In the summer of 1963 my wife, two infant daughters, aged 23 months and 5 months, and I gave up the home I had completely renovated and remodeled in Pennsylvania and moved to Arlington, Texas. This was a big step for a young man and wife in their early 20's but I hoped to finish my education and also be in a city with more business and job opportunities.
We rented a small brick house in a quiet middle class neighborhood near one of the local high schools. With sidewalks and pecan tree lined streets, we were located only a mile or so from then Arlington State College. This seemed a perfect location. I could walk or hitch hike to school and my family would be safe.
This would be a perfect place for my two little girls to grow up. And they were growing up fast!
Late Spring, Summers and early Fall back in Pennsylvania had been outdoor, 'go for walk' times.
Back then we lived on a gravel and dirt road and when I'd take my older daughter for a walk (she was a very active and outgoing kid) she loved to let go of my hand, bend down and pick up small stones, then, with a light in her eyes and joy in her (and my) heart, hold them up to show them to me.
But not just any stone, it had to be bright and shiny looking. If it was white and sparkled from embedded mica flecks that was even better. Dark stones were ignored.
But now, living in a city in Texas, our streets and sidewalks were paved. So the very few small stones in general appeared unattractive to my young stone and rock hunter. Her small voice was becoming much louder as she found few, if any, acceptable stones as we journeyed around nearby neighborhood blocks on those almost daily walks
Our first year in Texas was busy with school, building my electronics business and just getting settled so it seemed to pass very quickly.
By the next Christmas there were dolls and toys a plenty under the tree but for my oldest there was something very big, very shiny, and very brightly colored. Those small eyes grew bright, big and lit up like magic. A very wide grin quickly covered her face. "Look what Santa brought me!" she exclaimed. Next thing I knew, the wagon was being hauled and tugged and pushed around the living room and then suddenly she had her shy and timid baby sister in the wagon. Albeit a somewhat frightened and very very wary passenger clinging on with both hands and an uncertain look in those little eyes.
Nothing could have pleased my oldest girl more. She forgot the dolls, the toys, the candy in her stocking, everything else. Her love of life had suddenly become that bright shiny and wonderful new red wagon.
Photo (from Google Street View): Sidewalk in front of our Texas house.
I'd put the two girls in the wagon and we'd explore neighborhood sidewalks lined with large pecan and other trees. Hopping out of the wagon and gathering pecans replaced picking up the shiny stones.
Later as she got bigger, she wanted to pull the wagon herself and insisted her little sister be her passenger. There would be a kind of short but loud tantrum if that wasn't possible. In fact many of the neighborhood kids including some boys named Brian and Ralph enjoyed a red wagon ride pulled a bit wildly down the bumpy sidewalk by a gleeful and happily smiling young lady.
For years to come she loved that very special wagon. Even when I got her a tricycle and then a bike the wagon remained very important and essential.
She would tie the wagon handle to the back of her trike so it could be towed. Her little sister (and sometimes our cat) would climb in, and away we would all go, exploring our local neighborhood streets, the neighbors pretty flower gardens, and more of God's exceptional world.
Father and daughters, seeking pecans, smelling the scents of shrubs and flowers and adventure. And in the process, finding the joy and happiness very few are lucky enough to experience.
By the time she was 10 we moved to a brand new house in a newly developed area near an area lake where there were no sidewalks and open ditches. I was reluctant to take her cherished red wagon to what could be a potentially dangerous location. But in the end, after more than a little pleading, I gave in and the red wagon moved with us.
Sadly a year or so later I became quite ill and eventually, to survive financially, we gave up our new house as I reluctantly decided to move back to our old house in Pennsylvania. This time we had no choice but to leave much of our belongings behind including her precious red wagon*.
Over the decade we spent in Texas, because of school and work and slowly fading health, I didn't get to spend quite as much time as I would have liked with my two children. But every weekend was kids time, whether swiming at a nearby lake, camping in our station wagon and our boat or just spending home time, including those wonderful wonderful walks, together.
Those were especially unique experiences, emotions and times that were captured in our hearts forever by simply enjoying the shared smiles, laughter warmth and joy of being a family.
I wanted to be a good parent but not spoil our children. Raised partially by a strict but loving grandfather, I was a fairly firm parent in part because granddad had taught me the importance of self discipline and respecting others and I wanted my children to share these attributes. And my grand parents also taught me, and I tried hard to pass on, the values of religion, hard work and self respect.
These were just a few of the ideals I tried in my own way to share with my growing children.
For example: there never was TV permitted in our kids bedrooms and their TV watching was very limited.
Life was too rich to waste glued to mostly senseless fantasy and sometimes violent images on a flickering mindless screen. Instead my kids spent time with scouts, family, camping, swiming. They got piano and music lessons, and books to read instead of too many 'things'. They were encouraged to have friends and to care and share with those same friends. Religion was encouraged and made available but never forced. We had cats, goldfish and birds but most importantly and most of all we had each other.
Some of my most cherished memories are of my girls on those delightful never ending walks and journeys. Sharing the simple joy of being together, of being a family.
Red wagon and all.
A half century has passed since those wonderful days. And do you know what? Sometimes when I'm dreaming that little red wagon and my two little girls come back to life. At least in my dreams.
I miss them both so much and I thank God for giving me two beautiful children and all those wonderful times and memories.
* Footnote: shortly after marriage my health began to fail which slowly but progressively limited family activities.I tirelessly but futily sought help from various MD's for over twenty years. Disappointedly most of them didn't look very hard as many of my early blood tests even during those years were clearly out of bounds. Most of these Docs shrugged their shoulders, pinned a label or two on me and all too willingly took our money and one of them ended up in Federal prison**. A sad and pitifull discredit to their profession and their peers, they did very little to help us or reach a rational diagnosis. The cost to myself and my family was immeasurable.
Twenty four difficult and trying years later an alert far more careful physician and his partners actually looked closely at my blood tests. It was found I was and had been suffering from what was diagnosed as 'advanced chronic heavy metal poisoning'. More specifically the culprits were lead and arsenate. Body levels were up to 80 times the governments accepted limits. I had known exposure to the former but no known exposure to the latter.
Extensive hospitalization and then long term treatment helped some, but medically little could be done by then. These metals are both stored rather permanently in body tissue and create havoc by disrupting enzyme synthesis, the Krebs cycle, oxygen utilization and much more.
My kids were grown up and had gone on with their own lives by the time my symptoms finally were properly diagnosed and treated. This was to be a permanent and cripling illness, compounding with age as otherwise natural processes progressively limit enzyme synthesis.
My wife had taken off years before and, like many a soon to be and then divorced parent, had carefully and subtlely conditioned her children negatively about her former spouse.
Perhaps Shakespeare said it best: "What fools these mortals be".
** From 1978 to 1984 I especially trusted and counted on Dr Cole for help with my then very serious illness. A few years later Cole was charged with 512 counts of mail and insurance fraud, DEA controlled substance violations, tax evasion, and a federal forfeiture count. In 1993 he plead guilty and was sentenced to 33 months in a federal prison.
Dr Cole's medical licenses were then permanently suspended.
