"Of Faith and Family" Submission #9

Any influence that faith or religion had on my life and my behavior up to this point began to slowly fade.

Here is the back story to that...

During her freshman year of high school, in 1961, my sister, Barbara, was invited to church by a girlfriend. That single invitation to church started a chain reaction that would mightily impact the Munson family for generations to come.

Breaking ground in the cabbage patch

Community Bible Church was a rather small but growing assembly of believers, who took seriously the command to evangelize the world, beginning with those around them. The church was built on a former cabbage patch on the corner of Norwalk and Alondra Boulevards in Norwalk, California back in 1952.

At some point in her attending church, Barbara made a decision to become a Christian, a commitment that she didn't take lightly and Christianity was introduced to our family.

Barb's new found faith compelled her to share her new world with her brothers. One by one, they made their way to see what had made such a profound difference in Barb's life.

The first church service of Community Bible Church

I don't know how often or how long Butch attended but it was brief. Even though I know he went, I have no actual recollection of it. But as with the whole family, his ties and association with the church would remain. In fact, Butch was married at Community Bible Church in 1969.

Bob's Army picture - about 1970

I do remember Bob going and his involvement in the church was steady throughout his high school years, even leading the congregation in singing on occasion. He was active with the youth group and really seemed to embrace this new way of life. But the evidence of that faith seemed to disappear when Bob returned from his tour of duty in Korea with the Army. A lot of things changed when he came back from overseas.



Barb and Bill stayed with the stuff pretty faithfully. Especially Bill. When we moved back to Iowa after dad's passing, Bill lasted only a few months before he headed back to live in California. He had his heart set on two things; becoming a minister and landing the pastor's daughter as his bride. Both dreams eventually became a reality.

Me, Barb, Bill and Butch in 2013. Brother Bob... looking down from heaven.

I clearly recall my first experience at the church. I was four or five years old and Barb had brought me with her one Sunday evening. We sat on the second row, on the right side, facing the pulpit.

I soaked in my surroundings and everything that was happening around me. The wooden pews were hard and uncomfortable. The church building had huge wooden arches supporting the roof. There was a side door leading to the outside to my immediate right and a picture of a long haired, bearded man hung on the wall, next to the door.

The skinny talker man - Pastor RG Osborne

I even listened to the tall skinny man up front as he talked and sometimes yelled at us for nearly an
hour. He was a very serious man and seemed to have a recurring theme throughout his talk. He kept talking about someone named "Jesus" and that I needed to get to know him because he was coming back soon. Back from where? I didn't know but my wheels were turning.



When the man quit talking and told us to bow our heads, I disobeyed because my eyes were fixed on the picture next to the side door. I was pretty sure I had figured it out. The long haired man in the picture must be that "Jesus" guy the preacher kept talking about.

When the service ended and the congregants started filtering out of the sanctuary, I stayed put, still staring at that picture with an occasional glance at the side door.

When Barb told me it was time to go home, I shared with her what I had figured out. "This picture is Jesus and the talker said he was coming back. I don't know why everyone is leaving before he gets here. I think he might be coming through this side door and so I want to be the first one to see him when he comes."

Barb, me and Butch - 2014

I was crushed when Barb explained to me that Jesus probably wasn't coming back that night. I felt
deceived by the skinny man with the white shirt and black tie. I guess the silver lining was that now I knew what he looked like. I would be sure to recognize him once he did decide to come back.

With the influence of Barb and Bill, I was pretty regular with my church attendance up until the point of my dad's death. With a steady diet of teaching from the good book, I had a decent grasp on right and wrong. I was far from perfect but I wasn't a bad kid.

When we moved to Iowa, I recall attending church a handful of times but found it overwhelmingly dull and boring. That, coupled with the fact that Bill had moved back to California, I quit attending church.

Brother Bill - 2013

If there is one thing that Bill has done a remarkable job of over the course of my life, particularly my pre-adult years, it has been his loving ability to hold me accountable for my spiritual life. When my allocation of time on this earth is about spent and I evaluate who had the most significant, earthly impact on my existence, there will be no hesitation, it's not even close... it will be my blessed brother Bill... with an assist from Barb and the Community Bible Church of Norwalk, California.

