I was born in Springfield, Massachusetts and lived there until I was almost 5. We moved in April of 1951 when my father got a church in Detroit, Michigan. Here we are on moving day, my sister and I, with two little girls I knew then but I don’t remember their names. I have a photo of the oldest girl, my sister and myself, standing on the parsonage porch. I also have a memory of the oldest girl pouring milk in my dinner, which I wasn’t going to eat anyway, but still… we were sitting at the little table in our room eating. My mother said if I’d eaten it in a timely fashion it wouldn’t have happened. No sympathy there. I remember another time when this little girl hit me and my mother told me if I didn’t hit her back, my mother was going to hit me. I hit her back. Don’t remember that she ever hit me again.
 Me, sisters I cannot remember the names of, my sister Pearl |
I saw them one more time, after we moved to Detroit. In the winter of 1967 my father returned to Springfield to preach for the Men’s Club. I went with him. We also went to New York on this trip where I bought my first pair of bell bottom jeans. My grandmother was so disappointed that I didn’t get a nice dress. But that isn’t this story. I remember the living quarters in the parsonage seemed so small on this trip. Nobody was living in them at the time. I’m sure the next minister got the congregation to move him back into separate quarters. We stayed with the family of these two girls. I was 20 so they were probably 20 and 18. The oldest one was going to a party. Well, actually she wasn’t going to the party, she was going to meet her boyfriend there and they were going elsewhere. Her father had forbidden her to see this boy. I was never a big party person and I sure didn’t want to be left at a strange party with a bunch of strangers. Needless to say, I didn’t go. The adults tried to persuade me that it would be “fun”. Ha. I didn’t give away her plan but I didn’t go. Wish I could remember her name, I’d look her up on facebook and see what she remembers about any of this.
Thanks for putting the link in the comments of my blog.
Thank you for this history….
I just love what you create with the bits of ephemera you have from your family history.Very inspiring. I'd like to get back to doing that. Maybe I will be able to this winter.
Thanks for sharing this. Love the stories and the history.
I too moved with my parents when I was just under five years old (not as far as you did but at that age a few miles is a very long way). I know what you mean about those half remembered people, that list of characters without names. Fascinating story as always Kristin
Great story well-told
Kristin,
I just loved this story, especially the snippets of memories and the reproduction of the sermon notes. You have such a treasure trove of information.
Can't wait to hear about the bell-bottoms!
I must have photo of myself in those bell bottoms around here…
Dreams Preserved! [My Bell Is No Longer At The Bottom But On The Waist!!!:)]
There is a depth of history in the sermon notes that have researching whole parts of them.
Hit them back is advice I've seen before, but unfortunately fraught with danger now.
Cute photo of 4 little girls, but I'm glad you thumped her. I still have memories of being kicked off the tricycle at Nursery School by a much bigger girl who later attended the same school. She didn't remember me but I DEFINITELY remembered her, and no, I didn't accept her request on FB LOL. Bet the bell bottoms were more fun than a posh dress 🙂 Jo
The bell bottoms were one of the few times I was ahead of the fashion trend on my campus. i was the first in the art dept at wayne state U. to wear a pair.
What a gorgeous of you four little girls, so very cute. I like it that your mother said that you have to hit her back! Ha.
As ever, great pictures and stories. Perhaps that little girl is a blogger too, and telling a story just like this somewhere out in the ether.
A great picture to go with your memories. Love the picture of the girls and the moving truck in the background.
Great photo and a really interesting sermon. So much better to see handwriting, with emphasis in colors too, than in printout type. Reveals the man and his ideas.
Your mother sounds like people in my family, telling you that you needed to hit that girl back or she would hit you. Man..that's old school and I so love to see that. I bet she never hit you again. LOL. Beautiful post. Thank you so much for sharing.
Little Nell – If that little girl is now an old lady blogging, I wish I could find her!
Mike – One day I will have to blog about how my father wrote his sermons.
Andrea – I don't think she ever hit me again.
What a darling photo…those coats were just adorable too, and the old car…those are priceless moments…and those names will come back too….I especially enjoyed the hand written notes…where do we get dreams from…
Pearl your info got to my facebk. This is what my older daughter Toni is working on (family history). In 1958 fresh from Clark College I secured a teaching spot. Joined Church to teach S S as in GA the four years of schooling. Working on lots of child centred things. Then your Dad married me to a fellow teacher from 1st assignment, Sun 12-27-1959 after 11:00 service. My youngest bro was born 1946 as well. When I master the photo thing I send some. Still teaching (ART).