Vitality Stories

Leona and Bonnie, April 1935

I’m Glad Dad Wasn’t Fired For Getting Me An Egg

I’m excited to begin sharing excerpts of Bonnie’s memoirs with each of you on a regular basis. As is my practice, I strove to capture her memories word-for-word out of respect for her voice, recollection, and perspective. I hope you enjoy her reflections and memories as much as I did.

Bonnie’s beginning

My life started on Monday, April 15, 1935, around 8:30 p.m.. I was born in Tyler, Minnesota, in my paternal grandpa and grandma’s house, Lars and Eline B.

My parents’ attending physician was Dr. Vadheim. My dad, Leo B., was outside chopping wood to keep busy while my mother, Leona, was in labor. There is a pretty good story behind my birth that I think everybody should know.

My grandma was a pretty controlling person, and she and my mother did not get along at any time that I know of. After I was born, instead of giving me to my mother, my grandmother whisked me off to the next room with my dad, and I was out there with her for a while before my mother ever got to see me or hold me which is why I always thought I was so close to my grandmother—I bonded with her first. Her and my dad.

It has always bothered me that my mother and grandmother were never friends. I was a friend with my grandma. I thought she was the best person in the world. It makes sense to me now that I bonded with her and my dad (she probably had my dad hold me), and I didn’t get the chance to bond with my mother. I’m sorry that happened because my mother and I were never real close and that has always bothered me, too. I knew she loved me and I loved her, but there was something missing in our relationship.

We lived there for about nine months when my mother had had it. “No more living here. I’m going,” she told my dad. “You can stay or go, but I’m leaving.” Well, I guess my dad went along with us, and he went to work as a hired hand on some farm.

It may have been a farm near Woodstock, Illinois. I’m not sure about this part because I never got around to checking how Illinois came into the picture somehow. However, I can’t believe that during that day and age they would have gone all the way to Illinois because it was still during the Great Depression and there wasn’t any money, that’s for sure. But any which way, I guess that doesn’t matter because we got out of my grandma and grandpa’s house, which is what my mother wanted. My dad rented a farm outside of Tyler, and we lived there until it was time for me to start school.

While my dad was a hired hand on this farm, every morning he found a little nest in the hay mound where a hen would lay her eggs, and he’d bring one down to my mother so she could fix it for me. In those days to swipe an egg like that would be grounds to be fired, but my dad said he didn’t care because he wanted me to have the egg. I was told we ate a lot of oatmeal during those days. I’m glad he never was fired for getting me an egg.

I don’t think he worked as a hired hand on this farm very long because my first memory was when we lived in a farm six miles outside of Tyler, and we had a bulldog named Jiggs. Jiggs was so jealous of my mom, he would corner her in the house and wouldn’t let her go anywhere. One time I found Ma sitting on the counter hollering, “Go get your dad and get this Son of a #$@% away from me!” So I ran around and found my dad. When he came into the house, he was laughing, and mother called him a Horse’s Ass. It was the first time I heard her call him a Horse’s Ass but as I continue this memoir, you will see she used the name quite often as her way of expressing anger at him.

Leo, Leona, Jiggs, Bonnie, puppy

But you know, my dad was such a wonderful guy. Sometimes I’d be walking around the farm and he would come up to me and take my hand. I felt so comfortable with my little hand swallowed up by his great, big hand, and I knew I would always be safe as long as he was around, and I felt this way until the day he died. When my dad died in 1990, I put my hand inside of his. Just one last time, I wanted to be a little girl.

~Bonnie

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What I learned from Bonnie

Bonnie’s story reminds me that children require so little to be happy: food, shelter, education/stimulation, protection, and love. You can hold a child’s hand and make a lasting impression–even THE most treasured memory of an eighty year old woman. And I can’t help but wonder…when do we let life get more complicated than this? More complicated than wanting, or needing, food, shelter, education, protection, and love? I want to be more mindful of my interaction with loved ones whether I’m on the giving or receiving end.

When I think about my parents, I have two especially fond go-to memories. One is of my dad who would ‘scat sing’ with the radio whenever he drove, frequently looking to us to see if we were enjoying his performance, and secondly, walking home from kindergarten everyday with my mom while she pushed my baby brother in his stroller.  We’d stop at A&W to get a root beer–with a Rooty straw of course–to enjoy on our stroll. For the record, I’ve repeated both of these experiences with nieces and nephews.