However, at that point in my life, Bill's influence could not be felt from 1,700 miles away.

I had emotionally separated myself from my mom and had drifted from my religious roots. Those two facts spelled trouble and that trouble began to manifest itself.

"Grandma Always Liked You Best" Submission #8

In later years, when I asked my mom the catalyst for her decision to move us back to Iowa after my father's death, she confirmed that it was because her mother wanted her to come "home."

Her mother? Bessie Harris. Grandma Harris. Mother of nine... and in the process of outliving most of her nine children.

Grandma Harris came to live with us in Madrid shortly after we relocated to Iowa. I guess she was a pretty good woman but I was never particularly close to her. This was due, in part, to the fact that she clearly favored my cousin, Bruce, over me... a fact that she barely attempted to conceal.

Mom said that Elsie, mom's sister and Bruce's mom, was also Grandma's favorite daughter. That favoritism seemed to trickle down to Bruce.

A couple anecdotal pieces of evidence to this "favoritism:"

One day, as Sam Smiley and I were killing time at his house, I inadvertently found fifty cents under the seat cushions in his living room. Sam and I split the treasure and immediately made plans to run downtown and spend it before it burned a hole in our pocket.

I went home and filled my mom in on what we had found and declared my intentions to immediately spend my quarter downtown. Grandma Harris sat and listened intently before nonchalantly sauntering toward her bedroom. She attempted to secretly motion Bruce to follow her but I saw her and correctly assumed what was taking place.

I peeked through the crack in the doorway to her bedroom and witnessed her rummaging through her coin purse as Bruce eagerly stuck out his hand. I watched as she pulled out a quarter and then a dime. Thirty-five cents!

Grandma Harris not only wanted Bruce to have anything and everything that I had... she wanted him to have more!

This certainly wasn't an egregious crime on her part but it was an event not unlike many events where her actions clearly revealed her bias.

Even though Grandma Harris had been slowed by a stroke a couple years earlier, she was still as strong as an ox at 84 years of age. We used to arm wrestle with her and never even came close to beating her.

She was a bible-toting, God-fearing woman but she also had a temper that could clear a room in an instant. She was very feisty!

One day, I did something to get her dander up and she came at me. I leaped from my chair with the intent of escaping due to my superior speed and agility. Grandma was a step behind me with her shoe cocked above her head, looking for an opportunity for a right hook across the side of my head.

She cornered me in the dining room where I used the table as a barrier between me and this senior assassin. We both slowly circled the table as we pondered our next move. She faked left and I bit. With head down, I ran to my right only to look up as we met near the doorway into the kitchen where Bruce was taking a pot pie out of the oven.

With nowhere to go and being mocked with that "Now I got You!" look from our resident seasoned citizen, I did the only thing I could do as I saw that well worn sole of her shoe rapidly approaching the side of my head... I ducked.

Unfortunately for Bruce, who was attempting to tip-toe past the commotion with his dinner in hand, he didn't duck.

Bruce ended up on the ground with the steaming ingredients from a just cooked, chicken pot pie all over him and around him. Grandma Harris immediately diverted her attention from me to Bruce as she profusely apologized for her bad aim.

I took that opportunity to head out the front door and into safety.

My cousin (brother) Bruce passed away in 2013. He was 57 and another victim of cancer.

Bruce's memorial service. My brothers Butch and Bill... tossing Bruce's ashes into the Des Moines River.

Grandma Harris passed away at the ripe old age of 91. She outlived six of her nine children. At the time of this writing, my mom is the single surviving child of Bessie Harris. On January 15, 2015... mom will turn... 91.

Mom at Bruce's memorial - September 2013

  

"Detached" Submission #7

Madrid, Iowa - Late 1969, Early 1970

The passing of my father had introduced me to death. Human death. I had pets die, but not family members. This tragedy brought to my realization that anyone could die and that thought began to haunt me.

My fear, anxiety and loneliness began to overwhelm me. These thoughts and emotions metastasized into a genuine fear that my mom would soon die and I would be left totally alone.

I was so scared, that I would sometimes creep into my mom's room and lie down beside her so that I could keep an eye on her at night. My dad died when I was away from him and I figured if I was with my mom... she wouldn't die.

