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(Copywrite © 2019 Siena McNair)

Read the first chapter of my book.

Swinging in the Rain

Siena McNair

Chapter One

My name is Siena McNair. My siblings call me Sissy.

Warren and Doris McNair are my parents. They were very young

when they got married and neither of them had a good

childhood, therefore, their parenting style left a lot to be

desired. Oh, they weren’t always doing wrong, but sometimes,

well, you’ll see.One July morning my two­year­old sister Marie

turned to me and said, “Sissy, what can we play?” Then she

stooped down and picked up a stone that was peeking through

the dirt by her bare feet. She admired the colors that sparkled

from the sun. The shimmers seemed to mesmerized her for a

moment. She was a tiny pretty girl with light brown curls and

round hazel eyes. I was four years old and a chubby freckle

faced girl.

I said, “Let’s play mommy and take the dollies in the

buggy.”

“Okay, Sissy, but I want to be the big sister.” Marie said.

“That’s okay Marie, my dolly will be the baby and you

can be the big sister. I’ll be the mommy.”

I am a great grandmother today. That child is still inside

my head. I think of her now and then. I sometimes am stunned

by the fleeting of time. Only just yesterday it was that hot

summer day in l948. Rarely did it ever get as hot and humid as it

was on that day. It was a treat considering how cold it can get in

Michigan. The Scent of lilacs filled the air. The bent oak tree

loomed over the old automobile that had, long since, been

deserted in the back yard. Laundry was hanging on the line. The

wind whipped the crisp clean sheets back and forth between

the wooden poles. Cars were passing by and people were riding

bicycles on Birch Drive where we lived in Lansing, Michigan.

Suddenly clouds began to envelop the sky as they cast a

murky shadow over our once bright backyard. The rain was just

beginning to speckle the picnic table. Our juice glasses remained 

there from lunch time. The drops of rain hit them and made 

melodic sounds with every plunk.  

The moist cooling sprinkles quenched our bodies from 

the heat of the sizzling afternoon. We cheered with joy as the 

rain came, exhilarating us on that hot day. Mom said to come in 

so I asked if we could stay out and play in the rain. She said okay 

but you have to change clothes. She had us change into 

something old. Then we went back outside to play. 

We began playing on our swing in the back yard. My 

brother Mikey was pushing me “higher Mikey, higher.” I said as I 

giggled. I opened my mouth to capture the quenching beads of 

rain upon my tongue. Marie said, “Mike, please push me, I want 

to go high too.  Pretty please.”  

“Okay, Marie. I will in a minute. Don’t worry.” Mikey 

said, as he continued to propel me into the air. Mikey was an 

accommodating brother and pushed us in turn. He was a year 

older than me. 

The rain had prompted Mom to hurry out of the house 

to rescue the clothes from the line. She grabbed the clothespins 

off each item and whisked the pins into her apron pocket. The 

basket was heaping quickly as her hands seemed to move at 

lightning speed. She instructed, “Come on in children, it’s 

almost time for supper.” I said, “Mommy, can we stay outside 

and play until daddy gets home? Please! Oh, Pretty please with 

sugar on it!” She said, “Oh, all right Siena, but only until your 

dad comes home.” He was due home any minute. We continued 

to play as the rain diminished. We made mud pies in tiny dishes 

and baked mud cookies in a make­believe stove. We so enjoyed 

our pretend tea parties. 

Dad’s car pulled in the drive. I studied his face, as I often 

did, to discover what kind of mood he was in. His mood 

determined what kind of an evening we were going to have. We 

ran over to greet him. “Hi Dad” said Mikey, “Did you have any 

lunch left?” “Hi Mikey. Here ya’ go. There might be some 

crumbs in there.” Dad usually left some little thing in his lunch 

bucket for Mikey. I didn’t mind. Mikey opened the lunch pail as 

we walked. “Hey! you kids are really soaked.” Said Dad., “Mom 

let us play in the rain. It’s fun.” Dad seemed to be in a good 

humor as we all went into the house.  

