Stories
of My Early Childhood
The
earliest recollection I have is of a Christmas day, very long ago.
Apparently my mother's family was at our house. After dinner, most
likely, when the men were around in the living room, and the women
clearing the dishes, I was sitting there on the floor, perhaps six or
eight feet from the door to the kitchen door, playing with some
wooden blocks. Some big person came along and ask me if I know who
gave me those blocks. Was it Aunt Esther? I indicated I did not
know. They told me, "Grandpa Bender." I was named after
him, and so it was special to him that I had his name and thus he
blessed me with that gift. I know that was a very early Christmas for
me, as before my next birthday, Grandpa was gone. He died before I
was 3 years old.
Life
wasn't easy for me in those days. Other things happened which I know
about only by hearsay and family legends. One was that I was very
sick one winter, perhaps of pneumonia. I was so sick they had to hold
me a lot, and the doctor said I would not get better until spring
came. There is also the story that I was with once on a wagon that
was hitched to some unpredictable horses. Apparently there were
others of my brothers and sisters on the wagon with me on the wagon
when the horses for some reason took running away with me lying on
the wagon. How they got them stopped or why I was safe and unhurt,
only God knows and certainly he is the reason. On the lighter side,
at least to others, once when a pet rooster died and my siblings were
burying him, I insisted, actually with crying and screaming
(according to Miriam), that they bury him with his head out of the
ground so he could breathe! This was after they had a funeral for
him. It is not known who preached at that time.
Another
story was what happened when my baby sister died. She was only about
6 months old, and two years behind me. Such a lovely baby with dark
brown hair. I really don't remember her. But they say that at the
grave, I was very agitated. "They dare not put her in the
ground," I cried. So I was left without her Again the youngest
child, being cared for by a grieving mother, who after all was very
hopeful for the baby girl. In the rhythm of boy/girl again and again,
I had broken the regular cycle. Now she had had the little girl I
wasn't and she lost it. How despairing it must have been for her.
Fortunately a year and a half later, she had another baby girl who
seemed to her to be a replacement for the one she lost. I believe I
remember when she was born. I was about 4 and a half and recall going
upstairs that morning telling the older brothers that we had a new
baby. Now Mom felt better.
Sometimes
I was treated like a baby. Once I was with my older brother and
sister walking in the back lane, back there close to where there was
a patch of tea along the lane. For some reason, they were carrying me
between them, whether it was my idea or theirs, I don't know. There
was always conversation on those walks, although I wonder what they
were talking about. It was probably above my head.
I
also remember that in my preschool years, we would put Mom's wash tub
out in the yard and fill it with water. How we "suddled",
splashing each other and just having great time jumping in and out of
the tub! It may well have been in my 3 year as I recalled that first
happening
In
those days also, once I was entrusted to carry home from Daudy's (Grandpas) something special. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my memory, it
seems it was goat meat. I carried it in a small granite bucket. I
think it was a speckled bucket, as I know they also had a deeper blue
bucket. Anyway, after I had walked through the big field and was
nearing our house, I stopped to play at a trash pile where we
disposed of some things like old tin cans and junk. I set the bucket
there on one of the large rocks, right by the fence. When I left, I
forgot to pick it up. Mom, likely, asked me about the meat. I told
her it was by the rocks at the trash pile. She sent someone to fetch
it. They couldn't find it; so I had to go and show them where it was.
I don't remember how we liked the goat meat. It must not have been
memorable.
We
were close to our Miller cousins who were about the age of us
children. Once we were back in the truck patch where we had crops
such as sweet corn and behind where we had a big raspberry patch, and
we were all discussing things of interest. We wondered about God,
what was he like or where was he? I just remember that we agreed that
he can see us but we can not see him. My mother taught us to pray as
well. We would kneel at the beside by her knees as she sat there and
said the prayer that she taught us. I don't remember praying after I
had learned the prayer, if I prayed by myself. Every morning and
every evening Dad read a chapter of the New Testament, usually
without comment and then we all knelt for prayer. If he was away or
traveling, Mom would read and pray. Dad could probably tell you what
was in every chapter of the New Testament. He read it so much.