I remember one night, not long after we had moved to Madrid, that I crawled into bed next to my mom and began to talk to her. At some point, I left to use the bathroom, returning only a couple minutes later. I resumed my conversation but quickly became aware that my mom was not responding.

"Mom?" I said. No response.

"Mom!" I said louder. Nothing.

"MOM! MOM! MOM!" I screamed as I began shaking her violently.

Her eyes flew open wide with terror, "Bart, what's wrong?!?" She screamed!

My mom, unbeknownst to me, had been taking sleeping pills to fight some insomnia she was experiencing since my dad had passed away. That night, the pills had kicked in quickly and with strength.

I thought she had died. I REALLY thought she had died. It took me hours to quit shaking.

My mom had a terrible, hacking cough caused by years of a 3 pack-a-day smoking habit. It was not unusual for her to have coughing spells that literally took her breath away to the point of passing out. This, too, frightened me as I was sure that one of these times she would be unable to catch her breath and she would just quit breathing.

Those coughing fits seemed to intensify at night as she tried to sleep. This was the major reason that I eventually quit slipping into her room at night to sleep next to her. From my bedroom, I would still hear her hacking at all hours of the night. To combat it, I developed a technique whereby I would wrap my pillow around my head and thus insulate my eardrums from most sound. In addition, I would turn a box fan on high as an added noise distraction in an effort to NOT hear my mom cough.

All these years later... I still wrap my pillow around my head and I sleep with a fan on high 365 nights a year... and it all started because I thought my mom was going to cough herself to death.

I clung to my mom more than ever. I didn't want to lose her. My sister, Barbara, had always been my surrogate mother of sorts. And to some extent, because of the age difference of my siblings, my brothers also, had always taken care of me... watched over me... loved me, the baby of the family. But they were all a couple thousand miles away. Mom was all I had.

My mom was still young... just in her mid-forties and she looked younger than her age. None of that registered with me. She was just my mom and I needed her now more than I had ever needed her before. So... it took me by surprise when the inevitable happened. She started dating.

Teens date. Not moms. Especially not MY mom! What would dad think? I couldn't understand it and I definitely didn't accept it.

Elmo Shuey. At least she could have dated a guy with a normal name! Elmo. Yes... ELMO!

Apparently my mom had dated him centuries ago when the big band era was still small and their acne was the major issue in life. I guess they decided to see if the fire could be rekindled.

I tried to conceal my jealousy the night he came over for their first date. He tried to talk to me like he was my favorite uncle but I was having none of it. I looked at him as a thief. I had one parent stolen from me by cancer and death... and here was a guy looking to steal my mom with his charm and his new Olds Toronado.

Like a dad talking to his 16-year-old daughter, I quizzed my mom about where they were going, how long they were staying and what time I could expect her to be home.

She told me that she couldn't imagine being out passed midnight as she looked at Elmo... who smiled and winked. Whatever THAT meant.

I went to bed early that night... for one reason, my grandma was not an exciting babysitter and number two, I figured the earlier I went to sleep, the less time I would have to worry about my mom being home safe and sound. I'd be sound asleep with my pillow wrapped around my head and my fan rattling on high looooong before my mom's midnight curfew.

At about one o'clock in the morning, I was awakened with a rare earache. Not able to go back to sleep, I thought I'd go wake up my mom. She'll know what to do. She always does.

I made my way to her room and switched on the light. She wasn't there. Her bed still perfectly made.

Where was she??? She was with Elmo and she was late! I was upset. No... I was FURIOUS!

I sat on the couch, arms folded... too angry to even watch television. 

My anger mounted as the hands of the clock made their redundant circular journey. One-thirty, two, two-thirty in the morning. How could she do this to me? My earache had long since subsided. The only thing that hurt right now was my heart.

Was I acting the part of a spoiled brat, upset that things were not exactly as I had wanted them to be? Or was my mom being insensitive to the needs of her youngest son who was navigating his way through a tumultuous time in his life? I struggle with that question even today. I would like to think that faced with similar circumstances as an adult that I would strike the proper balance with my actions. But then again... I love being a hero in my contrived hypothetical situations.

I began to hop up and peak out the curtain every few minutes... impulsively... obsessively... as though my frequent looks would speed up the process of her getting home. It didn't.