When we entered the house, we saw that Mom was 

preparing supper. Dad gave her a kiss and checked out the pan 

on the stove. “It sure looks good Toots.” Dad used to call Mom 

Toots among other pet names. Her cooking smelled 

exceptionally scrum delicious that night. I observed a baked 

chicken on the table as I sauntered through the dining room. 

“Mm, that looks yummy Mommy.” I contemplated mashed 

potatoes, my favorite vegetable, heaped in a mountain on my 

plate, smothered with creamy gravy. My mouth was watering 

already. I removed the wet clothes from my body and changed 

back into my dry things.  

Suddenly I heard Mom shouting at Laddy, our Collie 

dog. “Laddy! No!” I hurried out to the dining room to see what 

was happening. The chicken that had once adorned our table 

was nearly gone. Laddy had grabbed the chicken and nearly 

finished eating it all up before Mom caught him. Too bad, that 

chicken sure would have been good. Dad whipped off his belt 

and spanked Laddy. Then he took him outside and chained him 

to his doghouse. We ate hot dogs for supper. During supper we 

kids laughed about Laddy eating our chicken. Mikey said, “That 

was pretty funny, huh? Dad”? Dad wasn’t laughing. He said, “I 

work hard to put food on the table. I don’t need some mangy 

mutt to eat it.” I thought the mashed potatoes and giblet gravy 

were good anyway. 

One night, upon returning from the drive­in theater, we 

noticed that Laddy didn’t come out of his doghouse. He always 

came out to greet us when we had been away. Dad said, “Look, 

Laddy is gone. I wonder if he has broken loose.” Dad went over 

to check. He said, “Somebody must have unclipped the chain 

from the dog house. Someone got themselves a good dog for 

free.” We were broken hearted. Laddy was a pretty Collie. To 

this day we talk about his gobbling up our chicken.  

When I went to bed every night, I said my prayers. On 

that particular night I said a special prayer for Laddy. I said, 

“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If 

I should die before I wake. I pray the Lord my soul to take. God 

bless Laddy wherever he is. Make the people that took him 

treat him good. God bless Mamma, Daddy, Mikey, Marie, 

Grandma and Grandpa. Amen.” 

Dad installed furnaces back then. He was very 

handsome. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes. His 

muscles bulged in his tee­shirt. He kept a pack of cigarettes 

rolled up in one sleeve which accentuated his biceps. He was 

shy around most people and stuttered. Especially when he had 

to say his name. I didn’t know anyone else that stuttered, so I 

considered his speech problem quite serious. But then, I was a 

serious child. 

Doris, my mom, was five foot six. Most people called 

her Dorie. She had hazel eyes and brown hair. She was very 

pretty and a real good cook. We always had plenty to eat. 

Sometimes, however, it was only cornbread and milk. We called

that ‘johnny cake.’ I never felt that we were any poorer than

most. I always believed that we had a plentiful life. In

retrospect, I see more clearly how it really was. Money was hard

to come by.

My family lived in a tiny white house with a flat roof.

The white paint on the house was peeling, revealing concrete

blocks underneath. There were deep ruts and puddles all

around the yard. The drive was mottled with grooves of mud

that had been punished and dried repeatedly by tires. A flower

bed full of perennials had forced beauty into a not so pretty

landscape.

We received ‘hand me down’ clothes from our aunts

and uncles. Mom sewed some of our clothes from flour sacks

and other materials she could afford to buy. I remember Mom

getting excited when she would get a free towel or glass in a

box of detergent. I believe she based her choice of laundry soap

on the free gift inside. We would rarely buy new things in those

days.

Dad raised chickens in the basement. They were fuzzy

and fun to hold. We also had rabbits downstairs. I was sure they

were pets until Dad killed some and they emerged on our

dinner table. I became used to the practice of eating what he

had raised. I just wished Dad hadn’t let us name them all. He

made sure he told us we were eating ‘Spot.’ He could say things

without thought to our feelings sometimes. He would talk about

nasty things often at the dinner table. I guess he thought he was

funny.

