Life is a Miracle Collection

California or Bust Autobiography

California or Bust Autobiography

I began to reminisce about my childhood, an eventful family road trip at age twelve. But, first, I remembered something traumatic that happened when I was only three.

I was three years old. My father came from a large family, and we were all at the Mississippi River. Dad had made several inner tubes out of old tires, very practical at the time, for tubing along the river.

Dad took my sister Donna, age 4 ½ , and me by our hands. We waded up to our waists to the shallow water's edge. He warned us, sternly, that where the water was darker, it meant it was deeper and not to go near it! That was a drop-off ! We obediently agreed, as far as we could understand.

But in my curious 3-year-old mind, I wondered if it was also "colder". Not fully understanding the danger, I tentatively put my foot into the forbidden waters. Unable to tell the difference in temperature, I ventured a little farther, putting my leg in. It was then, of course, that I slipped into the drop-off.

I tried to scream for my father, who was inner-tubing with his many relatives. But each attempted scream, filled my mouth with river water. I remember the taste and the sound of the people's bubbly, muffled voices. Repeatedly, I reached for their dangling legs, but they were too slippery. (I, later, had dreams of reaching up to catch long, white "fish").

My 16-year-old Uncle Barney felt something push past his legs, as I struggled to surface. My father was already frantically searching for me! I had drifted under a ledge, watching the light disappear. I grew weary and decided to "rest". At that age, I had no real concept of death. Relaxing and floating would've been wiser, but I didn't know, and had swallowed too much water.

I was told later that my father dove under the ledge over and over, unsuccessfully. He eventually came out the other side, where I had floated. I was face-down and unconscious; Technically, I had drowned! He scooped me up and trudged, as quickly and forcefully as his legs would carry us, through the water, back to shore.

They worked to revived me and to clear my lungs, as my mother prayed. Gaining consciousness, I could hear her voice: "Save my poor baby, my poor baby," she cried. She had taken her, otherwise, watchful eyes off of Donna and me, to change our 6-month-old sister's diaper. Mom swore, after that, that we would never go to the river again!

I remember the old Indian blanket, they wrapped me in, on the way home in our big, roundish black car. Mom rode home in silence, but her prayers had been answered. Her little girl would live!

Other memories at three years old, are of carrying a coffee can, full of nails, to help my father build our house. He couldn't have done it without me! I don't remember anything of significance before that age, except I heard that mom was informed, in the hospital the day after I was born, that WWII had was over!

Great news about the war ending, but my father, fortunately, wasn't in the war. He was having hernia surgery the day his platoon went overseas. His brother had been killed by a live grenade in a Army tank.

We had an old schoolhouse that we used as a pavilion, complete with a twin bunk, in case of sunstroke or fatigue. Grandma was susceptible to both. The cabinet was stocked with first aid items: aspirin, cold compresses, and washcloths.

The average hours, when the school was being used, had been from 9-4. Children would carry water, as well as coal and wood for the stove. Those coming from long distances were transported by sulkies, called "kid hacks".

Dad stocked catfish in the stream and took home movies of the family fishing. He hunted rabbits and squirrels, a practice he later regretted.

Aunt Ruth preferred to just sit in her lawn chair and enjoy the sun. My grandparents boasted that they had a street named for the Bradley's, in our hometown of Dubuque, divided between Iowa and Illinois. It was generally considered the oldest city in the mid-west, and therefore had several historical landmarks.