At about three in the morning, I heard a car pull up and the engine stop. I jumped up, slowly pulled back the curtain just enough to see Elmo's Oldsmobile parked in front of the house. 

Mom was home. My earache was gone. My anger dissipated. All was well with the world.

I ran into my bedroom and pulled the covers up and feigned slumber. I didn't want mom to know that I was waiting up for her. I lay there in eager anticipation of the front door opening. I waited... and waited... and waited.

After 15 or 20 minutes had passed, I got up and looked out the window. This time, I didn't peak through a crack, I flung the curtain open wide... hoping they saw me. The car was still there. Two silhouettes in the darkness. No evidence that they saw me looking at them.

I was seething! It was going on four o'clock in the morning and my mom was in a car... alone with a man. Elmo! What were they doing? 

Time for desperate action. The light switch that controlled the front porch light was a square knob that could be turned continuously in the same direction. 180 degrees and it went on... another 180 degrees in the same direction, it was extinguished. On, off, on off. I grabbed hold of that knob and begin turning it in the same direction... on, off, on, off, on, off... for five minutes... like a lighthouse beacon giving direction to a ship lost in the fog.

My embarrassment over pulling such a childish stunt was superseded only by my determination to send a message to my mother that she was needed by her son... now. I sat down on the couch, confident that my message was received... loud and clear. Mom would be coming in the door shortly.

I awoke as the front door opened and the early morning sunlight streamed across the living room. As my eyes focused, I could see the clock read a few minutes after eight o'clock. "You've got to be kidding!" I thought.

I started to explain what a dreadful night I'd experienced but my mom cut me off in mid-sentence.

"How could you embarrass me like that?" She asked angrily. "Turning the porch light on and off! If you keep acting up, Elmo may never ask me out again!"

Unfortunately, he did ask her out again but for some strange reason, I no longer cared. That night, my relationship with my mom changed and changed for good. I no longer clung to my mom. My world no longer revolved around her. 

Whether I was ready for this level of independence or not, I wasn't sure, but there was no turning back. I detached from my source of strength and comfort. I began to look for other things to fulfill the void that my mom had left.

This was not good news... 

"Strike Three" Submission #6

It seemed to me that Sam's dad treated him differently than the other four kids. More harsh. More distant. Less patience. Less affection.

I wondered how that would effect him in years to come.

Boone, Iowa - Summer 1993

20 years later, I ran into Rod Smiley at a church service in Boone while I was visiting Iowa on vacation. I was so happy to see my old friend and I was eager to hear about his siblings... where they were and how they were doing.

He gave me the rundown on everyone but when he came to Sam, his countenance changed and he looked off into the distance as he spoke. He talked about Sam's problems through adolescence and the difficulty his parents had controlling him. He was sent away for a bit but his behavior didn't seem to change much when he got home, in fact, it grew worse.

Problems at school, problems with drugs and problems with the law.

Rod said that at one point, Sam was determined to make some positive changes. He moved to Colorado for a fresh start, got a job and seemingly had his life pointed in the right direction.

At this point in the conversation, Rod's tone was rising and his eyes once again met mine. Then he looked down and with sadness said, "But trouble always seems to follow Sam." He continued, "It wasn't long before he lost his job and had tumbled back into the drug scene."

He mumbled, "If you were to ask me where he is today...." His voiced trailed off.

Madrid, Iowa - Fall 1995

Kim, Sam's oldest sister, filled in some of the blanks when I ran into her at a high school football game. She hadn't seen nor heard from Sam for more than 10 years until he had called her a few months back.

Sam's teenage son was in the hospital from a self inflicted gun shot wound in a murder/suicide attempt. He had killed his step-father.

"Sam's son had always idolized his dad but Sam never seemed to be there for him. Now he's fighting for his life." Kim concluded.

A couple years ago, I heard from another family member that Sam was in prison. I didn't bother to ask why. I didn't want to know. I just prayed, "Lord, please be with my friend."

I know that when one reaches adulthood, one must take responsibility for their decisions and their actions. But I couldn't help but feel sorry for Sam Smiley. It just seemed that he started life with two strikes against him and as a young adult, he swung once again and missed. Strike three.