and left unsold.  We packed our belongings and moved 500 miles away to the Allegheny Mountains of Virginia.  We knew things were going to be a little bit different from our Midwestern lifestyle as soon as we headed up that first mountain road at 55 mph on a 15 mph curve. The shock set in as the road coiled round and round while our ears popped and the baby spit up his breakfast.  I, too, felt the nausea rising in my throat as we continued our ascent. To control that feeling, I focused on the trees outside the window in the George Washington National Forest. It didn’t work. When I spotted a Scenic Overlook, my husband quickly pulled over. Once I set foot on the ground, my dizziness subsided and I could appreciate the breathtaking view of a powerful waterfall’s misty torrents cascading to the green valley below. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen!  Mountainous peaks touched the clouds as flocks of cardinals soared through the sky overhead. The fresh crisp air smelled of damp wildflowers. It was enough to revive my senses in order to continue traveling upward.  

My grandfather was a tall man. Not as tall as a professional basketball player, but he towered above the other members of the family and especially the farm animals. His stentorian voice brought respect from all the field hands, although he could be as gentle as a summer breeze with the ponies and calves.  His sunburned face reflected the length of the day. The old straw hat protected his head from the burning sun, and yet it enhanced his piercing blue eyes. His bib overalls were thread-bare from constant wear.  Nicknamed “Old John”, he was always the first one to arise so he could “smell Mother Earth before she woke up”.  Every morning he’d head to the barn to begin the unending chores. He loved that old barn, and even though it was his haven in times of trouble and times of joy, a place to which he could escape, it was in that barn that Grandpa shot himself. I never knew my grandfather. The news of his suicide shocked my mother into premature labor with me. The only memory I have of him is a framed black and white photo where he’s standing next to that old barn holding my mother’s hand when she was a small child.