Family Search 52 Stories Week 4

One nice thing about the 52 Stories project is that you can select from a number of different categories for each week's theme. You don't have to write about your life in any particular order. This week I am writing about school, using the following question:
What was your first introduction to formal education - preschool, kindergarten, homeschooling? What do you remember about those first few years?

Lawson Elementary

My family moved from Chicago to Des Moines when I was 5. As the youngest of 4 children, I was the only one still at home during the day with my mom. That fall, my parents tried to enroll me in first grade at Holy Trinity Catholic School where my older brother was going to be a second grader. I would be 6 in October, and they were hoping the school would let my young age slip by since the cutoff date for turning 6 was September 1. The school wouldn't budge however, and as it did not offer kindergarten my parents had to look for an alternative. I ended up at Lawson Elementary School, which is located in the nearby school district of Johnston. That is interesting in and of itself, as Lawson was 3.8 miles from our house, and Woodlawn Elementary in Des Moines was only .7 miles away. However, over-crowding at Woodlawn necessitated that children in the neighborhood be distributed among other schools. A new elementary school which was built on my street - Samuelson Elementary  - would not open until 1965.

kindergarten picture

I have a vague recollection of my mom dropping me off the first day of school, and the tears that followed. After all, I had been used to being with her every day, and even my beloved brother wasn't at the same school. I remember little else of kindergarten other than the fact that I rode the bus every day. The bus picked me up at the corner of Bel-Aire Road and Lawnwoods Drive, a distance of 7 houses. The Edwards family lived on that corner, and Rick Edwards was given the responsibility (by our moms) of watching out for me on the bus. He was a worldly third grader.

Holy Trinity Catholic Church

The next school year my parents sent me to Holy Trinity with my brother. As I understand it from a neighbor, the kids from my area who had been at Lawson for kindergarten were transferred to Cowles Elementary School in Windsor Heights for first and second grades, moving to Samuelson when it opened. So either way I would have had a new school for first grade.

My brother and I took the bus to Holy Trinity every day, this time being picked up at the corner of Lawnwoods Drive and Lindlavista Way. I would guess this to be a couple blocks of walking each way. I didn't mind riding the bus most of the time. However, if someone misbehaved in the classroom, certain teachers punished everyone by making them all stay after school. This would result in me missing the bus. I was lucky in that if my brother didn't see me get on the bus, he would wait after school for me. Because my dad had the only car we owned at work, we would have to walk home. That was a two and a half mile walk. This being before the age of cell phones, we had no way of letting mom know that we had been delayed. How frantic she must have been when we didn't arrive home at the normal time! Fortunately this did not happen often.

friends rocking the HT uniform

We had to wear a uniform each day, with the boys consisting of white shirts and navy blue slacks and the girls wearing white shirts under navy blue jumpers. A navy blue sweater was permitted on cool days. The big girls - those in 8th grade - got to graduate out of the jumpers and into navy blue skirts and white shirts. In all cases, however, the hem of your jumper or skirt had to touch the kneeler when you were on your knees in church. And believe me, they checked! On the last day of the school year, we were allowed to wear a skirt or a dress.

I have mostly fond memories of Holy Trinity. We had to take a sack lunch each day, but twice a year the mothers would come and serve us beef burger sandwiches with pickles and chips. It was such a thrill for me to get to see my mom then. Many of my teachers, all nuns, were quite good and encouraged my writing and poetry. I left Holy Trinity at the end of 7th grade. By then I had some good friends on my street who attended Meredith Junior High, and I wanted to go to school with them. On the last day of 7th grade I took my Kodak Instamatic with me to snap a few photos of my friends. Over the years we lost touch, so it is nice to have the pictures to reflect back on.

last day of 7th grade on the playground

Family Search 52 Stories Week 3

Since I have been working on some genealogy recently, it seemed appropriate to choose a question about my roots for this week's story:
Where are your roots? Do you feel strong ties to a particular place, either because of your own personal experience or your ancestry?

house where I was born

Though I was born in Cincinnati, we moved away from the area when I was only a couple of months old. Roots on both my mom's side as well as my dad's side run very deep in Cincinnati. It is where the vast majority of our immigrant ancestors settled and ultimately stayed when they came to America. In fact my mom's seven brothers and sisters, and my dad's three sisters never moved very far from home. We were the only branch on either family tree to break off and set down roots someplace else.

