Ken and Dale Chapter 2
The ten children slept in the red house on the right which also had a laundry and the TV room, but all went to eat in the house on the left. Grandpa fed the cats from pie tins at the red barn in the back. Dale, Ken and Rick were three brothers who had lived in this foster home for the past three years. Dale loved to go back and play with the cats tame enough to let you pet them. Most were too wild. Off in the distance the huge square steel factory stood, looming and clanging every so often, making everyone aware of its importance. Dust from the steel hung in the air, and that may be why there was little grass in any of the yards, mostly a cinder like substance. Trees grew there, and some flowers, but little grass. At least no one had problems mowing lawns or with dandelion control. There were no dandelions.
Grandma cooked for all the children, the adult handicapped ones, as well as the foster children, the adopted ones, family and visitors that might be present at meal time. Sleeping areas were like the bunk rooms of a ranch, where beds were stacked. Dale slept near the dryer. It was soothing I am sure, but not too common a set up. Toys were plentiful, no books or paper to be seen. But cats and dogs were plentiful. There were four dogs in the house, and a few running in the yard. Commonly know around here, if you had an animal you did not want, you came over to this house and dropped it off, knowing it would be fed. Children and pets, all taken care of here. Older teens were hanging around but ruled the roost. If they wanted to watch a scary movie, the house being so small children playing right in the TV room, no other place to go, saw things like "Friday the 13th" or "Nightmare on Elm Street". Children all had nightmares about the puppet that comes alive, the guy with the hockey mask, and the man with the chainsaw.
They grew up watching those movies. Young children believe they are true. Often the teen with them does not help them understand it is "make-believe", but just wants to see their reaction or ignores them. Rick, the older brother, had watched adult sex movies while with the friends and associates of his Mother, when he was very young without mature understand. What we bring into our minds at a young age will remain and create images that persist.
Dale was 5 when one of the teens scared him, by appearing at the window with a hockey mask, and then chasing him around To him it was real.
My dreams are of the war, bombs and fire. Noises of planes overhead, which I had never shaken from my childhood being born in Berlin. The children kid me about never wanting guns or fireworks in the house, about how 4th of July is no fun at our house. Nothing that makes a loud bang, "What kind of a Mother Are YOU!!!!!!"
These are memories within my muscles, deep in the fiber of being that you cannot shake, that awaken when you least expect, and trigger a memory, a flash of visions before your eyes, like a short movie, and then is gone. Is it real? Is it God speaking to you? Have your ancestors crossed the spirit line and come down to speak? It is a real past event, that flashes before you, triggered by a sight, smell, or sound, appears as real as the event, which you had sheltered for ages, now come to reappear. You can reinterpret, rename, or throw it away. Do what you wish. I consider it a gift from the mind, that allows me to recall feelings I had long buried for reasons too long forgotten.
My new children bring these lost memories to the surface, and I need to take care of two more children. I need to take time getting them to trust me. We visit often over the summer, getting to know them, what they like to eat, what they like to do. We make sure they are comfortable in their new home, with their new family. Foster mom called Dale Fred Flintstone, and that will stop, and he will not wear that costume for Halloween.
Ken will be treated as a 6 year old, not one of the teens, so that he has a chance to be a little one. He will be in half day kindergarten, and the rest of the day I can spend some alone time, without anyone else at home. Dale will enter first grade, with a small class where he can be closely monitored. It is a Lutheran School, and I have close contact with the faculty.
Our last visits before we move the boys are difficult. Foster Mom wants to fight the move, and the county will not budge. They see what I am preparing to do for the boys, and want them to have a better future. Our final visit is traumatic. They are shoved out the door, clothes in brown plastic garbage bags, and the door slammed behind them. I am deeply distressed at the coldness of that departure. Dale asks, "What's wrong with Ruthie?" I answer, "Your Foster Mom is so sad you are leaving she could not say good-bye, she did not want you to see her cry." The car door slams as the loud clang of the steel factory shakes me to my bones, the whistles pierce the air. Screeching from ArmcoSteel signals our departure.
Grandma cooked for all the children, the adult handicapped ones, as well as the foster children, the adopted ones, family and visitors that might be present at meal time. Sleeping areas were like the bunk rooms of a ranch, where beds were stacked. Dale slept near the dryer. It was soothing I am sure, but not too common a set up. Toys were plentiful, no books or paper to be seen. But cats and dogs were plentiful. There were four dogs in the house, and a few running in the yard. Commonly know around here, if you had an animal you did not want, you came over to this house and dropped it off, knowing it would be fed. Children and pets, all taken care of here. Older teens were hanging around but ruled the roost. If they wanted to watch a scary movie, the house being so small children playing right in the TV room, no other place to go, saw things like "Friday the 13th" or "Nightmare on Elm Street". Children all had nightmares about the puppet that comes alive, the guy with the hockey mask, and the man with the chainsaw.
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| Freddie Kreuger |
They grew up watching those movies. Young children believe they are true. Often the teen with them does not help them understand it is "make-believe", but just wants to see their reaction or ignores them. Rick, the older brother, had watched adult sex movies while with the friends and associates of his Mother, when he was very young without mature understand. What we bring into our minds at a young age will remain and create images that persist.
Dale was 5 when one of the teens scared him, by appearing at the window with a hockey mask, and then chasing him around To him it was real.
My dreams are of the war, bombs and fire. Noises of planes overhead, which I had never shaken from my childhood being born in Berlin. The children kid me about never wanting guns or fireworks in the house, about how 4th of July is no fun at our house. Nothing that makes a loud bang, "What kind of a Mother Are YOU!!!!!!"
These are memories within my muscles, deep in the fiber of being that you cannot shake, that awaken when you least expect, and trigger a memory, a flash of visions before your eyes, like a short movie, and then is gone. Is it real? Is it God speaking to you? Have your ancestors crossed the spirit line and come down to speak? It is a real past event, that flashes before you, triggered by a sight, smell, or sound, appears as real as the event, which you had sheltered for ages, now come to reappear. You can reinterpret, rename, or throw it away. Do what you wish. I consider it a gift from the mind, that allows me to recall feelings I had long buried for reasons too long forgotten.
My new children bring these lost memories to the surface, and I need to take care of two more children. I need to take time getting them to trust me. We visit often over the summer, getting to know them, what they like to eat, what they like to do. We make sure they are comfortable in their new home, with their new family. Foster mom called Dale Fred Flintstone, and that will stop, and he will not wear that costume for Halloween.
Ken will be treated as a 6 year old, not one of the teens, so that he has a chance to be a little one. He will be in half day kindergarten, and the rest of the day I can spend some alone time, without anyone else at home. Dale will enter first grade, with a small class where he can be closely monitored. It is a Lutheran School, and I have close contact with the faculty.
Our last visits before we move the boys are difficult. Foster Mom wants to fight the move, and the county will not budge. They see what I am preparing to do for the boys, and want them to have a better future. Our final visit is traumatic. They are shoved out the door, clothes in brown plastic garbage bags, and the door slammed behind them. I am deeply distressed at the coldness of that departure. Dale asks, "What's wrong with Ruthie?" I answer, "Your Foster Mom is so sad you are leaving she could not say good-bye, she did not want you to see her cry." The car door slams as the loud clang of the steel factory shakes me to my bones, the whistles pierce the air. Screeching from ArmcoSteel signals our departure.
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