Just Shiela

By Shiela Reichardt

This is the story of a young girl growing up in the 1960s and 1970s in small-town suburban Connecticut. Come along with her as you experience the trials and tribulations of her sometimes-quiet, sometimes-noisy, adventurous and interesting life.

She was born as the second daughter to a family of four children. Maybe you can relate to the way that she amused herself with the other neighborhood children. And maybe you can relate to the way that her parents would tell her, "Shiela, you can stay outside after dinner and play, as long as the streetlights do not come on. However, when the street lights come on, you must come home immediately."

Kickball, hide and seek, and jump rope were some of the common pastimes kids enjoyed in the neighborhood that she grew up in. Long, warm summer nights were spent systematically pursuing these activities with the other neighborhood children who happened to be around (mostly the regulars).

Shiela was lucky to have been born and raised in such an idyllic setting. A cul-de-sac surrounded by light woods was a safe, protected place to be. However, when you scratched beneath the surface of her life, you will see it wasn't what it appeared to be.

The relationship that her mother had with her was certainly less than ideal. It was as if her mother had said about her when she was born, "I will never love this child, I will never help this child."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098059903

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Just Shiela

Shiela Reichardt

Copyright © 2020 by Shiela Reichardt

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Some of the names of the persons in this book have been changed in order to protect peoples’ identities.

Book design by Shiela Reichardt

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

For my family

Chapter 1

I grew up in a New England town named Branford, which is just outside of the city limits of New Haven, Connecticut, where Yale University is located. I think my hometown is a place that overflows with natural beauty. It is set along Long Island Sound, and is host to many small rocky islands that resemble what you would see if you drove along the Maine coastline.

In the past, Branford had been an escape for people living in New York City eager to get away and enjoy some peace and quiet on their long summer weekends and vacations. However, over the years and decades, the town has changed and evolved and has become quite suburban (almost citylike) in its character rather than just a sleepy country village. But all in all, it is still a nice place to live, and I think in its heart of hearts, it still likes to think of itself as a former vacation destination.

I was born the second daughter of four children to two college-educated, American-born parents. My sister was the oldest, then me, and next were my two brothers. I always felt like I had no standing in the family birth order. I was in the middle, the second daughter, and I just kind of melted into the rest of the brood.

The street that I grew up on was a cul-de-sac of tract houses. Ours was a modest three-bedroom ranch house with an addition of a large family room on the back. The family room is where I remember spending most of my time at home when I was growing up. I shared a bedroom with my sister, and my two brothers shared a bedroom as well. It wasn’t a big house for six people to be living in, but I guess you could say that it got the job done.

My parents met when they were both college students attending the University of Rhode Island. They instantly became college sweethearts and dated the whole time that they were in college together. My dad was able to attend college because he had served in World War II, thus qualifying him for the GI bill.

I can remember my father spending a lot of time with me when I was a small child. I was definitely a Daddy’s little girl type. He would ask me if I wanted to go for a ride in the car—a spin, as he would call it. He used to like to take me for rides in his car and swing me on the swings at our local town beach. Of course I loved to go because it made me feel special. My father’s nickname for me was She or She-She.

My earliest recollection of my mother was one of her going through the motions with me but of no real warmth or love. I grew up, basically, being afraid of my mother. When I felt she was being mean to me and conveyed that to her, she would always make a joke about it and ridicule me for it.

One of her favorite expressions to me was I feel sorry for you, you have such a mean mother. I always felt so minimized after she said that to me. I felt reduced to nothing, like I was a spot on the carpet. Nevertheless, you could almost certainly say our relationship was far less than what it could have or ideally should have been.

One of the saving graces of my childhood was that my best friend lived right next door to me. Her name was Sherry, and once we met, it seemed like after that we did almost everything together. I can remember her moving in next door when I was around four years old.

I’d have to say that we did get into a lot of mischief together. Sherry seemed to come up with all kinds of ideas for what we should do, and I’d just kind of go along with them. I’ll always remember the time when we put glass in back of one of the neighbors’ car tires because we thought it would be funny if she backed out of her driveway and the tires would go pop!

I found it extremely annoying when I’d go home and my mother would always seem to know just exactly what I had been up to that day. She would always say that a little birdie told her when I would ask her how she knew. I wasn’t sure at that time if the little birdie existed or not, but I sure knew one thing, and that was that I didn’t like her little birdie friend much at all.

One of my favorite childhood pastimes was climbing trees. My house had several apple trees growing in its backyard, and Sherry and I used to like to climb up in the trees and eat the apples (when in season.) When either of us would find a rotten apple, we would shout out to anyone within hearing distance who cared to listen how yucky the apple was and throw it down to the ground in utter disgust.

The town I grew up in is along Long Island Sound; therefore, the summers in Branford are filled with swimming and boating activities, if one so desires. My family purchased a small powerboat when I was about ten years old. I can remember that my father drove all the way to Pennsylvania to buy the boat, and he brought it back with him on the top of our car. Of course I went with him to get it. I think it was just me and him; I don’t even think one of my brothers came along (although I could be wrong about that).

I remember my dad was so thrilled to have a boat. Maybe it was one of his lifelong dreams. He had been a member of the US coast guard in World War II, after all.

At about nine years old, I started swimming on a summer swim team that was at our pool and beach club. It seemed that in order to really fit in at the club you had to be on the swim team. The swim team was always trying to recruit members to belong to it.

I was pushed and pushed to be on the team until I relented. I’m pretty sure my mom was behind people coaxing me to be on the team.

The pool and beach club that we belonged to was named the Indian Point Pool and Tennis Club. My father called it IP for short.

My dad came up with the clever idea of putting some of our pool water in a plastic gallon jug and labeling it IP water. Then when we visited the away team’s pool for a swim meet, we would pour our jug of IP water into the pool before the meet started in order to psych our team up and in order to psych out the opposing team. It was a good, clean, fun way to get the swimming meets started and for everyone to get excited and involved in the action at hand.

Because I kind of feared the authority of my mother, I pretty much feared most authority figures as a small child. When I was in school and going to kindergarten, I was scared to talk to the teacher. There was a boy in my