Patio Time

By Sandra Evans

I never realized that when I started writing my first Patio Time that it would be what brings me healing from God.

All of us have a past. Not all of us have trust issues, but I did. I always said that if I couldn't trust my own father, how could I trust my Father in heaven. But not all of us grow from our childhood surroundings without some type of damage. I can honestly say that I used my upbringing as a crutch and an excuse for not growing. Everything I thought I was failing at, I blamed on my life as a child in West Virginia. That's how I began most of my Patio Time.

Growing up, as a child, in West Virginia, I blamed failed relationships, lack of financial gain, and listening to the wrong people. I also spent years of trying to fix everyone who had alcoholism because my father was an alcoholic and wanting to heal everyone who had cancer because I watched my mother die of that horrible disease.

When you're a child, you can't process death or addiction. I realized I was holding myself back because I could never get close to anyone. Whenever I tried, I would always push them away. Maybe because I was thinking everyone leaves.

One day, I went on my patio, sat in my rocking chair, and started writing about things that went on in my home and my small community. Patio Time is a collection of my life and circumstances in that little rural area with a lot of dysfunctions. I guess it's true: what goes on behind closed doors stays behind closed doors. But with this writing, I realized that I had all I needed, just by my surroundings and the love of the community. I often found that my solace came from playing in the mountains and creeks.

Patio Time is my perception of the lessons that I learned from every situation. I am hoping that this little collection will move the heart of others who need to realize they are exactly where they needed to be at that time. All the situations that happened to me, can clearly, and has, taught me a lesson of life. I never realized it at that time, but as an adult, I see it clearly now. My goal is for someone to read any page of my book and see their own life and be able to look back and see the beauty and how they were molded as an adult.

What my readers don't know is that I was an Italian child who was given away to a white couple in West Virginia in the fifties. Skin color was never an issue in my family but so prevalent in that era. My parents showed nothing but love to me. But a lot of burden comes with that scenario. I grew up with molestation, alcoholism, physical and emotional abuse along with bullying. But with all of that exposure, I still could find something to be thankful for in every one of those situations.

I lost both of my parents--my mother when I graduated from high school and my father shortly after.

Patio Time has been a way to express the memories that I was trying to forget. Now I'm grateful for my writings. I am hoping that my journey is a light for others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685177317

Sandra Evans

Sandra Evans drew inspiration for This Is Not a Werewolf Story from cultural sources, including the “sympathetic werewolf” stories of twelfth-century France and Celtic myths. She wrote the novel for (and with input from) her son. Sandra is a native of Whidbey Island and earned her doctorate in French literature from the University of Washington. This Is Not a Werewolf Story is her first book for children.

Book preview

Sitting on the patio this morning with a slight breeze, I drifted back to September. With this coronavirus, I started thinking about life in West Virginia during the beginning of the fall season. School was about to begin, and it felt like there was a change in how we acted as kids. We got so excited about the Labor Day holiday. It was like the winddown of spring break. My brother and I looked forward to cookouts, family visiting, watermelon, and homemade ice cream. Our cookouts did not consist of grills. My dad would gather wood from the hills, and there was a teepee of carefully positioned branches. Sometimes, the big find was a two-by-four. It was an art to pick out the best stick for the weenie roast. It was so nice to play in the field while the flames were crackling. That was always the best hotdog. My mom made the best potato salad.

The start of the new school year was on all our minds. We had new clothing in the closet and a couple of pairs of new shoes. God forbid if we got caught trying to wear them ahead of the first day of school. It was so funny how I would think for a couple of days of which dress I was going to wear on the first day. The funny part was I had picked out my dress and was standing in front of the fireplace and singed the whole front of my blue dress. I was devasted because I didn’t have a third dress, only dress number 2. Even with the start of fall, my brother wasn’t as mean to me. I guess fall weather works on the brain cells. I think we should start now to think about the upcoming holidays and see if we can gather the spirit to keep making memories.

COVID-19 has tried to take down our spirit, but this girl is not allowing it. Build up someone else’s spirit and help enjoy the holidays while still remaining safe. I’m starting by thinking, Are you ready for some football?

Growing up in West Virginia was a time when kids had to use their imagination. Although I talk a lot about dysfunction, it wasn’t always that way because once I got out from behind those closed doors, there was a whole new world that opened up to me. I have to give most of that credit to my best childhood friend.

