Kevin’s Story, Part 26, The Fly Boy

Maggie did not have it easy.  Of course taking care of a child that minds perfectly should be simple but the big boy, who weighed all most as much as his Mom, was not very healthy.  The doctor wrote; he was hospitalized for eight days on Jun 17, 1958 for possible Rheumatic Fever.  At that time low grade temperature elevated se. rate 27 mg. Per. Grade 1 cystoloc murmur was heard-maximum at 4th left interspace-tonsils were enlarged not injected, cervical glands were small.  Following hospital discharge he came down with acute tonsilitis which responded to penicillin.  He was considered a potential Rheumatic Fever suspect and treated accordingly with limited activity.  ECG taken,  showed evidence of Myocarditis.  He had an episode of Bronchitis in September of 1958 which responded to TAO Suspension.  He also was given HesperC liquid as a prophylactic against respiratory infection.  Heart murmur remained unchanged.  Tonsils enlarged somewhat moderately.  B. L. Shapero M. D.  Thanks doc you fixed me.

This was starting to get expensive.  Then of course were the doctor visits she would have to be making for herself soon.  There was another one on the way.  See, she had met this fly boy. Let’s go back a year.

She worked at Dow Airfield and there were a lot of pilots flying in and out.  She happened to meet one that was not in the service but flew for a Government contractor.  His job was to wait for a prototype part to come to the cold country for testing.  They had to install the parts in real conditions before they were certified to go into production.  So the fly boy would install the part and then test it in actual flight conditions.  He would travel to New Foundland, Iceland, and Greenland testing parts and then return.  The fly boy got a glimpse of the auburn hair and there was no turning back.  Must have been the little boy that sealed the deal because they would stay together for the rest of there lives.  The fly boy had a family, and it would soon be growing.

Continued . . . . .

Kevin’s Story, Part 25, The Window

Let’s back up just a couple years, maybe to 1954, continued from Part 4 posted in April.  News was in the newspaper and on the radio.  Television was becoming more affordable.  You could pick up a brand new 19" black and white set for about $150.00.  The median household income was about $5,000.00 per year, so not everyone was lining up to buy a new set.   However, if you worked for a television shop you got a discount and it wasn’t long before Maggie’s Dad got a new set.  He would have just a few months of TV watching before he went to meet his maker.  By then Maggie had bigger challenges.  She was going to have to share the news that she was in trouble.

Three big brothers, there wives, step Mom, sister, Aunts and Uncle’s.  The consensus of opinion, adoption.  In 1954 girls did not become pregnant.  They went on holiday to some far away place and came back six months later like nothing had happened.  (Sidebar; [I got that from the OJ trial], we did not understand the mental damage that giving up a child for adoption would cause in the 1950's.  It wasn’t until abortion was legalized and we found out about the life long mental damage it caused that we looked at how hard it was to give up a child for adoption.)  You can imagine that I favor anything but abortion.  If you are on Facebook, search for the +9 group.  I should be the poster child because my Mom could have gone the easy way with an abortion or give me up for adoption.  It was much harder on a female then.  The right to chose is much easier the day you chose than living with the choice forever.  If you find it difficult living with a choice you made, please seek help from your church or pregnancy resource center in your area.

I am thankful that Maggie chose life for me.  It would take Maggie another 18 months before she could take me home.  She gave everything she had during those 18 months to make a home.  Back then you did not get a reward check every month for having a child you could not take care of.  Women did not have many options for work that paid enough to support a family.  Maggie found a job as a ward clerk at the Governments Dow Air Field hospital.  She found a one bedroom apartment in downtown Bangor and got to work by bus.  She would break that kid out of foster care and raise him by herself with no help from anybody.

Think back to when you were two years old.  Do you have any memories that far back?  I have one thing I can remember.  I must have been two years old and must have been in trouble.  I was required to stay on Mom’s big bed (I guess that was a time out) and take a nap.  I was not allowed to get off the bed for any reason.  (You may not have the whole picture.  It’s Bangor Maine, in the fall, cold breezy day, maybe in the 40's) Mom puts down the laundry basket, bends over grabs the latch on each side of the window, gives it everything a 5 foot 2 inch girl can give and the window finally comes up about 2 feet.  She grabs the laundry basket, bends over like a girl jumping hurtles, climbs out the window onto the roof.  I don’t ever remember being able to go outside that window and play.  I can’t see my Mom from my position on the bed.  I slowly and quietly lean over, , , , more, , , , a little bit more, , , , can’t see anything, , , more, , , oops.  I jump to my feet and try to get back on the bed but I can’t climb that thing because the bedspread pulls down when I pull up.  (I may have been vertically challenged then but I had plenty of weight) The bedspread on the floor and I have no way up on the bed.  I’m in trouble but, Mom didn’t yell yet???  Well since I’m down on the floor anyway, I slowly and quietly make my way over to the window.  Maybe I could go out and play with Mom.  I slowly peek around the window molding and see my Mom hanging up clothes.  ON THE ROOF?  This looks like a lot of fun so, being the good helper that I am, I throw a leg over the window ledge and the next 60 seconds is probably why I remember the story.

Continued . . . . .

Kevin’s Story, Part 19, Another What #2?

brother.

Well I only have one younger brother.  Talk about torment, how did that kid ever make it through childhood.  Well if this new brother is anything like the little brother, I will really be blessed.

He passed away in 1986.  Damn.

