My brother came to visit, had a good chat and during the conversations, he said, “Those years were the happiest of my life”. Kind of strange to hear that because most times, we have totally different memories, as if we were raised in different families. I have come to realize that it is our own perspective of our family. This time he was exactly right with my view.
We were raised in the midwest on an acre of land at the corner of my uncle’s farm. Our mom and dad married young, he worked at Natco Brick Company in a kiln. Breathing the silica dust into his lungs disabled him by the time he was 23 years old and he was not able to work to support us. It is an understatement to say we were raised in poverty.
Amazing that we never knew how poor our parents were. There was no television or commercials to tell us what we did not have or what we may have thought we needed. We grew up around cousins, aunts & uncles and we spent almost every Sunday at our Grandma’s home place. I guess those were the best memories.
We moved to Arizona for our dad’s health, he died at 37, my brother was nine.