ElleSpeak

Every family has stories of lost and found treasure. Here’s one of mine.

When I was a little girl growing up in our humble home on Chester Street my two brothers and I spent every possible moment outdoors during the long days of Summer, rain or shine.

If the sun was shining, you might have found me climbing the apple tree in our back yard, or perched high on our swing set before falling back to hang upside down until my face turned a deep shade of red, or maybe testing my athletic skills by “skinning the cat” over and over again from the top bar.

My two brothers and I often whooped it up as cowboys and Indians, played tag, hide and seek, kick the can, badminton, softball, croquet, or willingly entered into any made-up game where the rules might change from minute to minute, sometimes ending with a trip indoors to tearfully ask Mom to settle a dispute.

When the Concord grapes on our grape arbor were ripe, our neighborhood friends were invited to join in the feast, popping the soft, sweet, grape flesh into our mouths, one right after the other, spitting out the seeds, and tossing aside the bitter purple skins.

Not wanting to miss a moment of outdoor fun, we ventured inside only to cool off while guzzling a glass of red kool-aid, or to hurriedly choke down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.

Finally, when the sky turned too dark for us to see what we were doing, we unwillingly gave up the day of play to a night of much needed rest; but, sometimes when the moon was full, Mom might sit outside with us in the green metal lawn chairs she had given a fresh coat of paint in early Spring, gazing up at the sky and talking with us about whatever was on her mind.

This particular night my brothers were already inside, in their pajamas, engrossed in something on television. Mom and I sat outside, sometimes talking, sometimes just silently enjoying the stars and the summer night. I could tell she was enjoying our time alone together.

Mom told me many times that when she was pregnant with me, she prayed for a little girl, with blonde hair and brown eyes, and she got exactly what she asked for…..except she forgot to ask for this little girl to adore her above all others.

I loved my Mom, but it was evident to her and everyone else that I was wild about my Dad, and she made no secret of the fact that she was quite envious of my feelings for him. She wanted me to adore her like I adored him, and that just wasn’t my truth, and that bothered her, sometimes greatly.

My Mom was a loving mother who lavished affection on me and my brothers, and she was an intelligent, kind woman, who for the most part, was easy to be around. Occasionally though, she mixed up true stories with made up stories, and would embarrass me deeply by talking about inappropriate things at the family dinner table, or around my friends. She was a good mother but I wasn’t always entirely comfortable around her.

Pulling her eyes away from gazing at the moon Mom looked toward me and said slyly, “You know your Daddy has another little girl, and she’s blonde, just like you, and her name’s Candi.”

With my brown eyes wide open, I asked her incredulously, “Really? Where is she?” and then, “Why don’t I know her?”

Mom answered, “I don’t know exactly where she lives, but it’s somewhere out West, far away from here.”

I looked up at the moon and wondered what it would be like to have a sister, and I wondered if she might be looking up at the moon too, and then…..did she know about me???

Mom said she was blonde like me, but in what other ways were we alike? Was she pretty? What did she like to do? Maybe she’d be one of those girly girls who liked to play with dolls. Yuk!! I hoped not! Sandwiched in between two brothers I had become quite a tomboy, and I hoped Candi was a tomboy too, but I thought I’d probably like her, even if she wasn’t.

The rest of that conversation has disappeared from my consciousness over the years, but Mom never mentioned Candi again, neither did I, and neither did Dad. I imagine I must have wanted to ask Dad about Candi, or maybe tell my brothers about her, but I never did.

Perhaps Mom warned me not to talk about it because it was a taboo subject…or maybe I didn’t quite believe her. Even at a young age I knew I couldn’t always trust her to tell the absolute truth. I really don’t remember…but I always remembered Candi’s name and wondered where she was, especially when I looked up at the moon.

Forty years later my Dad called me from his home in Nashville, IN. He and my stepmother had retired there so Dad could spend more time in his art studio, painting and teaching porcelain arts. They had also opened a successful perfume and bath shop called The French Connection in the small, artsy, resort town.

I could hear the excitement in his voice as he said, “Hey Hon! I’m calling a family pow-wow this weekend to talk about something important. Can you be here on Sunday?”

I replied, “Sure! I’ll be there, but can you tell me a little something about what we’ll be talking about?”

He hesitated slightly, and then said, “Well, I have something I want to tell you.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but before I could speak, he went on in a rush, to say, “You have a sister and I want to tell you about her.”

I asked him calmly, “Dad, is her name Candi?”

I imagined I could hear his mouth falling open before he answered, “Yes, but how did you know?”

I said, “Mom told me a long time ago. I’ll tell you the whole story on Sunday. Dad, I’m glad she’s found you.”

Little did I know at the time how really glad I would be that she had found me too!

Copyright 2019
Eleanor Hugar Laker