As a child, I couldn’t wait for us to start our daily adventure. Just to paint you a picture, I lived on a little hill with mountains in front and behind our home. I would make it a daily ritual in the spring and summer to sit on the front step daily. I guess I always felt better when the sun was shining on my face. If I went to the edge of the yard, I could look up the holler and see if Linda was standing at the end. I could wave at her to motion her to come over. Now she would either take the dirt road or she would come around the side of the mountain that dropped into the side of my front yard. Our whole day consisted of exploring the mountains, playing in the creek, putting crawfish in a jar, and climbing trees. Sometimes, we would torment the neighborhood boys. My mother went to her grave never knowing that I took her best pot and put paint and blueberries in it as an experiment. The pot was ruined. That was one that I tried to blame on my brother. Sometimes, we’d climb one side of the mountain only to see something on the other side, and off we’d go. To be able to play hopscotch, jacks, 7 up, hide-and-seek, and yes, I tried to see if I could stuff a whole hotdog with the bun in my mouth. I almost choked to death. But those were our daily activities.

I think, one day, we took dandelions and tied them together so it would stretch all around the house. Having a teepee in the front yard took us to a whole different adventure. I think we thought we were medicine women. Living a life in the country and having the best in a world of boys made waking up so much fun. The only cell phone we had were our mother’s voice echoing down through the trees that it was time to come home. Even putting lighting bugs in a jar was great exercise.

This pandemic has not affected me, due to isolation, because my mind is still very creative, and I owe all to all of the years of my adventures with Linda. Show your kids nature. Trust me; they will sleep like babies due to fresh air and fun! Maybe some of you can remember your childhood fun. I guarantee it will put your mind at ease for a moment and bring a smile to your face.

I think all you know is what your parents taught you or how they communicated with you. Growing up in West Virginia, my parents had very different views when it came to disciplining. My mother spent all day chastising us if it wasn’t done her way, and punishment was with a switch. My father, on the other hand, would use the silent treatment to make us feel really bad about what we did or didn’t do. He would not speak to any of us for days and then would show up with a gift to let us know we were forgiven. Neither would ever explain the benefits of my punishment. I can’t speak for my brother, but I became very rebellious. Since I knew that I was going to get punished, I would do stuff that I knew was going to get me in trouble.

My parents died when we were young, and no foundation was set. All I knew was that I had no guidance, and I just decided to let the cards fall where they may. I think I hung out with kids who had no discipline also. It was a train wreck. Now, as an older adult, I realize that I’m having to reinvent who I am. Oh, I will keep my charm, but how I deal with people will take work. Sometimes, I say it’s better to be by yourself than put up with other’s bull—it.

This year, for my birthday, I’m asking God to show me how to live out the rest of my life in peace. I have an amazing son who, by the grace of God, let the marines structure him. I feel like I’ve inherited both my mother’s and my father’s approach to people. I can no longer see the best in people and also try to make them the best that I see. I’ve learned that it’s not my job to control others when, the whole time, I thought I was loving them. Now, I just come across as bit—y.

Parents, be careful how you approach discipline. Without communication, you’re never going to know the impact you’re having. As adults, we are able to change. As kids, you are the ones who are molding them. All I could ever give my son was the security that he was loved and always had a place to lay his head.

I can remember growing up in West Virginia and how excited we all were waiting for the Fourth of July. A hot dog or a hamburger never tasted the same on any other day of the year. I can remember how excited we got around two days prior to the day. My dad got the fireworks, and my mom started preparing the food. I got so excited because this may be the year that I got to throw a cherry bomb. My dad used to say that I was too young. We built the fire for the hot dogs; my dad and brother put out the chairs, and they went in the woods and cut the sticks to roast wieners. My mom would patty out the hamburgers, make the potato salad, and we all would wait for dark for the fireworks. Oh, my goodness, this would be the day that I get to throw real fireworks. So dark came, and my dad handed me a cherry bomb. He lit it, and as soon as I saw the spark, I threw it. It went right toward my brother. It landed right at his feet. I’ve never thrown a cherry bomb since, but I have that memory for a lifetime.

I think the thing about COVID-19 is that we are forced to bond. I love being able to do what my parents taught me. What is normal to me is what kids get to learn during the pandemic. Now that you’re parents, do what you did as a kid and what was so much fun. I think God is reminding us that our creativity is what he taught us. Technology is what we use until we don’t have anything else. I’m a momma who taught my son to use his God-given talent.

Happy Independence Day. Make a memory.

I’m listening to a sermon by T. D. Jakes. He’s talking about how children can be raised in the same home and each of them turn out completely different. Growing up in West Virginia, my brother and I were both adopted, so our parents were not our birth parents, but nonetheless, we were still raised in the same house. I was a young adult when my parents died, but anyone who knows us knows that my brother and I turned out completely different. I can only give you my perspective because my brother is not a talker like me.

