Gross Out Night

Life wasn't all "life on the farm" as I'd described in my first blog. In fact we, my brother and I, had several "lives" growing up due to my parents changing relationships and frequent geographical relocation. Life with Mom during those years following my parents’ divorce and extending into the 70’s, was in many ways very different than life with Dad, and in other ways much the same.

The philosophy of letting kids be kids and allowing lots of creative playtime was shared in both worlds. My mom, however, was more restrictive when it came to health in general and specifically food; food and vitamins.

At that time life with Mom included my Moms roommate/best friend/partner and her three children; two boys one my age and one a year younger and a daughter my brothers age. We were sort of two separate clans, the big kids and the little kids when it came to certain rights and privileges.

 At that time my Mom had befriended several women who were as my father described them “Health food nuts”. These women were fans of a popular author at the time, Adelle Davis, who wrote books about nutrition. All of her book titles began with the word “let’s...” “Let’s eat right and be Healthy”, like we were all invited to some big happy bland tasting gritty food party. My Moms best friend who we lived with briefly following the divorce, used to have a cupcake tin on the kitchen table, which was the vitamin tray. Each rusty little cup help and handful of vitamins, a rainbow of colors. They all had one thing in common, they tasted nasty and they represented to us kids, a classic parent/child power struggle.

The vitamins weren’t the only issue. We ate homemade what bread, sugar free cereal, fruits and vegetables were a must. There were no potato chips, soda, ding dongs, twinkies, t.v. dinners or any of the other “fun foods” we saw on television and at friends houses.

Our mothers cared about our health and proper nutrition and EVEN THOUGH WE COMPLAINED ENDLESSLY, I think we knew, even then, that that was a great gift of love.

I order to lighten the burden of having to eat “Health Food” and to encourage cooperation, the “Big Kids” were allowed the privilege of “gross out night”.

Gross out night was on a weekend night, I can’t remember if it was Friday or Saturday, but it was the same night the old cheesy horror movies were on. The ones with disembodied hands that strangle innocent sleeping victims, mummies being summoned odd looking men muttering odd sounding incantations, monsters that devour teenagers while they are making out in their car or on the beach. You know, the classics.

In addition to staying up late watching our grainy black and white t.v., the one with the broken antenna that was wrapped with tinfoil, we got to choose and prepare our own desserts. Even then we were limited to foods that were not too highly processed, not too filled with chemicals and artificial colors. Naturally we took our culinary

The usual permitted fare was ice cream, pudding, graham crackers or Nilla Wafers and some sort of chocolate sauce or Ovaltine. Being that is was the weekend, the late 60’s and our Moms were enjoying the newfound liberation of divorced life I don’t recall there being much supervision while we concocted our compensation for a week of healthy eating. The best, and most often indulged in treat, involved using all the permitted ingredients, combined in one bowl.

Here’s the recipe:

Line your bowl with graham crackers or Nilla wafers, add a heaping scoop or two or three, of ice cream, pour hot pudding (we only had the cooked kind back then) over the ice cream, top with more crackers or wafers and whatever other topping was available, Ovaltine, Hersheys etc.  Grab pillows, blankets, jockey for position in front of the tiny tv making certain you’re in a position that won’t cause interference with the antenna and enjoy watching 1950’s looking teenagers getting murdered.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

The Wild Child

I recently received some pictures from my former stepmother from the summer of 1970. It was a summer we spent  living in an abandoned farmhouse in Central Wisconsin.
There were 8 of us kids, my brother and me, my stepmothers 5 kids and my baby sister, the product of the dad and stepmothers short lived marriage.
 The land and the house belonged to my stepmothers parents, I have no idea how long the place had been abandoned, but it had no indoor plumbing, the water came from a pump down by the barn, some 50 yards from the house. There was very little in the house save a classic 19th century wood burning stove. The stove worked, and my stepmother frequently cooked on it. We had also dug a cooking pit using our collapsible army shovels. My Dad taught us how to prepare the coals where we cooked kettles of stew in a Dutch oven underground.
 Living in such an environment with acres of playground in the form of woods, a pond, corn fields and an old barn we wandered, climbed, swam, explored, rode horses from down the road, and learned about things such as leeches, ticks and sharing a bedroom with skittish little mice.
I remember all of us kids bathing in the lake, it was that or under the icy cold well water from the hand pump. I remember all 8 of us sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags in the upstairs which was basically one large empty room, with mice.
When I look back now 40 years later with the training of a Social Worker, I realize today's bureaucracy would have had a field day with that scenario.  I can imagine the initial assessment report...and it makes me laugh. I don't recall feeling neglected, or unhappy or maltreated. I recall one of the last years of pure childhood before puberty hit. I recall learning about nature and her ways by spending hours in the woods or at the lake. And best of all I remember riding a tall Appaloosa named Beau, galloping at top speed with the wind stinging my eyes, my tangled hair flying, feeling wild, brave, adventurous and unstoppable.
There's something to be said for letting kids be kids.
Copyright 2010, Jennifer Hazard