Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Growing up, our family was definitely not wealthy. My father drove a Greyhound Bus from Las Vegas to Cedar City and back. When the bus drivers went on strike, my mother got a job at the lunch counter at Woolworth’s. She doesn’t remember how much she made but said that when she got a quarter for a tip, it was something special. I loved to count and stack all the coins that made up her validation of a hard days work. To top all this off, my two oldest brothers were serving missions at the same time. To pay for this, the entire family would clean the health department after closing hours. I don’t remember this, although my siblings (minus the two missionaries) don’t have fond memories of those days.
I do remember getting one pair of shoes for the school year. Towards March or April I would wear through the bottoms and holes would appear. To remedy the situation, my mom would cut cardboard that would fit in the bottom of my shoes to extend their life. Although I was young, I recall feeling embarrassed and tried to always keep my feet on the ground, which limited many activities like swinging and playing on the monkey bars.
Needless to say, there wasn’t much money for entertainment. We did enjoy visiting my Aunt Illetta and Uncle Frank. They lived out past the airport and quite often when we turned on Eastern Street my parents would pull the car over, spread out a blanket and we would lie on the hood of the car. This was the street at the end of the runway and we would watch planes take off and land. I can still hear the roar of the engine, as they would ascend in the sky until they were tiny dots and the screech of the tires as they touched the pavement.
I remember wondering where those people were going and where they had been and mostly I wondered if I would ever have the chance to experience the thrill of an airplane ride. Would I hand someone my boarding pass and find my seat on a plane that would take me to wonderful places and new adventures. My father never did. In his forty-eight years of life his feet never left the ground. He never knew the feeling of soaring above the earth and seeing the world from a whole different view.
Although my parents couldn’t afford to buy me a ticket to some far off destination, what they did allow me to do, was dream. By taking the time to stop the car and watch those planes, they allowed a little girl the time to let her imagination soar. I have been so blessed to climb aboard many airplanes in my lifetime and sometimes I even get to sit up front (thanks Dave). On a few occasions I’ve had the chance to fly on some pretty amazing planes (thanks generous, rich friends), but I will always be grateful for parents who took the time to let me dream.