About
the time I started school, we had a big patch of pickles in the 20
acre field west of our house.. They had to be picked every other day.
Usually I would help my father, taking the other half-width of a row
with him. It was a whole family endeavor. As an incentive, or
encouragement to all of us, Dad gave us a cent per bucket. We had
whole wagon loads of pickles in feed bags. I don't remember whether
we hauled them to the house or if a truck came to pick them up in the
farm. I just know that a truck came and picked them up.
Once
Uncle Elmer gave us a pony, probably selling it to us. There we were
right in front of the house, circling it and admiring it. Apparently
I was too close at the wrong end and became rather dazed suddenly.
They supposed the pony had kicked me in the head as I seemed a bit
stunned, No one saw it happen. But now you know what happened to me!
It
seems I was not very responsive to my mother's requests for doing
something. Probably I was usually engrossed in my own mental
explorations at playing and did not find it easy to shift and listen
to her. She felt it was her duty both to teach me and to train me to
obey her like all good children should obey. I was more independent
than she felt I should be. I know it was hard on her and she did not
like to spank me although she felt she had to train me up right. One
time she insisted that I take the strap and spank her and we were
both crying. I doubt that I did struck her. Often her threatening to
get the leather "strap" was enough to bring me to
compliance- but not always. (The strap was keep handy in the
compartment above the stove where food was kept warm until meal
time.) My sisters agreed in later years that I was disciplined more
than any other child. At times my mother told me that my oldest
brother was never like that. For a variety of punishment, at least
once I had to sit in the stair entrance or on a chair for an hour to
learn a lesson, no doubt on obedience.
We
knew that my father loved us very much. I remember him bending over a
small child, cooing something like "beloved child". As
Christmas neared each year, I would sit on his lap and he would ask
us how long it was until "Silent Night". Then he would sing
it to us in German. I was often with him as he was out working. Once
as he was repairing or building a fence between the house and barn,
he taught me a Bible verse that I can still mostly repeat in German.
Seems he was often talking to himself, or some imaginary person which
seemed a bit odd to us.
It
was always special when church was at our place, like the Amish still
have church services in homes. The benches were brought into the
house on Saturdays before church and the furniture set off to a side
or stored elsewhere. The benches were stacked in the living room and
we might make our bed under the benches for the night. After worship
services the benches were made into tables and everyone sat to eat
the simple meal of peanut butter on bread, pickles and red beets.
Coffee, if you were big enough. The preacher would announce that
everyone should "hold quietly" for prayer- a silent prayer
before we dug in. It was amazing how many slices of bread a small boy
could eat. I know my father would buy a large box of bread on the
Saturday to feed everyone. It probably took more bread because the
services were so long. After dinner there was time for the big people
to talk about anything that would come up and the children were
somewhere else playing, perhaps out in the yard or in the barn in
the hayloft.
When
my next brother was born, when I was 7, Grandma Hochstetler was
there to deliver the baby. They just lived up the fields from us,
"up", as it was a slight upgrade in the field between our
farms houses. We were there overnight and coming back from Grandpa’s
that morning where we were kept out of sight over night. Daudy, as we
called him wanted to tell us that we had a new baby, but couldn't
just come out and tell us. "If you had a new baby," he
teased, "would you wish for brother or a sister?" I don't
remember our response. We soon found out about that. There is the
story that when mom would go into labor, she would hang a white sheet
on the wash line behind our house as a sign for "Mommy"
that it was time for her to come and help.
It
seems that even though I was slow in minding my mother, I did have
some motivation for doing what was right in my childhood. On my
eighth birthday, I sat down and wrote my commitment for life.
Basically I wrote that I want to be a better person than I have ever
been. Someone, possibly Uncle Elmer, had told me that when there is a
sameness of the birth date and your age, that is a critical time of
life; I took it seriously. I can't say I was converted then, but at
least I made a determination about my life that I was going to seek
the best way.
Certainly
my most memorable story is of a trip to the east coast when I was 5
years old. That is the story for another chapter.
