Growing Up in a Communal Home: Memories from Houston Part 2

That Barbie led a charmed life, raised by an adoring Mother who felt discipline damaged tiny psyches. While a screaming Barbie was gently extracted from a situation, she’d be pounding Cookie with her precious little fists. Billy and I stared wide-eyed, totally unaware a kid could attack a parent. I don’t believe Mother felt the least concern for the state of my psyche. She’d have warmed by britches in a heartbeat. We’d even get “the look” when Barbie threw a tantrum, tacitly reminding what would happen should we try such a thing.

One stormy afternoon, a thunderstorm raged. We’d been playing the skate/wading pool game on the front porch when we were forced indoors by the lightning. Barbie threw a fit, culminating in an asthma attack. Cookie dragged her off for medication and rest. While she screamed herself to sleep, Billy and I availed ourselves of her treasures. We set our loot up in the half stair closet, playing there all afternoon. It was magnificent having a ready-made hideout.

I believe I had my first encounter with fire ants at that house. I followed Grandma to the backyard, where she was doing some gardening. I saw a huge mound of dirt which I did not recognize as an anthill. Fascinated, I jumped into it. Of course, I was instantly beset by enraged ants. At my screams, Grandma snatched my clothes off and sprayed me down with the water hose. A fast learner, I’ve never been tempted to jump in another ant bed.

To be continued

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