I turned 60 the 9th of January 2011. I was thinking of writing some stories about my life. My parents for the most part didn't talk much about theirs. Most of the stuff I learned was from, over hearing bits and pieces of conversations from behind their news paper, or second hand from relatives at Thanksgiving. Like missing pages from a news paper I never got the whole story.


When asking my dad about his life it was like threatening him with a vasectomy! He would cringe, cross his legs, and then say, “Let’s have ice cream!" If you did manage any type of response it would be short and to the point, or Mom would stop the conversation with claims of it being an exaggeration.


Looking back on their tight-lipped lives I decided they were in the witness protection program, or must have been secret agents, and their jobs were their covers like in Kindergarten Cop.
When my parents retired they sold their house in Portland, OR and bought an R.V., you know, a motor home, and off they went, here, there, and everywhere. Eventually they narrowed their travel between Arizona in the winter and the southern coast of Oregon in the summer. Time passed and they sold the R.V. and bought a single wide trailer next to the Rouge River, in Gold Beach, Oregon.

Here, there, everywhere.

Why did my parents have to live so far from all of us? Their children and grandchildren lived in WA and Northern OR. My parents met in WA State when my dad was stationed there in the army. I understand why Dad didn't want to move back to Illinois where he grew up. Living in OR was as far from his father as he could get. From what I was able to gather, Dad's father beat him regularly; even for things his sister did; not just because of what Dad did. Why Dad and not his sister, I'll never know.


I only met my Dad's parents 3 times; twice when we visited them in Illinois and once when they came west. On one visit to Illinois I was introduced to Great Grandpa Barns through the window of our 58 Rambler station wagon. We were introduced and then my brother and I were told to stay in the car during the visit. I don't know why it was that way either.

58 Rambler Wagon

I never knew my mom's mother, but we did see Grandpa Bob on holidays at my Aunt Vivian (Mom's sister) and Uncle Mark's house, or at his apartment, both in Longview, WA.  My Aunt Marjorie (also Mom's sister) lived with Grandpa Bob. I was named Robert after my Grandpa Bob but we seldom even talked. I remember asking him for a piece of candy from his candy dish but that's about it. When I was older Grandpa Bob came for a visit but I was more interested in myself and my friends than giving him the time of day. Grandpa Bob died shortly after that visit. He was in his eighties. Looking back, all these years later, I wish I had taken the time to get to know him.


My parents, living so far away, was like me not seeing my grandparents. Plus my kids were losing out and now my grandkids too. I don't think my parents understood the loss it created even towards the end. What a waste! If you wanted to see my parents it was very expensive. It took gas, a place to stay on the way down, once there, and driving back, plus hours and hours of driving to stay maybe two nights. Calling long distance was an added expense too so you planned your phone time to the minute. You made sure all the kids went to the bathroom first, lined them up, and made sure each stayed within their allotted time.
Then I got an idea, buy my parents a computer, get them internet service so we could e-mail, send photos back and forth, and stay closer in touch. I had the idea it was going to be fun, wouldn't you? Well, that's another story and another memory!


Grandpa Tom