My father took an office job with a trucking company, and we relocated to Chicago. Dad went ahead to find a house, and my mom later took the train with their four children to meet him there. I can only imagine how hard that must have been for her to leave her family and support system - we owned the house right next door to her mom and dad. Add onto that the fact that I was only two or three months old, and it must have been terribly difficult for her.

Mom and dad never forgot that Cincinnati was home, however, and our vacations consisted of driving to Cincinnati to visit relatives. Even when we moved to Des Moines when I was five and the drive to Cincinnati became a torturous 12 hours due to the non-existence of interstates at the time, we still managed at least one trip a year back "home". When dad retired in 1984, he and mom sold the house in Des Moines - the only house I ever really knew - and moved back to Cincinnati.

My husband and I lived in St. Louis at that point, and Cincinnati was a much quicker and easier trip for us to make than going up to Des Moines. We ended up being able to see them more often, and visits to Cincinnati were always filled with family gatherings. Mom and dad liked to organize family reunions, so it was a great way to keep up with the relatives. Mom died in 1989, just five years after they moved back home. So when dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2001, trips to Cincinnati became much more frequent to try to help him out. Other relatives pitched in as well so we were able to keep dad in his own home until the last month of his life.

For all of those reasons, Cincinnati tugs very strongly on my heartstrings, and my sister and I go over for a visit that often includes a family reunion once a year. Two of my mom's sisters are still living, as is one of my dad's sisters. When I can, I squeeze in a second visit to work on my family history. The Queen City will always have a home in my heart.

Cincinnati skyline

Setting Down Roots

the four of us & Grandma Crusham

Today is the last day of the BlogHer challenge to write about roots. There were a number of days that the writing prompt did not appeal to me or inspire me, so I simply skipped them. I wanted to end the month on a high note though, and today's prompt is asking whether I still live in the place I was born and if not, why did I move. As I mentioned earlier, I was born in Cincinnati, Ohio where many of my relatives still reside. But when I was only a couple of months old, my dad took a job with a new company in Chicago. He had gone on ahead to find a house, so my mom boarded a train headed for Chicago with my sister, age 11, my brother, age 9, my other brother, age 18 months and me, age 2 months. Can you even imagine? I can't. Poor mom! I know my sister was probably a big help, but still! Dad had found a house in a new subdivision, located on a cul de sac. It was a great place for kids! Unfortunately it was also very near O'Hare, so a quiet place it was not. The house also only had two bedrooms, because my dad decided he could finish off the upstairs of the home by himself. In the meantime the four kids shared one bedroom. Eventually dad finished the upstairs into two additional bedrooms, and the boys had one room while the girls took the other.

We lived in Chicago until I was 5, and then my dad accepted a job in Des Moines. This time dad purchased a three bedroom home with a walkout basement. The house was on a dead end street surrounded by cornfields. It was a great spot for kids as well, and we could play kick the can and four square in the street without worrying about cars, and many a baseball game was held at the end of the road just before the cornfield began.

I loved Des Moines and pictured myself staying there. But college graduation and marriage had other places in store for me. I enjoy making trips back there, whether by car or just in my mind.

Give Them Wings So They Can Fly

The BlogHer writing prompt today is about roots and wings. Here is what is says: "The original quote about giving children roots and wings referred to the roots of responsibility and the wings of independence. Does that change your understanding of the quote?" It would be interesting to find out where BlogHer came up with the information about the quote, which reads "There are two things we should give our children: one is roots and the other is wings." A Google search resulted in the quote being attributed to Hodding Carter, a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist from Louisiana, though a Wikipedia site states that the quote was borrowed from Reverend Henry Ward Beecher. I didn't find anything to substantiate this online. But whoever first said it, the words are good ones to parent by.

