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