Formative Years One thru Three

\\\.... 1942 age 4,..... age 6 ..... age 2 ....///

Formative Years One thru Three
By Arley Steinhour 102010 (rev 102815)
(written before I had a Blog site)
When I was a toddler, I toddled here and there,
Had great problems climbing, even up an adult chair.
My sister, two years older, always watching over me,
Mom and Dad both working, to feed the Family.

I don't remember much about, events that filled my days,
Except, loneliness and hunger, endured in childish ways.
One day, I had a good idea, I would find a place to see,
The foot fall, or sighting, parent, who would offer me a knee.

A bounce or three, on mothers knee, and hunger went away,
At least for a few minutes, till she said, 'get down, now, and play;'
That really meant that Dad was home, and needed a hug or three,
If his day at work was really good, there'd be much to eat for me.

My sister always had to 'tell,' how I knew they were coming home,
I pulled out drawers on Kitchen cabinet, a trusty ladder to form.
Up on the counter, window close, I could peek along the walk,
And when I saw one coming, I'd climb down, all set to talk.

If I could talk real fast to Mom, accusation waned from Sis,
And by the time I finished, she wanted hugs she, too, had missed.
Life was good, when folks were home, and lonely when they were gone,
I gave them my full attention, but when asleep, they had time to be alone.

I knew that something wasn't right, when Mama started staying home,
Though my Mom was there, she was fussy; I felt much more alone.
One day they went to the Doctor, and only Daddy came home,
Day's and day's dragged by slow, till I found out where she'd gone.

Children 'three,' there seemed to be, I was no longer youngest,
I had a smaller brother, so I knew I must be the strongest.
And then the heavy hammer, I couldn't bounce him like a ball,
Or Mom, or Dad would swat me, hanging on so I couldn't fall.

No matter how my tears would rain, they simply did not care,
How I felt to have lost my chair, where Sister brushed my hair.
The only thing that seemed to help was, brother couldn't eat tough food,
The only food that brother got, was baby-bottle, I'd already chewed.

When drinking from an open cup, milk might spill onto his front,
'Big-boy's' drink, without a spill, little brothers can't do that stunt.
We moved away from my counter window, car loaded, we drove away,
Never-more returning home, and have life continue, in an untried way.

We moved to the mountains, Dad pitched a real fine tent,
I was slightly over two, not understanding the term, 'No Rent.'
I loved my life on mountain top, my Mother now stayed home,
When we needed fire wood, I helped Dad, so he was not alone.

Across a stream wet, and cold, snow-melt chilled me to the bone,
Off, into the forest, for cooking wood, and to heat our home.
Something then did happen that memory refuses to relate,
Mom and Dad not married, another woman was his Mate.

My next remembered memory, was living in a dingy house,
With Dad, his mate, and a baby, not much bigger than a mouse.
I didn't live there long, it seems, till my Grand-ma came for me,
I know it was a winter ride, back seat as cold as it could be.

I found myself in a home so warm, with sweet smells in the air,
It wasn't long before my face and back sores healed, most everywhere.
And that, my friends, is my life up-to almost three; my teens would fill a book,
Some day, I'll try to tell that tale, who knows, someone might take a look.

I never left Grandparents home, until a Grad and joined the Navy,
Young adult, of seventeen, to see the world, on Oceans that're wavy.
My thanks to Jesus, for those years, good, plus many tears,
Bad comes with good, good comes from bad, focus for my years.

AMEN