My mom braided my hair every morning into pigtails.

She pulled my hair when she did and it hurt a lot. She would tell

me to quit fidgeting. I cried but she still did those braids every

day until I was eight years old. Eventually I got used to it.

I wore corrective shoes. They were ugly. I hated wearing

them, but I was told it was temporary. If I didn’t wear them my

feet would flop over. My feet still flop over. I wore those ugly

shoes all those years for nothing. It was just a bad habit I had

gotten into.

My nose turned up when I was young. Many playmates

called me piggy. They would run around me and say ‘oink oink.’

I was a tolerant, introverted child. Rarely did I ever let others

know when I was feeling hurt. I decided the only thing to do was

not to let on that their behavior bothered me. They soon

stopped their teasing and my nose dropped down quite a bit as

I aged.

Mikey looked like a little Chinese boy. Our family didn’t

have any oriental ancestry. He just happened to have those

characteristic slanted eyes. I thought he was cute. Mikey always

watched out for me. He was my protector when we were

young. I always idolized him. He is very helpful to this day. His

good heartedness is unequaled.

Marie had a pretty little face, but was frail. She had

spindly arms and legs. She ate as much as I. At least that is my

story. She just didn’t gain weight like I always did. There was

one difference, however, between our eating habits. She rarely

ate sweets and she didn’t like pie. I loved sweets of all kinds and

pie was my favorite.

Every time I heard the bells of the ice cream truck I

would run inside and ask if we could buy some ice cream. I was

very practical and figured that if I never asked for ice cream, I

wouldn’t have any chance of getting ice cream. My favorite was

the dream sickle. That was an orange popsicle with vanilla ice

cream in the center. My second favorite was the drumstick.

That was an ice cream cone with chocolate and nuts on top.

It wasn’t the custom in those days for women to work

outside the home. Mom was no exception. She cleaned, cooked

and the sewing machine was rarely put away. Dresses or

trousers were always in the making. “Come, Siena, try this on.”

“Oh Mamma, I want to play.” “Come on little girl. The sooner

you get over here, the sooner you can go play.” The clothes she

made didn’t look like designer clothes. They rather looked; well,

homemade. Mom crocheted mittens, hats, sweaters and

scarves. The items she made are too numerous to mention.

They were warm and we appreciated that on cold days in the

snow.

We children accompanied Mom when she went

shopping. I never could understand why she insisted that we

walk ahead of her. We didn’t know where she was going. I

repeatedly looked behind me to see whether she had turned

into a store. I wasn’t aware that she was concerned about

someone kidnapping us. Later I asked and she said she kept us

in front so she could see us every minute.

Dad gave her twenty dollars for groceries a week. She

would purchase flour, rice, beans, oatmeal, milk, and other

basic essentials. One of the items I can remember is the oleo

margarine in the plastic bag. In the bag was a red dot that had

to be squished to render a yellow color to the contents. I loved

to do that for Mom.

Occasionally Dad gave Mom some money to buy a new

dress. She would go shopping and return without one thing for

herself. Dad became upset with her many times because he

wanted her to have a new dress so much. He got more excited

than she did over the prospect. When she ended up without

one, he’d say something like, “Jesus Christ, Doris, why in the hell

can’t you find yourself a dress in this whole town. I never saw

anyone who had so much trouble buying something for

themselves. I wish, just one time, you could go shopping for

yourself and come home with what you went out for.” She

would say, “The kids need shoes and I’d rather see the money

used for them.” She rarely bought herself anything.

We used to visit Denstedt’s five and dime store. It was a

small, family owned business. I liked looking at all the trinkets

on the shelves. Mom used to talk with everyone we met. She

was so good at conversing that it gave me great concern. My

thoughts were directed to my growing up and not being able to

chat with others as Mom did. I would think, ‘Will I ever be able

to talk to people? What will I talk about? I can’t think of

anything I would say.’ I used to worry about that a lot. I was a

quiet child and I always lacked confidence. I was the last one

picked for team sports and never was I a leader.