My mom seemed quiet and kind. She spent my childhood taking care of her family and was never one to say no to anyone in need. She cooked a lot. Everything was fresh, and she always made sure we had manners at the table. I remember how she loved to dance, but it was always in the living room. My dad was a card player, drinker, and loved hanging out in the beer joints. I don’t ever remember him missing work because of his alcoholism. And yes, he was an alcoholic, and my mom was an enabler. My brother never left West Virginia and works for the same company since he was eighteen years old. I left home as soon as I could get out, without a plan and a baby.

I’ve lived most of my life trying to correct what I considered the fault of my parents. But I realized that some, not all, of their traits are instilled in me. I’m kind of like my mother but stubborn like my father. I love to dance like my mother but had a love for meeting my friends at the bar. I’ve worked all my life and, still, am a person with good work ethic. My mom never worked, so I must have gotten that from my dad. I still can cook from scratch without measuring, and I can still change a tire. I can’t say that my church lessons helped me, but my mom was big on church. It always seemed like an unwanted chore that was forced upon me. I guess I always felt that I had to be one person in church and go home to live another life. Go figure that people are surprised that I became a minister. I think I wanted to save people all my life, and most of the time, saving them cost me more than it helped them.

I guess we all have traits of our parents. I guess it’s like Forrest Gump says, Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get. What I do know is that my parents did not have a manual on how to raise kids, and when you’re a kid, you don’t realize that they may be dealing with their own demons while trying to raise you. Today, I realize that I’ve spent most of my life trying to fight my parents’ demons for them. I am not a superwoman. I am just a girl who wants to be known as loving and kind and a great mother. I’m sure my son has mine and his dad’s traits inside of him, but I’m so proud that he doesn’t let them all come out at the same time. I want to be just like him when I grow up! What I want to say is that, if you’re a parent, don’t beat yourself up on what you feel you didn’t do for your kids. I always felt guilty of not being a good parent, but as my son got older, he once said that all he ever needed was to know I’d always be there.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone!

Last night, I was thinking about Easter and what it meant to me as a child in West Virginia. I can remember how excited I got the night before. I remember how I could hardly sleep thinking of what awaits in my Easter basket. I couldn’t wait to put on my new outfit and show it off in church. We always colored eggs the night before, and my dad would hide the eggs while my mother took us to church. I knew what the real meaning of Easter was, but as a kid, my priorities were of a different focus.

Today, as I think of Easter, I’m still a kid at heart, but I want to be more aware of what it means to me. I want to not be just a Christian who is a believer. I want to be a believer who acts like a Christian at all times in my daily life. I find it’s so easy to talk the talk, but to walk the walk takes an action of being aware of your thoughts and actions at all times. I have some amazing friends and family that seem to make it seem so easy. I find the older I get, the less tolerance I have for BS. Today, I told God that I would try to be more aware of the lessons that I learned in that little church in West Virginia and will spend more time with him instead of allowing my mind to be busy on unproductive thoughts. Is it going to be easy? No. Is it going to make my soul feel better? Yes. It’s all about creating balance in your life. And yes, I did take Easter baskets to my family and got to see my grandchildren from the garage; my soul leaped right along with my spirit. Today is a great day for rededication.

Happy Easter, everyone.

Growing up, in West Virginia, we always had family time. It was the norm. As kids, we rode bikes, took long walks, played board games, played sports, and invented games to play. This feels almost the same to me. The only difference is that I didn’t grow up with the partner I have now. Our daily routine before COVID-19 was going to work, shopping, eating out, and going to movies. Now, we are no longer in a routine. We have learned to communicate with each other. We find that we really do like each other, or this would never work.

He doesn’t live in Orlando, so he doesn’t have to be here. He chooses to. I’m finding that Blair can actually clean the house and cook. He does laundry. Those things were always done because it was just natural to do on the weekends. We cut our grocery list in half, so we have an excuse to go to the store. If we can only remember that this time is precious, and it shouldn’t take a pandemic to realize that you should cherish the ones that you just take for granted that they will always be there.

Ask your kids and partners to come up with fun things to do—something as simple as sitting on the porch and talking to your kids and partners about the things they did when they were younger. Everyone likes to talk about themselves.

Now I’m going upstairs to go to work, but on my break, I’m going back to the continuation of our scrabble game where Blair is destroying me. But that’s okay because tomorrow it’s checkers! Friday night date may be jacks! Love to all of you.

It’s 5:30 a.m.; I’m sitting out on my patio. I can see the daylight creeping in. There is a field in front of me, and it reminds me of gardening, as a child, in West Virginia. Growing up, it seemed like we had something that had to be done before you could eat or sleep in our home. One of the chores that I hated was gardening. It wasn’t like it was a hobby. It was hard work. And as a kid, it almost felt like punishment. It was digging, planting, weeding, watering, more digging, more weeding, fertilizing, and