The Rescue

She rescued Mother and her two daughters: eight-year-old Judy and me, Carol Louise, five. The events that led up to the rescue began the day I was born, which just happened to be the same day my father chose to start over with the true love and lust of his life. Mother's sister, Gracie, and her husband, Jimmy, moved us into their two bedroom, one bath duplex on Walcott Street, where for five years they took care of us. Then along came Hazel.

A self-proclaimed old maid, Hazel was a no-nonsense kind of gal. She had met Mother in church, saw that she needed to be rescued from an overbearing sister, took control of the situation, and moved us into her two bedroom, one bath duplex on New Jersey Street, where for several months she took care of us. Then along came the landlord who asked Hazel and her dependents to leave.

It wasn't that I hated Hazel. I just disliked her immensely. She took me away from the only people in my life who were predictable. Aunt Gracie never fluctuated in emotion or mood--always sensible, steady and reliable. Uncle Jimmy was my man, and I was desperate for his unique way of showing me attention and affection. The game we played involved performance (mine) and recognition (his). A dance, a head stand, a drawing, it didn't matter. Whatever it was, to Uncle Jimmy it was wonderful, fabulous, stupendous.

Hazel had always lived in a world of adults with adult issues, problems, and responsibilities. Before rescuing Mother and her little girls, she had been accustomed to looking over children's heads, missing them entirely. They were little people with under-developed brains who were loud and energetic and inquisitive and awkward and annoying.

It wasn't that Hazel was a bad person. In rescuing us, her intentions were good. I see that now with my fully-developed adult brain, but as a child, I could understand and believe only that which was presented to me by the adults in my life: If you're not a good little girl, you could spend eternity in hell with worms crawling all over your body. Jesus is coming soon. The communists are coming soon. The world is coming to an end soon. Jesus loves you. If you're not a good little girl, Santa won't bring you presents. Don't ever say "Hell" or you will end up there. Do as I say, not as I do. Jesus is coming soon. The Russians are coming soon. The world is coming to an end soon. Do good things or hell awaits you. Jesus loves all the little children. 

It wasn't that I was a bad little girl; I just thought I was. From five to twelve, I was all of those things that annoyed Hazel. I moved too fast, talked too much and asked too many questions.  If something broke, it was me whodunnit. No matter what it was, it was always my fault.

When I was seven, I single-handedly wrecked Hazel's car. How is that possible, you ask? That's a very good question. Thank you for asking. Did I strip the couch of its cushions so I could see over the steering wheel and then go on joy ride through downtown Indianapolis?  Or...while she was driving, did I jump over the seat, push her aside and commandeer the wheel? Or...Did I suddenly scream LOOK OUT! causing her to panic and drive off the road? None of the above.  Here's how the accident that I caused happened. We were driving down the road. Hazel was behind the wheel. Mother was sitting shotgun, Judy and I were in the backseat. "I have to go to the bathroom," I said. "Didn't you go before we left the house like I told you?" Hazel said. "Uh, uh, well, uh," I said. Just when I thought I couldn't hold it any longer, Hazel pulled over, I jumped out of the car and ran to the nearest restroom. While I was inside doing my business, a farmer who was moseying on down the country road on a tractor, hit Hazel's car. And whose fault was that? Carol Louise's, of course. If we hadn't stopped, the accident would never have happened. Now that I have a fully-developed adult mind, I can see the lunacy in that logic, but back then, limited by my seven-year-old brain, I accepted the blame and I disliked myself immensely for what I had done to Hazel's car.

It wasn't that Mother couldn't take care of herself and her two girls; she just thought she couldn't. As a devout christian, Mother knew she was in God's hands and he would always met her needs. When I was twelve, and living in Hazel's two bedroom, one bath house on Rawles Avenue,  God answered Mother's prayers by bringing another rescuer into her life. Hazel's reign as Supreme Ruler of the Weak and Young was about to end, her contract was up, she was no longer needed. Bye, Bye, now.

He rescued Mother, my sister and me, and moved us to a three bedroom, two bath house on Austin Drive in the suburbs. I couldn't see it then because of that under-developed brain thing, but as I look back and recall my life with the man who was dedicated to his family and who gave love and affection freely, I would not change one single event in my earlier life for fear of never having known and loved this precious man, my Dad.