Packin' it In

Kids just follow along with their parents wherever they go. They really have no say in choosing their destination or where they will live. When a kid’s mom and dad say it’s time to move, everyone just automatically packs. There are no questions asked, except for maybe things like, “Will I get my own room or can I take all of my toys?”

It didn't really hit me that we were leaving my home in Boise and moving far away until I saw the truck in the driveway. My dad and other men were hustling around loading stuff up. Mom gave me a piece of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum and told me to stay out of the way. I perched in a window sill overlooking the driveway and watched the melee. It was a warm summer day.

I realized my world was going to change and there was nothing I could do about that. I had a tinge of fear and doubt mingled with a bit of anxiety as I looked forward to a new future. We were moving to Salmon, Idaho. All I knew is that is where dad and mom grew up. We went there to visit Grandma and Grandpa Hicks and Aunt Carla and Uncle Ed, sometimes.

One time, Mikey and I had to stay with Aunt Carla for a week. Her house was a different place than what I was used to and it scared me to be there. I didn't like the cigarette smoke. It gave me headaches and made my nose runny. Her kids were older than me, but they were my cousins and I liked them. In fact, Bunny went with our family when we journeyed to California for family vacation. I really liked her.

One day, Aunt Carla walked with us down through Dahle's property over to the river. We played on a sandbar and swam in the river all day long in the hot sun. As the kids played in the sand and water, Aunt Carla lay on a towel and sunbathed. She pulled her shirt up and tied the tails in a knot at the top of her belly. I was intrigued why she would want to do that. I was not aware that people liked tan skin. She was a very pretty woman. That swimming trip would be the start of a long saga of my love for the Salmon River and everything it represented in my life. In fact, I wrote a poem about it later on in life that captured some of my feelings for this river.

Another time that week, we had to go out to the airport and move Uncle Ed’s airplane from one spot to another. As we taxied along in the airplane, I was scared to the point of crying. Carla sat me on her lap and held me as the plane moved along. It was the kind of airplane that had a tail-wheel. I couldn't understand how Uncle Ed could see out of this plane to steer it along because the body of the plane was tilted so far back. All I could see was the sky as I looked out the front window. Cousins, Jesse and Joey stood up and held onto the cargo racks hooked to the ceiling and bragged about how fun it was to ride in the airplane. I couldn't understand how they could like this. I was terrified.

So, back in Boise, as I sat on my little perch in the window sill, dad and a few other men were loading our stuff into the back of a moving van. I was told to stay out of the way, and I obeyed. As I watched all the action, I made a mental note of all that was going on. I decided I would capture that memory in my mind and never forget it. I was sure I would never be able to come back to Boise and I wanted to remember that very moment–sitting in the window sill, barefooted, wearing shorts, no shirt, and suffering anxiety.

The day we pulled out of town, the sun was shining. I had a feeling of desperation as I watched my home disappear as we pulled out of the neighborhood. I knew I would miss that little red brick house that looked to me like a smiley face staring into the sun.

I rode with mom in our Volkswagen bus. Mikey got to ride with dad in the big truck. I wondered why he always got to do the fun things with dad while I got relegated to helping mom. I tended to baby Sheri’s needs as we drove along. I knew mom needed help and I was willing.