I have always interpreted the saying to mean that we must first create an environment in which our children  feel loved and accepted in order for them to become self-assured and independent. Those roots help them build a firm foundation on which to build the rest of their lives - a foundation that will support them even when they take off to pursue their own dreams. My husband and I like to joke that we were either really crappy parents, because our son moved to the East coast following college graduation and our daughter moved to the West coast when she graduated, or we were successful in raising two kids who are confident enough to live so far from home, allowing their own new roots to grow. I hope that it is the latter!

Below is a poem I came across in my Internet search this morning. It did not cite an author, but here is a link to the page where I found it.
 

Roots & Wings

 

If I could give you many things,

I'd give you gold and silver rings

Of knowledge that I've gained with years

The gift of smiling through the tears

Confidence, courage, determination,

Laughter and spirit and love of creation,

Wrapped up in a box with a bow, I'd give

To you these gifts to keep for as long as you live. 

"If I could give you just two things,

One would be Roots, the other, Wings."

Roots, not to tie you to the ground,

But to guide you to where your fulfillment is found

The nourishing start, the firm foundation,

The source of your inner determination.

Wings to soar over obstacles, wings to fly free,

Wings to glide to the heights of the best you can be.

And when obstacles loom, from your Roots grows a hand

Providing a strong, sturdy,safe place to land.

I'd choose these two things for the gifts that are best,

For with Roots and with Wings, you'll find all the rest!

Time Traveler

Yesterday's BlogHer prompt about my thoughts on the importance of roots I felt had already come through loud and clear on my other posts, so I did not write about them again. Today's question is regarding whether my ancestors had moved over time, and if so have I traveled to the place they lived. I have already talked about my visits to Ireland and my upcoming trip to Germany, so today I will share something closer to home.

Most of my extended family lives in Cincinnati, where the majority of my ancestors settled in the 1800s. My sister and I travel back there a couple of times a year for visits. Since our parents are deceased, it has become increasingly important to both of us to be able to see my mom's remaining siblings. They don't mind me picking their brains about family memories. The last time we were in Cincinnati they arranged for two of their cousins to meet with me so that I could interview them about their childhood. These elderly cousins lived with the first Michael Crusham to come over from Ireland. I captured it all on videotape so that I didn't need to concentrate on writing furiously. Normally when I am in town I also try to make time to drive by the homes where my ancestors lived and to visit cemeteries in search of their graves.

Recently I found a tiny root in my family tree that may tie us to very early settlers in Virginia. By early, I mean the 1600s around the time that Virginia became the first colony. If I can verify that this root leads to one of my branches, a road trip to Virginia is definitely in order as there are homesteads and monuments commemorating this family.

Getting Back to My Roots

Today's BlogHer prompt asks, "What does getting back to your roots look like to you?" I have been involved in tracing my family tree, including its roots while trying to avoid the weeds, since 1989. For me genealogy is not just about the names and dates on a page (or in the cloud). It is about the people and their stories. I like being able to travel to the towns of my ancestors, whether here in the U.S. or abroad. It is such a thrill to be able to walk where they walked, or to be able to look at the view they gazed upon every morning.

Colgan land in County Mayo, Ireland

I was able to travel to Ireland in 1997 with my husband and then again in 2005 with my sister. We visited some ancestral towns and villages while we were there, viewing the old homesteads, looking through cemeteries, and even worshipping at one of the churches. (And I have to say there is nothing more delightful than hearing Mass said and sung with an Irish brogue!) Those who live in Ireland seem to not quite get why we are looking for a piece of our distant past. They are living it every day so it is not a big deal to them.

In the fall I will be traveling to the Rhineland area of Germany, and perhaps down to Switzerland, with Family Tree Tours. This is a genealogy tour, with some sight-seeing thrown in of course, but the purpose is to help us connect with our families who emigrated from that area. I have provided the names of my ancestors and all the other pertinent information I have come across so far to the tour organizer. With the help of a man in Germany, the goal is to find someone from my town of Insheim who would be willing to meet with me and share information about the town and hopefully my ancestors. Since I do not speak German, this is truly an opportunity to do some research there and not have to worry about the language barrier. I am eager to see how far down my roots are entrenched in this part of the world.