By the end of October 1962, my family was in an awful mess. Mama found a job as a switchboard operator at Petroleum Helicopters, but Roger spent too much time exercising his right arm with Budweiser cans and lost his job offshore. Our tomcat ran off to find a wife, and our puppy grew up and pledged her allegiance to my stepfather instead of me and followed his every move.
The worst was my oldest sister’s rising fever from worrying about a nuclear war. In her delirium, she’d mutter questions about Cuba and Castro, Khrushchev and a man as handsome as my absent father, our beloved president, John F. Kennedy.
“Why on earth did we move to Louisiana?” Jeanne asked Mama in the middle of the night. “We’re too close to Cuba!”
“Don’t get hysterical, ” said Mama. “You’ll scare your sisters.”
My mother had eased into our bedroom to give Jeanne two Bayer aspirin and a sip of Coke. Janie and I had rolled together like kittens to the farthest edge of the bed and pretended to be asleep. But even if we had been snoozing, Mama was too late; we were plenty scared already. My sisters talked about Cuba’s missiles every day, and every night I’d dream about Russian tanks barreling down the street in front of our home.
I’d awaken next to my big sister, who’d be drenched in sweat, our bed sheets damp and limp. Mama said she couldn’t afford “one more expense, ” so Jeanne had to ride out her fever without a visit to the doctor. Janie and I never caught whatever it was she had, and thank goodness for that, because it was the middle of January before she dragged back to school.
When she regained her strength, Jeanne taught Janie to roll her hair with giant curlers. And every morning, they’d tease and flip their shoulder-length hair. Jeanne’s hair was red, mine was yellow, and Janie’s was what Mama called “dishwater-brown.” I would’ve gone to school without lifting a comb, but Jeanne made me sit still until she brushed out every tangle, then she’d twist the wavy mess into a high ponytail.
At the end of each school day, my sisters waited for my bus to flash its lights, stick out its arms, and spit me out. They seemed so grown up with their tucked-in blouses and skirts, bobby socks and penny loafers. To the neighbors we must have looked like normal school kids, cheerful and unafraid.
We’d clamber into the house, and the dog would scamper to greet us. Then she’d dash back to Roger, who’d be sitting in his favorite chair by a window—his eyes hard and distant, his mouth a straight line. He’d always be holding a can of Budweiser. In a nearby ashtray a cigarette would burn, its thin trail of smoke curling to the ceiling like a tiny missile.
President Kennedy had resolved the Cuban Crisis, which was a huge relief, but my stepfather’s battle never ceased. I had no idea what caused anger to simmer in his veins. Bad blood? If so, we’d all been tainted. Mine ran cold with trepidation. And no matter how hard my big sisters tried, even the best appearances couldn’t keep the rage and fear and fever away.
Photo by Davi Ozolin, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Darrelyn Saloom, co-author of My Call to the Ring: A Memoir of a Girl Who Yearns to Box.
Read more of Darrelyn’s story: “The Worst Kind of Luck”
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- Memoir Notebook: Sweet Talk - July 24, 2015
- Memoir Notebook: Too Close for Comfort - July 17, 2015
- Memoir Notebook: The Worst Kind of Luck - October 31, 2014
Ann Kroeker says
Thank you for opening up this time in your life, when as a small girl, you lived in a continual (perhaps even continuous) state of fear. Your details take us back to that Cold War era when our world was afraid it would be annihilated at any moment, and you, in your unsafe home, stepped off the bus and into your home in a state of trepidation…what a terrifying environment for a child who is coming of age.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thank you for the kind words, Ann. And double thanks for your keen edits.
Dave Malone says
Za za zing. Wow. It took me there, and I hung on every word. I love the juxtaposition of Roger and this impending sense of doom. And before that, how appearances to the outside can mean so little to what might be broiling beneath–in family. So…would you still go to school without brushing your hair? 😛
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thanks, Dave. If I were in school now, I’d just wear a hat. 🙂
Dave Malone says
🙂
cynthia newberry martin says
Darrelyn, this is so good! I can just see you three girls. At the moment I’m very nostalgic for the 60’s so thanks for this hit.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thanks, C. Next Friday “Sweet Talk” comes out here, and you’ll finally discover if I ever find Daddy.
Jenny F says
A home should always be the place where children feel safe in the big, scary world. It breaks my heart when that’s not the case. I’m glad you had your big sisters.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thanks for stopping by, Jenny. I’m glad I had big sisters, too.
Bob Norton says
Darrelyn I always enjoy your writing. This was bitter sweet for me, making me think of ways my own dysfunction has at times made my home a difficult place to be in…….as if the world we live in wasn’t hard enough. Still, my kids turned out to be decent human beings, and for that I am grateful!
Darrelyn Saloom says
Our children are the most important part of our crazy lives, Bob, and creating a safe place for them to grow up. I’m glad you enjoyed the story, Sorry if it made you sad. Hope you’ll come back next Friday for “Sweet Talk.”
Matthew Kreider says
This ‘Cold War’ slithered into my veins, too. But I see your words, Darrelyn. They also curl like that cigarette smoke. Only more powerful. I always love seeing how words will fight for us. And rescue.
(Even if takes a while for them to reach the ceiling, sometimes.)
Thanks for sharing one of your well-armed battalions with us today.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thank you, Matthew. 🙂
SimplyDarlene says
Interesting, the circle I’ve walked – thinking everything was normal at my house, then learning that it wasn’t (the older I got), then finding comfort in other people’s dysfunction (and that just seems weird to say or think), then realizing that ain’t none of us living a Christmas card life, and accepting that that is okay.
Your words always bring me to the “that is okay” bit in my loop.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Ahhh, the loop. You described it so perfectly. 🙂
Richard Gilbert says
Darrelyn,
I was in Florida at the time, and I remember how the runways of the air force base near my house were covered with pup tents. We thought we were going to be nuked. Thank you for bringing back that time. The warmth of your sisters is such a neat and welcome contrast to the anger all around you.
Darrelyn Saloom says
It was a scary time, Richard. Thanks for your kind words.
Zeke says
I love the juxtaposition of your families struggle and the Cuban Missile Crisis. The irony of your sisters worry over the war, while a more genuine battle raged under her roof, was enlightening. Too many people worry about things far away and our of control, and fail to see the problems in their own life, which for the most part are far more important.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thank you for taking the time in your busy life to leave such a kind, thoughtful comment, Zeke.
Megan Riley says
I love the distant, surreal quality the Cuban Crisis takes on in this piece. The Crisis was relegated to the role of a mystic Boogeyman rather than an implacable disaster. It was refreshing to see this situation through such a clever lens.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Thanks, Megan. So glad you enjoyed. 🙂
Fred says
The Cuban Missile Crisis was before my time. I’ve read much about it, but this really brought it home for me what it must have been like to live through it, compounded by living in your own war zone at home. Great stuff.
Darrelyn Saloom says
Nice to hear from you again, Fred. And I’m thrilled my short piece gave you a better sense of the times. Thanks for letting me know. Makes me smile. 🙂