Sometime after I started school, Mom landed a job at the Naval Hospital on Camp Pendleton. That would be the same hospital in which I was born. Or, as we used to say partially in jest, where I survived a military delivery. Her prior service in the Marine Corps helped her qualify for this civil service position which stabilized our financial situation from destitute to poor. But it also meant Mom had to be away from home for more hours of the day. Which in turn meant going to the 'babysitter'. The term 'day care' was not invented yet. And so began a life-long friendship for Mom and her urchins with a delightful lady we knew as Grandma Gene (short for Emogene I later found out).
Grandma Gene was a plump, dark-complected woman with curly black hair who wore black-rimmed glasses. We met her at church. Once Mom started her new job, we started and ended our weekdays at Grandma Gene's house. I mostly remember it being just my younger brother and I. My older sisters must have been on an different school schedule. Though she was older than Mom, how we decided to call her "Grandma" Gene is a mystery.
Grandma Gene lived with her husband Ed in a small two-bedroom house across the street from the elementary school where Phil and I attended. Ed was several years older than Gene, a tall, quiet man whom I knew lived there but rarely saw. Her son, Don, was away at college at that time, but would appear for a few days at random intervals, usually holidays. Don was a taller, thinner, male version of his mother with the same hair, complexion, glasses and mannerisms. In my mind, Don is most closely linked to a life-size clay head he had sculpted. It perched on the front porch, I suppose because there was no mantle inside large enough to hold it. I remember looking into its sightless eyes and wondering how one made such a thing. Don later became a missionary to the Philippines as a Bible translator. So, even into my adult years, he would appear at random times. We would seem him at church while he was on missionary furlough and visiting his mom.
Along side the house was a driveway that led to an older wooden structure that served as a garage on one side and housed chinchillas on the other. The side with the garage was full of old things, dark, dusty remnants of someone's workshop. Perhaps it was all Ed's, but the contents seemed much older. The chinchillas were a side business intended to garner income from the chinchilla fur craze of that time.
Mornings were short at Grandma Gene’s. We usually just had time to bolt down a bowl of cereal before walking down to school. There was not a large variety of boxed cereals in those days, we usually had Corn Flakes or Cheerios. We made up for the lack of pre-sweetening by ladling on a teaspoon or two of sugar. A habit I would be horrified at today. I remember Grandma Gene also making ‘silver dollar’ pancakes some mornings. Try as I might, I can never seem to get my pancakes to taste like those did.
Afternoons were different. We had about three hours until Mom came by after work to get us. If the weather was nice, we spent much of the time outside. Next to Grandma Gene’s house was a vacant lot with a large tree. Hefty branches were at an accessible level for climbing. During a winter rain storm, the largest lateral branch broke off, leaving a long scar on one side. The branch lay on the ground for months and I was keenly disappointed when I discovered it missing. In the spring, the weeds in that lot would reach a height that made it possible for me to hide standing up. The long, sturdy reeds reminded me of the telescoping antennas on cars. The top six inches were loaded with a staggered group of a dozen or so seed pods. Countless times I would run my thumb and forefinger up the reed, plucking the pods off into a cluster that I would hurl for the delight of watching the aerodynamic pods sail through the air and arc to the ground.
The games Grandma Gene taught us to play became an indelible part of the fabric of our childhood. We learned card games such as solitaire, Crazy 8’s, War and Rummy. We learned checkers and Chinese checkers. We were also introduced to board games like Aggravation and Yahtzee. It seems odd in this day of sophisticated video games that these simple diversions should have been so captivating, but my siblings and I expended many afternoon hours quite contentedly with nothing more than a deck of cards to occupy our minds. Philip became an accomplished card player from this simple beginning.
What was it that made Grandma Gene's special? A certainty of welcome, a freedom to be childlike within clear boundaries, her ready smile and willingness to engage in play. Knowing how challenging it is for me to enter into my children's world of imagination and play, I distinctly recall the thrill of knowing a 'grandma' that was cheerfully willing to play with me. Granted, she picked the games, but children know without being told when an adult is enjoying and not just enduring their company.
How to measure the value of Grandma Gene? If I were a single parent and needed someone to care for my school-age children, I would want someone who would do what I would do if I could be there. So, while Mom had to be at work, she could be sure that the care she would have taken with us was in the main matched by this cheery servant of God. Seeing Grandma Gene on Sunday was like seeing a special member of the family. I don't know how many years this arrangement lasted. In the eternal days of childhood, it seemed like a very long time. I never grew tired of going to Grandma Gene's.
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