One day Mrs. Denstedt was talking with Mom about a

man that was in the store. He was a grubby old man who didn’t

shave. His clothes were very dirty and full of holes. She said,

“Look, Dorie, look at that old beggar. He comes in here every

day and buys a bottle of hair tonic. I’m sure he drinks it.” Mom

replied “Isn’t that a shame? I wonder what causes a man to be a

bum, living in the streets?”

“Yes Dorie. It makes me feel fortunate to have a home

to go to. Do you think he ever had a home and a family?”

“He must have at one time. So often I believe, some big

crisis makes a person hit bottom.”

“Enough of this speculation. What can I do for you,

Dorie?” Mom would make her purchase and say, “Well, we’ll

see you again soon. Take care of yourself.”

“Come in anytime, Dorie, I always enjoy your visits.”

“Good­bye Mrs. Denstedt.” We would all say.

We used to collect soda bottles along the roadside. The

deposit money was ours to keep. I bought candy and ice cream

with my share. Mike bought caps for his cap gun and marbles.

He was an excellent marble shooter. Marie liked those wax lips

and little candy dots on paper.

I started kindergarten when I was five. I was somewhat

scared. I was, however, delighted that Mikey had started a year

ahead of me so I could follow his lead. I used the rug he had

used for nap time in kindergarten. My favorite time at

kindergarten was snack time, in case you didn’t guess. We had

graham crackers and milk. By now you know I always liked

eating more than anything.

We commuted to school by bus. The bus was so big and

noisy that I held Mikey’s hand.

Mikey became ill during the second week of school

while he was in the second grade. He got the chickenpox. He

cried because he itched so much. He had countless sores all

over his body. When I came down with them, I wasn’t very ill at

all. It didn’t seem fair that Mikey should get so sick and I was

running around playing without a care in the world.

One time when Mikey was sick, I had to make my way

to the school bus alone. I did admirably in the morning getting

on the bus. After school, however, I didn’t recognize where to

get off the bus. The streets all looked the same. The driver and I

traveled around after everyone had left the bus attempting to

locate my house. I was panicky. I feared I would never find my

way home. It was getting dark. I opened my eyes as big as I

could, keeping watch for anything familiar. I felt really stupid. Of

course, eventually we did find my house. It must have seemed

longer than it was because Mom wasn’t even worried or angry.

Another time, neither Mikey nor I could find our bus

after school. The buses were numbered and none of the ones

lined up had the right one on it in our opinion. We looked up

and down the row of buses again and again. The buses finally

started their engines and left without us. I cried because I was

so worried Mom would be mad. Mikey said, “Don’t worry,

Siena, I know the way home.” Imagine us, two little kids walking

three miles. Miles we had never walked before. When we

arrived home, Mom whipped us with a switch. She said it was

crucial that we never walk home from school again. She said

someone could have kidnapped us. I didn’t know what she

meant. I just knew she was serious. I cried and couldn’t catch

my breath. When I was small, I occasionally cried that way. My

crying made Mom even more angry. She then shook me hard. I

thought my head would fall off.

The next day, Mom went to school. She asked the

principle for an explanation about our inability to locate our

bus. We never missed our bus thereafter. The principle saw to

it.

We lived next door to our grandparents Carl and Edith

McKenna, Mom’s parent. Grandpa was 5 foot 10 inches tall. A

thin bald man with a weathered face with deep grooves carved

in by time. He had a smile that went ear to ear. His teeth were

bad. Grandma and Grandpa went everywhere together. He liked

to watch wrestling on television. He used to get really loud and

excited when he watched the matches. I believe he was under

the impression that wrestling was serious business. We had a

huge family. We were blessed with lots of aunts, uncles and

cousins. Everybody got together frequently. We always had fun

at Grandpa and Grandma’s house.

