Time for a bit of end-of-the-week fun! Our son and daughter are in the den of our Altadena home. Don’t miss the double door knobs. One worked and one didn’t; it was that way when we moved in.
It looks like Son is deep in thought. I don’t know what that red thing is in front of his mouth. I think he has Read the rest of this entry »
My Mom died in 1999. During the last year of her life she showed me a photo of a childhood friend, a write-up about her, and an obituary.
Sybil was a few years younger than I. Her mother kept the outdoor hog pen I describe in my poem, 1951. To me, Sybil was a friend in name only. I was put off by Read the rest of this entry »
~~~Zaida Pannell Swift (1894-1988)
California 1974. I’m in my second year of seminary. The telephone rings. It’s my mother, calling from Savannah, Georgia. Her voice sounds hesitant. She isn’t sure whether to tell me this or not. Read the rest of this entry »
Nancy Hanks II on city street tracks, somewhere in the state of Georgia, USA
This is one of my favorite memories about Mom. It’s in two parts. Both took place in Savannah, Georgia during the mid-1950s. I was a young teenager, happily aware of boys by now. Read the rest of this entry »
A serious consultation on Grandpa’s wheat ranch in Oregon, Summer 1973
I’m almost embarrassed to admit this. Poring through old photos of our young children evokes feelings similar to my feelings when they were born. Read the rest of this entry »
When it came to disciplining his daughters, my father often referred to several verses in the King James Version of the Bible.
I love the King James Version (KJV). All my scripture memory work was in its now unfamiliar language. To my ears it’s still beautiful, though somewhat dated, and evokes awe in its choice of pronouns and verbs (thee, thou, goest, comest). Once memorized, it flows easily by heart.
Yet it has limitations. In addition, the language chosen by the 54+ men who translated it between 1604 and 1611 is often stark.
When it came to dealing with me, one of my father’s key verses was Proverbs 16:18 (KJV):
Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
My father believed he was responsible for beating pride out of me. From his perspective, my anger proved I was a prideful little girl intent on getting my superior way. According to him I thought I knew better than he when it came to punishment, rules or decisions.
If I didn’t comply with his will, another proverb told him what to do. I’ve changed the personal pronouns. Proverbs 23:13-14 (KJV) says,
Withhold not correction from the child:
for if thou beatest her with the rod, she shall not die.
Thou shalt beat her with the rod, and shalt deliver her soul from hell.
Before you get angry with my father, think about this: Like many other parents, he passed on what his father did to him. I can’t exonerate him. He did what he did. He was responsible for what he did; I was not. I do, however, have compassion for him. I know from experience how difficult it is to raise children.
Last week I was reading the Good News Version (TEV) of the same verses in Proverbs 23:13-14:
Don’t hesitate to discipline children.
A good spanking won’t kill them.
As a matter of fact, it may save their lives.
I would still suggest that even a “good spanking” can kill a child’s spirit. Do you or I know a child’s inner spirit? Do you know the spirit this child may be too terrified to show because right now because the main agenda is to grit her teeth and get through whatever you or I decide to do to her vulnerable body?
What is a “good spanking” anyway? Sometimes I needed discipline. Yet I never needed the kind of corporal punishment I received. Corporal humiliation is never a “good spanking.” It’s humiliation of the weak by the powerful. An abuse of power.
Whatever this “good spanking” is about, it isn’t about humiliating a child’s body or spirit. If the point of the proverb is to say parents mustn’t hold back when it comes to disciplining their children, that can be done in other ways.
Here’s how I see it. As an adult, I’m responsible for welcoming children and young teenagers into my life. They’re strangers I’m privileged to get to know and learn to discipline appropriately. It isn’t always easy. Yet hospitality offers me another way to relate to them and to myself.
I think hospitality is a form of love. I love my father.
Here’s what I never wrote to my father:
Dear Dad,
Please treat me as a human being created in the image of God. That’s all I want. I don’t want to fight with you or disappoint you. I want to be myself and count on you to help me without humiliating me. I want to be proud of myself and proud of you.
Your first-born daughter,
Elouise
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 November 2015
Image from thenextfamily.com
Today’s photos bid a fond farewell to my Faculty Wife series (fall 1969 through July 1973). Here’s our son in 1970, sound asleep shortly after we brought our daughter home from the hospital. D’s Mom gave him Big Bear, just after his sister was born. He was an instant hit. He and FuFu, hiding beneath Big Bear’s head, always understood and agree with our son, not with us.
Every now and then our daughter got to play with FuFu. Here she is in 1971, intent on getting into a doll bed with FuFu who has just fallen out. You can see FuFu is already wearing out from all the love. Note: I didn’t make or buy the ruffled dress. It was a gift.
In 1972 we traveled to Ft. Smith, Arkansas for a small family reunion with D’s Mom. It was held at her Dad’s home. Here’s a photo of the women and children who came: D’s great-aunt, his Mom, me, his sister, one of his aunts, our son and daughter. Four generations dressed in multiple fashions and hair styles. The three oldest women are now gone. D’s aunt is holding her camera.
That day we went to a park, and our son got to take a train ride with Grammy! Great fun for both, as you can see.
Now we’re back in South Carolina, in our back yard. It’s summer 1972 and unbearably hot. This calls for lots of picnics in the back yard in the late afternoon. Here’s our son taking a supper-snack break from playing outside.
Note the beautiful blue-flowered casual dining plate. Also the price of bread–4 loaves for $1.00! And don’t miss our teak-handled salad servers. A wedding gift. We still have them and I still use them. One more thing. I see our son has dirt in his elbow creases and generally all over himself. Possibly from the sand box in the back corner of the yard–which you can’t see. I don’t know what those pipes are on the ground; I think D was putting something together–perhaps the swing set.
It’s early summer 1973, our last summer in South Carolina. We’re down in Savannah for a last visit with my Mom and Dad. Of course we had to bid farewell to Tybee Beach. Always a hit! And always A-OK!
In July 1973 my parents, plus Diane and Clay with their first son arrive for a last visit before we move. Here we are, standing around in the front yard.
Short skirts are in! So are shift-like dresses. I made mine, as well as our daughter’s outfit. I’m certain Diane made hers. It’s shocking to realize that only 9 years earlier the Bible College wouldn’t allow women’s knees to show. Nor did they allow women to wear shorts or blue jeans.
Finally, for the record, someone (Diane? My Dad? D’s camera on a tripod?) took an informal family picture of us in the back yard. Was this a way of marking the welcome end of our cultural isolation from the rest of the world? Actually, D says we were already one hip family! I totally agree. California, here we come!
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 November 2015
Photo credit: DAFraser, and whoever took the last photo
This photo triggered a memory that included my Uncle Waldo and Aunt Leta. Uncle Waldo is the youngest and last remaining sibling in my father’s family.
He sent me this photo of his granddaughters Read the rest of this entry »
It’s summer 1972. We’re still on our road trip from South Carolina to the West Coast and back, one year before we leave the Bible College.
The photo above shows Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah. Our son seems to think Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 