My Family & Me: How Green Was My Valley, Part 1

Even in an era of large households, ours stood out. Seven kids, four adults and, occasionally, a visiting relative, who would show up unexpectedly seeking a bed.

Three of our four bedrooms held two double beds apiece, and we kids rotated from bedroom to bedroom. Why? I have no idea; maybe to accommodate the surprise guests?

Back then, households such as ours were not that uncommon. Sometimes, when talking about my childhood, I am surprised when someone will ask, “Wouldn’t you have had too many bosses?”

Today and in those long-ago days, this never entered my mind. What we had were four grown-ups, my parents, my paternal, blind grandmother and my Dad’s bachelor brother, my beloved Uncle Bill.

Fall down? Someone was there to kiss the hurt away.

The same went for soothing ruffled feelings, and a reassuring voice answered when things “went bump in the night,” and you asked, “Is anyone else awake?”

Wonderful things for any child, but nothing really when compared with the heritage they left us. Each with his or her own distinct personality, each with widely different interests and viewpoints, they opened multiple doors for us, doors that led to wondrous treasures and wealth without measure.

The one common trait shared by them was their love for books and plays. Although none of them ever saw a Broadway show, listening to plays broadcast over our Crosby Console radio (this radio was our family’s most prized possession) gave us access to excellent performances and first-rate writing.

Because of my Grandma’s blindness, books were read aloud in the evening, each adult taking a turn at it. My older sister, Ginny, and I listened until we were shooed to bed, where the younger kids were already asleep.

Letting a little time elapse, we crept out in the darkness to the top of the stairs hoping we hadn’t missed too much of the story.

Sometimes, though, when it was only the four of them, they would retire to the living room with its nicer, and I’m guessing here, more comfortable seating.

Ginny and I were thwarted then since their voices didn’t carry as far. In desperation, we would ease our way toward them, one slithery stair at a time, trying to remember which ones creaked.

It usually didn’t work: This time we were ordered, not shooed to bed: No ifs, ands or buts...

If you were to ask me today the titles of the books

they read; I could rattle off several titles, and some of the plots. The scariest one of all was an Agatha Christie mystery, called, “And Then There Were None”.

A classic, it shows up periodically for sale on my Kindle listings. Shivers chase themselves up and down my spine when I see its title. I’m not tempted to order it since I remember it so vividly, the murderer, the victims, the motive and the modus operandi. So does Ginny!

To be continued... Kathy Young Wonderling is a former Spirit reporter who wrote a weekly column, My Family & Me, starting in the early 2000s. An octogenarian, Kathy is a widow, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister and aunt. With such a large family, she has too many memories not to share.