Saturday night, music engulfed the house as Dad played

his guitar and harmonica with Uncle Owen, grandpa’s brother,

Uncle Harry, Aunt Barbara’s husband and Grandpa. The

reverberations of “Your cheat’n heart will tell on you” still ring

in my ears.

The men drank beer and played songs long into the

night. It was impossible not to have learned the words to all the

old country ditties. I remember, even as a small child, Dad gave

me a nearly empty bottle of beer. Mom sang and was as

beautiful as a movie star. She wore very little makeup. She

didn’t need it because she possessed natural beauty.

Sometimes Grandpa brought out a deck of cards and

everyone played euchre. That is a game using partners and

Jacks are the highest card. Grandpa slapped the cards down

hard on the big round mahogany table in his dining room. The

dining room was just a little bit bigger than the table. The chairs

were pretty close to the wall. Because they had so many kids,

they needed a big table. Grandpa was boisterous and cursed

loudly. I can hear him now, “You son of a bitch. You are nothing

but a God damn cheater. Get those cards on top of the table

where I can see them. You God damned round head.” Grandpa

didn’t mean anything by his words. He just was having his own

brand of fun. We all knew that.

Grandma made coffee and got out cold­cuts, cheese

and bread. She always served Limburger cheese and

pumpernickel bread, Grandpa’s favorite. She had the things we

liked as well.

Grandma was a heavyset woman with snow­white hair.

Back then she wore it in braids wrapped up on top of her head. I

caught her one time when her hair was not braided, it cascaded

to her hips. She was a jovial ‘fairytale’ grandma. She always

wore a dress with an apron. Sometimes she had candy in her

apron pocket.

When I was young, every Monday Grandma did laundry

with her wringer washer and hung it outside to dry. I was

sometimes present to help take the clothes from the wringer

for her. The water splashed from the rollers as she turned the

handle and the clothes flattened like pancakes. Grandma shook

the clothes hard and hung them on the line. Some things dried

stiff as a board; especially on cold days. She put blue jeans on a

wire form. It stretched out the wrinkles.

Tuesday was the day Grandma baked bread. I could

smell the loaves rising all the way to my house next­door.

Tuesday was also ironing and mending day. Wednesday she

made cookies and pies. There was always something tasty to

eat at Grandma’s house.

Grandma and Mom had children at the same time. Aunt

Emily was a year younger and Aunt Patricia was a year older

than I. Grandma had a total of eight girls and two boys.

My grandparents didn’t have a bathroom. They had an

outhouse in back. When we would visit, Grandma used to warn

us of the ‘Boogie Man’ when we had to go out there at night.

We took a flashlight and opened our eyes wide watching for this

feared creature and we never went alone. Grandpa didn’t see

the sense in putting a bathroom in the house. “With all these

girls," he explained, “I would never see the inside of a God

damn bathroom anyway.”

As children, my aunts and uncles slept upstairs. The

second floor of the house is nothing more than an attic.

Grandpa installed steps in the kitchen closet to go up there. He

suspended a long rod that covered the length of the house on

which clothes were hung. When I was small, I remember it

being very cramped up there. Only one of the kids had their

own bedroom on the main floor. That was Aunt Susan. She was

the oldest still living at home. As each aunt left home the oldest

got the room. One time when I was seven, we were staying at

Grandma’s. Her room was used to take a bath in. Grandpa

would fill a large galvanized tub with water. The youngest child

bathed in it first. Each child would follow in the same water of

course. Most of the time the teenagers would wash at the

kitchen sink. It was a white porcelain sink which had no divisions

in it.

My parents were out of town. We had a picnic reunion.

Mike was carrying a cake outside and dropped it. I said, “Oh, oh,

Mikey, I’m going to tell Mom.” Grandma said, “Oh no you

won’t. If you do, I’ll tell your mom what you did today.”

Marie and I went to the public restroom without

permission. Grandma was searching for us and became worried.

When she located us, she said, “Don’t you realize that there are

wicked people that would kidnap little girls like you?” I suppose

we gave her quite a fright. Everyone was always worrying that

someone would take us. I was too young to know what the big

deal was.