Word of the day: Yankee (yang’-ke) “a native or inhabitant of a northern state”
I found out I was a Yankee when my family moved from Long Island, New York to Texas midway in my second grade year. What in the world is a Yankee I must have wondered? Little did I know I had just moved to one of those areas where the North-South designation was still alive and well! Dallas in the early fifties was not the cosmopolitan city of today.
Long Island when I lived there was a collection of sleepy little towns and villages, not the habitat of the wealthy and famous that it has become some fifty plus years later. We lived in Glen Head, close to Glen Cove. Today Glen Head is supposedly the wealthiest zip code in the United States. It certainly wasn’t that way when we lived there! Some people have extensive memories of their past in a completely linear fashion. I find that my childhood memories of Glen Head are more like a series of old photos all mixed up in a box. We lived in the top floor of a two-story duplex right across the street from my elementary school. I always have a chuckle when internet security questions want you to answer, “What was the name of your first grade teacher?” Excuse me, but I really don’t have a clue. My most vivid memory of being in the Glen Head Elementary School was drinking an orange soda and throwing up at some school function. To this day I detest orange soda!
My other outstanding memory of living on Long Island was making a trip into the “City” to Madison Square Garden to see Gene Autry and his horse Champion. This was definitely one of the highlights of my young life! I remember the name of the horse but not my first grade teacher; that tells you something about my priorities at age six. My Dad even bought me a chameleon lizard to take home with me after the show. Ahhhh, life was good!
Texas, on the other hand, was the land of the wild west, cowboys and Indians, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Maybe this move was not going to be so bad after all! Alas, there was to be no ranch, no horses, and not even a glimpse of Roy Rogers. We moved to a little house on another quiet little street in University Park, the poor little stepsister to the wealthier Highland Park. I was quickly enrolled into the local elementary school. What could be more traumatic for a seven-year old than to change schools mid year. This school had a cafeteria where you actually went through the line and ordered your own lunch. Being totally petrified of this new experience, I think I subsisted on a diet of canned corn and a slice of white bread for the first several weeks. Apparently, I must have gotten tired of this limited diet after a few weeks as I gradually melded into the new environment, ordered a better lunch, and made some new friends.
By the end of the school year, I had settled in to my new life in Texas. I no longer felt like the complete outcast of six months ago. I had a new bicycle, complete with training wheels. It wasn’t quite the same as a horse, but then I had a totally vivid imagination, so it worked for me. I also had a holster with two silver cap pistols and a seemingly endless stash of caps. I can still recall the wonderful gun powdery smell of those caps. I was Dale Evans, Annie Oakley, and occasionally Pocahontas on a rotating basis.
Summer stretched out into long glorious days of firing cap guns, swimming, and roaming the neighborhood. In the early ’50’s the United States was in a state of post-war euphoria. The economy was growing; the troops were home. Parents had not yet become the helicopter parents of today. We grew up with no organized sports, no lessons on everything from piano to skating to martial arts, and no checking in on a regular basis. We entertained ourselves all day long, settled our disputes with fists, rocks, or sometimes tears.
In the summer we headed off to the local swimming pool daily. We had little metal tags that our Mothers sewed on to our swim suits. These were our daily admission to the pool. I can’t remember not knowing how to swim. Luckily for me, both of my parents were good swimmers, and I learned at a very young age. During those long days at the pool with no parental supervision, I swam to my heart’s content and often put on my Esther Williams persona. Besides saving all of University Park from a wide range of outlaws and ne’er-do-well’s, I was also the queen of synchronized swimming! So many accomplishments at my young age.
On Saturdays I often walked by myself or with friends to the local movie theater for the Saturday afternoon matinée, two shiny quarters clicking together in my pockets. I loved all the movies but a good western was definitely the best of all. There were so many heroes to delight me–Hopalong Cassidy, the Lone Ranger, and, of course, my all-time favorite, Roy Rogers! There was always a cartoon, a newsreel, a serial, and the feature movie of the day. Those two little quarters got me into the movie, plus a Coke, a box of Milk Duds, and possibly a box of Junior Mints or popcorn.
I even had a tooled leather belt with my name embossed into the leather that I wore to the movies on Saturdays. If I were to be struck speechless upon encountering one of my heroes, I could at least point to my name on the belt so they would know who I was. After my Mother’s death, I actually found that old belt among her things. It gave me a feeling of fond remembrance, like meeting an old friend after many years, but it must have shrunk over the years. It didn’t quite fit these days!
The scared little Yankee was quickly becoming a Texan.
©2015, Black Dirt and Sunflowers
