Telling the Truth

Summer 1951

I’ve been wanting to write you a private letter for a long time.  Mother and Daddy won’t let me send you letters they haven’t read first. They don’t want me to tell you anything sad or anything about money. But I’m not going to show them this letter. It’s just for you.

In case you’re wondering, I’m not writing this letter all by myself. I have a friend who wants to help me. Her name is Elouise, just like mine! She’s very very old, but she seems to understand me really well. So she’s helping me with this letter. I hope it isn’t too long or too boring.

I miss you. So does Mother. Every time we get one of your long letters, I read it over and over. You’re always so proud of us and you always know about the good things that we’re doing. Like making good grades and learning to swim all by ourselves. I especially like the funny little stick figures you draw on your letters. They make me feel happy. Some of them even look just like you. Always smiling and kicking up your heels.

It’s OK here in the South. Most of the people are nice even though they talk funny. I like my school, and we have a beautiful river in our front yard. We also have a back yard to play in and lots of pecan trees. Last fall I got to pick up pecans from the ground. There were hundreds of them. Then we all sat around and cracked them open and learned to pick out the nuts. If I could live outdoors, maybe I would be happy here forever. But I can’t. It gets too cold in the winter.

Now for the sad stuff.

I don’t like having Daddy around all the time. He’s always telling us to keep the noise down because Mother needs to rest, or because it’s hard for her to talk when it’s noisy. Or he’s making sure we’ve done all our chores for the day. He does things around the house and works on the radiator when the heat doesn’t come on, but most of the time he seems to be in charge of me and my sisters. I think he likes being in charge.

We got a little puppy recently. Sister #3 named him Bambi. Daddy trained Bambi so he would have good eating manners just like he keeps trying to make us have. Anyway, I watched him and I think he’s being too hard on Bambi. He keeps drilling and drilling and drilling until Bambi could just keel over with hunger. He’s a happy little puppy, but he looks confused when Daddy points his finger at him and speaks in his take-charge, don’t-you-move-until-I-tell-you-to-move voice. I feel sorry for Bambi.

Here’s something else I don’t like telling you about. Sometimes Daddy spanks me really hard. I get scared that he’s never going to stop. I know I sometimes do wrong things. But I don’t deserve to be treated like this, and there’s no one I can talk to about it. Especially not Mother. She’s always on Daddy’s side. Besides, she always has something else to do or is taking a nap. I think polio made her very tired. Sometimes I think I make her tired, too.

Personally, I don’t think it’s good to have Daddy around all the time. In California there were always other adults and children around.  So I didn’t feel like Daddy was always focused on me. Besides, back there he had plenty of other work to do for the mission organization. Things aren’t so busy here. I wonder if he gets bored and wishes he were back in California. I think we’re living here because Mother got polio.

There’s something else I want you to know. We don’t have enough money. I don’t care what Mother and Daddy tell you when they write. I’m telling you right now we don’t have enough money. This happens a lot, but not every single day. Sometimes I go to bed hungry.

Mother is a wonderful cook and she does the best she can. She always makes the food look pretty, and sets the table nicely for every meal. The big problem is that there isn’t always enough to cook. Sometimes Daddy fishes off the dock. So far he’s caught some little yellow-tail fish, some crabs, and a flounder. We eat them, but they’re not enough. We even tried eating squirrel once, but it had way too many bones.

I can tell when there isn’t enough money. They don’t tell me directly, but I know what Mother and Daddy are talking about. They try to speak softly so we won’t hear and get worried. I wish I knew how to help get more money.

Sometimes the church where we go brings us bags of groceries. I’m always relieved when that happens. It means we’ll have a little celebration meal! But that always runs out. I don’t understand why the mission organization doesn’t allow Daddy to have a job with regular income. Daddy says we’re supposed to be living by faith. Sometimes I wish the mission people had to eat boiled barley for every meal for at least two days. They might change their minds pronto!

So. We’re not allowed to ask anyone for money, or tell anyone we need money. And if someone gives me money like you sometimes do, I’m not supposed to tell you how happy I am. Then you might know we don’t have much money. It’s supposed to be a big secret.

Daddy says God will provide. Sometimes when I walk by Daddy’s study on the second floor, I hear him praying to God and crying. He can really cry a lot when he gets going. I don’t know what it’s about. Maybe it’s about money. It might also be about me, since I seem to need a lot of spankings.

Here’s something I notice about money. Some people with a lot of money have become our friends since we moved here. They invite us over to their houses for visits and dinner. Their houses are much nicer than ours. There’s always more than enough food on their tables.

But we aren’t supposed to notice or say anything about that. We’re not allowed to say things that might make it sound like we don’t have enough food at home. That would be bad manners. Instead, I just treat them extra special because I hope they’ll give us some of their money. I’m not proud about that, though. It makes me feel ashamed and sometimes angry when they don’t give us some of their money.

Well, that’s about it. Those are the main things I needed to say right now. All the good stuff will be in Mother’s long letters to you and in my approved thank you notes and letters.

Lots of love and hugs XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Elouise

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 March 2014