Stop and Smell the Flowers

Surgery on the farm in 1918, Chapter 2, Part 7

Sometime when I was about seven or eight, an uncle of sorts (Grandma's half sister's husband) arrived in Silverdale, fresh out of medical school.  In that day, tonsils were thought to only have negative qualities and the sooner out, the better. 

The entire family was assembled at Grandma's house, and a mass assembly line was set up to relieve all the children of their tonsils and adenoids.  The dining room table was used as an operating table, where each child took his turn.

No apprehension appeared to be attached to the anesthetic and surgery, no doubt due to the faith we had in a freshly attained medical degree.  As my turn came, Grandma held my feet as the chloroform was administered.  I remember feeling badly about it at the time, and I loved my grandmother dearly, but I couldn't help kicking her as I went under. 

Following surgery, the practice was to carry the child into the bedroom and place him on the bed, alongside others who hasn't recovered enough to make it on their own.  Sometimes, two or three would be stretched out, simultaneously, recovering from the anesthetic.

When I finally roused, I ran out to the backyard, joining the others who were playing and having fun, until we were called in for supper.  The fried chicken smelled good and I was ravenous.  All was well as I chewed that delicious chicken, until I tried to swallow.  To this day, when getting a physical examination, physicians comment on how someone certainly got all my tonsils. 

The way they make that comment gives me the impression that they new doctor may have excavated a bit more than necessary.

Chapter 2, Part 6: The Box Pie Event

In 1919 I saw my first airplane.  It was probably an old Jenny left over from The Great War. (That's what World War I was called, for we expected it to be the last war of such magnitude).

(It looks kinda...rickety, doesn't it?)

It happened down on the farm on a Sunday afternoon when all the relatives had gathered for Sunday dinner. (We called the main meal at noon dinner and the evening meal supper.)  The airplane's appearance raised considerable speculation as to where the world was going next.  As it turned out, we were preparing to witness explosive change.

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The Box Supper or Box Pie event was held annually at the school to raise money.  It was one of the few social functions held outside church.  Only males did the bidding and a successful bidder had the privilege, or duty, to sit and eat with the woman that had brought the Box.  At one such Box Pie affair, I had my eye on a particular box brought in by an attractive woman.  There was probably ten downright ugly women for every attractive one and that meant an absolute maximum of two pretty ones for the evening.

Pop had given me a silver dollar to buy my pie.  Usually the bidding started at twenty-five cents and went up by increments of five or ten cents, seldom exceeding one dollar.  When the box I had my eye on was offered for auction, I lost control in my eagerness to get the right box and immediately shouted,

"ONE DOLLAR!"

That outburst was followed by snickering and considerable aside comment, but no one raised my bid, so I got the pie.  The reason no one else was interested in raising my bid soon became evident; I had gotten the boxes confused. 

I was not to eat a pie with an attractive woman that night; the one I sat with might have rated a one on a ten-point scale.  On the other hand, she was obligated to eat with a snotty nosed seven-year-old kid, which she may have deemed less than interesting.