He was 25 years older than you, and very successful.  He had a construction company that built roads, housing developments, and anything else he could get his hands into.  I think I should have met him 25 years ago, maybe he could have taught me how to run a successful business.

Yes he was married, lived in Connecticut and has a great family.  There are kids and grandkids, and great grand kids.  “Do you want all there names?”  I’m feeling like I’m coming to the end of this story so I turn over the 3 by 5 paper and start writing on the back.  He had a daughter then a son three years later.  The son passed away though. (very sad face, two family members that I will not get to meet.)  Then he got re-married and had a girl, then another girl, then another girl, then a couple boys.  My paper, poor penmanship, and the holes due to the pencil are very sad.  As I’m writing I''m looking around the truck for the next scrap of paper, because I’m not going to fit all these names.

If you have ever worked on ancestry.com you know how valuable the information, spelling, and dates really are.  I am trying to get everything down.  Still focusing on the construction company part as I’m writing.  My hero, and I never got to shake his hand.

So I get it all down, I'm fixin’ to take a breath, need to say good buy before the battery dies, but before I open my mouth she says;

And you have another . . . . Oh my!  Now I know what my bio-dad’s calling was.

To Be Continued . . . . . . .

Kevin’s Story, Part 18, Another What?

sister.

First I was thrilled to have another sister.  Mind you, I’m not lacking in the sister department.  I have adequately tormented two sisters for all there lives but, this is a new one.  Poor girl, she has no idea.  With an older sister, there are advantages.  They can tell you all about girls.  (No, I don't have them figured out yet!) When you are down, there is nothing better than five minutes on the phone with your big sister.  I have gone along just fine with younger sisters however, an older sister, this is new.  I probably scared the girl by talking a hundred miles an hour (California talk) to a poor girl that talks half speed (that’s Maine talk).  In the beginning she was just warming up, now she can keep up with the west coast speed.

And she says, oh by the way, you have another sister. . . . ......  OMG (that’s young people talk for Oh My God)  But my battery is gonna die.

The ancestry dude in me went into high gear.  One thousand questions, a 3 by 5 inch piece of paper, a pencil, and one knee.  (I never use a pencil, they poke holes in paper???)  I’m writing as fast as I can, is she married, what is her birthday, is she married (oops), I mean does she have any kids, what’s there names, when were they born, who’s her daddy?  She is talking the Maine talk speed but the California speed can only write at 25 percent of Maine speed.

Yes a husband and kids and living in Maine.  Another Maineac?  Kids, grand kids, a nurse, in the Army, (Well that tells me a whole bunch.  Guess I'm goinna have to break out my curse words that I learned while riding aircraft carriers.  I have an enormous amount of respect for anyone that serves our Country, specially the girls.  They not only have to put up with the enemy but, they have to put up with all the boys on our side too.)  I’m writing, poking holes in my leg, can’t read what I just wrote and she had the audacity to say

“And you have another . . . . . .”

To Be Continued . . . . . . .

Kevin’s Story, Part 17, The Call

Ring....Ring.....Ring....

This is Kevin

This is your sister.

pause . . . . (while I pull over with out wrecking the truck)

She tells me this story; when I was little, you and I were playing together, and I overheard all the Aunts saying “Wow they look just alike”.  I was at your Uncles house and we were playing in the front room.  I remembered that and asked my Mom one day.  Do I have a brother?  Mom said; “Yeeuup” (That’s Maine talk for yes)

(How is it that the whole world knows I’m adopted but I don’t?)
She continues; twenty years ago we were getting ready to have a family reunion and I tried to get in touch with you.  I contacted your Mom.  (Oh?)  She talked me out of contacting you at the time.   (Oh?)

Later, as I was putting pieces of the puzzle together, I thought back to a phone call I made to my Mom as I was traveling on the East coast.  I drove from Virginia to Maine.  As I entered my birth town I realized I didn’t know what to look at, what to take a picture of.

Mom, where did we live, where was I born, do you want me to take any pictures while I’m here?  I don’t remember the answers but that must have made her very uncomfortable about the secret.  I’m sorry for that.

Big sister and I talked for about 30 seconds (actually about an hour and a half) before I said my battery was getting ready to die.  Damn cell phones.

Then she says, oh by the way, you have another

To Be Continued . . . . . . .

Kevin’s Story, Part 15, The secret

The family decides to divulge the secret.

The unknown?  It’s like a drug!  I don’t mean the 1960's kind of drug, I mean after you get a taste you can’t stop kinda drug.  With each answer, I had a hundred more questions.  You hear stories of people looking for there families to get money, or don’t try to find family because they are afraid they will take there money.  Most, I believe, just want to know about where they came from.  The first thing that popped into mind; “Maybe I have a brother or sister.”  I tend to be more of a steam roller and barge right in shaking hands person.  Not the kinda guy that asks permission to meet the bio-dad, I would knock on the door and say Hi Dad!

I can not imagine what it would be like to have a huge secret entrusted to you.  Mom wanted to ensure that all her children were treated the same.  (They were) Didn’t want anyone to get hurt or feel like less of a family member.  She worked so hard to ensure that each family member would get the same amount spent on them at Christmas.  How about the rest of the family?  How do you not tell stories about the first five years of someone’s life?  Thirty years later when your asked about something, how do you not tell?  How do you carry this secret?  Mom and Dad, now gone for over a decade, it’s time to tell him.

The email comes, you may have a sister!

That changed my life forever.

To Be Continued . . . . . . .