My Family of Four

By Susan Taylor

This autobiographical collection of short stories revolves around young Laura and her outlook of daily life, a lifestyle much different than today’s circumstances. Sick days from school, the huge impact of the first color TV, Christmas tree lights, and the constant heartbreaking transfers of just-made military friends.
Life was different in the sixties. Multigenerational living, one-car families, and well-planned summer vacations, all are great memories that are enjoyable and easy to read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664173538

Susan Taylor

Jan Byars, PhD has integrated multiple fields of study into a distinctly innovative approach that encompasses the whole person and organization. She holds a PhD in leadership and change, a MS in clinical counseling, and is a licensed professional clinical counselor and professional certified HeartMath coach. Jan lives with her dog in Indianapolis, Indiana. Susan Taylor is a transformational coach and consultant who has worked with thought leaders in the domains of emotional, spiritual, and leadership intelligence for more than twenty-five years. She helps clients fulfill their deeper purpose by fostering creative and inspiring business environments that support people to learn, grow, and thrive while delivering extraordinary results.

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Copyright © 2021 by Susan Taylor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/14/2021

Xlibris

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Contents

Early Times

Laura and Her Grandpa

Marcy and the Fish Hook

The Move to Fairview

Laura the Tile Thief

School Days

Laura and the Scatter Rug

Base Brats

Laura and the Shower

Laura and the Tarantula

Mary and the Medicine

Summer Vacation

The Library Expedition

Chester’s New Car

The New TV

Mary’s New Job

Marcy Gives the Weather

Epilogue

To Carol,

one of the most important

members of my family of four.

To Stella B. The first person who encouraged

me to write a book.

Early Times

Growing up in Western Massachusetts during the fifties and sixties was easy. The war, the War to End All Wars was over, and our economy was good. Postwar manufacturing was returning to the production of peacetime goods, and men were working hard to make everyone’s lives easier.

Fathers went to work, mothers stayed home and kept a vigilant watch over their families, and the kids went to school. That was the standard, and everyone seemed happy.

These stories are about an average family of four—father, mother, and two children, both girls, who were five years apart in age. Laura was five and her sister, Marcy, was ten. As different as night and day. Well, maybe not so much. Both were still a little young to predict how their personalities would develop and mold them into future adults. School seemed to be foremost in Marcy’s life while Laura lived for the television.

Multigenerational families were quite common. The previous generation of immigrants had finally settled and were now doing quite well. Laura’s grandfather owned the house they lived in. It was a handsome brick building in Chicopee just up the hill from the Singing Bridge. Because of the corrugated and perforated steel roadbed, the sheets vibrated and made a humming sound whenever a vehicle went across. Those who used it frequently loved it, and the kids would roll down the windows while crossing. It was a part of Chicopee, just as much as MacArthur’s Ball and the World War II tank in Szot Park, two well-known city landmarks.

There were actually two buildings on this particular lot. The tan brick three-family that faced Montgomery Street housed Laura’s grandparents on the second floor, Laura and her family on the third, and a rental family on the first floor. The second or back building was long and narrow and ran parallel to the driveway. Laura’s aunt, uncle, and cousins lived in the front half while good family friends rented the back half. Laura’s grandfather was the landlord and had the benefit of living on site with family members close by. It was a happy arrangement for all.

Grandma had two of her daughters and their families nearby, and babysitters were never a problem. These cousins who lived in back were both girls and were very close in ages, just like Laura and Marcy. Each girl had someone to spend time with, built-in playmates.

Company for one family usually meant company for all. Families were tight-knit little units, and generational friendships were passed down as the years went by. The girls had aunts and uncles in the double digits. That was because in Polish and Russian families, all grown-ups were called by their first names, preceded by aunt or uncle, whichever was appropriate. They were Auntie Ann or Uncle John whether they were related or not. Maybe the adults thought it was easier and more friendly than Mrs. Smith or Mr. Jones. Besides, with last names like Majakowski or Kliminovitz or Panakatoulous, aunt or uncle was definitely easier.

The grown-ups would sit on the long side porch in good weather, and as soon as word got around that company had come, car after car came up the driveway, and there would soon be a good-sized crowd. Russian, Polish, Greek and Italian flew over their heads with much laughing and hand waving. Laura always wondered how they all knew what was being said. But the older women knew enough English to get by, and no one was offended when foreign words slipped in and had to be explained. The United Nations had nothing on these people. They didn’t need rules on etiquette, national policy, or summit meetings. People laughed, and drank and differing opinions were put aside for another time.

Laura’s aunt had married an Italian man whose family still lived in Holyoke. The best times were when Laura’s uncle would bring his mother over for the day. She always carried a cloth bag full of fresh tomatoes (her pick) and herbs and spices and whatever she needed for her special tomato sauce. Then she would work at the big white kitchen stove, happily humming and stirring while the sauce simmered all day.

In the front house, Laura’s grandmother would be cooking also, but the aromas coming from her apartment would be quite different. Instead of garlic and basil, everybody would remark on the cabbage for the kapusta or the tangy beets for the borscht. It was quite an international cuisine between both buildings, but by midafternoon, both grandmothers would take a break for tea and conversation on the porch.

There was always enough for everyone, and children were especially welcome. The grandmas loved pinching cheeks and hugging children. When grandmas were cooking, the toughest decision facing Laura and her cousin was choosing the chewy rye bread with those tangy seeds and jam or the crusty Italian bread with butter. Everything tasted better when the grandmas gave it to you. The neat plan of going in to your own grandma and asking for bread for you and your cousin resulted in two slices each. Excellent. Laura and