Hiking out to my Aunt Marie's farm was “staying out of the way,” so I thought. My brother Michael had come down with polio and needed special care. He just collapsed one evening getting a book for my dad. Drying dishes in the kitchen with Mom, I saw him collapse. My parents rushed to him. The rest of us kids were rushed to our rooms and told to go to bed, without being told what had happened. All we knew was that Mom and Dad were rushing him to the hospital. We'd never heard of polio before. Patrica, the oldest, had to calm us down. She couldn't answer any of our questions. That night we said an extra bedtime prayer for Michael. I laid in bed looking at Michael's model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. Sleep wouldn't come, too much whispering between the rest of us.
Dad tried to explain the next morning just what had happened with Michael. Telling us the best way for us to help was to behave. No more fighting between my sister Cathy and myself. We were all given chores to do to keep us out from underfoot. Weeding the garden was one of the things I had to do on my own now, without Mom, and taking the neighbors' peas and green beans. I couldn't tell the neighbors where Mom was, or what happened with Michael. I didn't know myself.
When I was through with the garden each morning and the neighbors had their peas and beans, I took to hiding in the attic. With my pencils and drawing paper to keep out of the trouble, I drew pictures. Mom thought it best for me to get some fresh air. So I was sent outside to play and ended up wandering the neighborhood. I decided to visit my Godmother, Aunt Marie. I should have told Mom, but thinking wasn't one of my gifts. I had never before gone more than a few blocks from the house on my own before. Once before my sister Patricia had led us to Aunt Marie's, on the four mile hike to her farm. That day I was on my own. Francis was attending summer school and Cathy had her dolls. My older sister was left in charge. So on my own, I filled my canteen with water and loaded my backpack with green apples and a salt shaker, pencils and sketchbook, and Great Grandpa's pocket knife, and I set off.
Out Church Road I went, thinking I was doing the right thing. After all, I was staying out of the way. The first cornfield I came to was Mr. O'Malley's, a friend of my parents. His goats were loose in the fields again, eating corn. Lucky for me, there was a fence keeping them in the field. Speeding up, I remembered being chased by them once. Horses and cows I would raise on my farm when I grew up, not goats. I'd have chickens too, like Aunt Marie and Uncle Hank had. Passing Mrs. Oberwise's house, she waved from her porch asking if my Mother knew where I was. She was one of the volunteers who drove my brother to his therapy. There were several volunteers who helped out that way. I waved back and moved on knowing she would be calling Mom to tell her where I was.
No matter where I went there seemed to be people who knew my parents. I guess it was all the volunteering Mom and Dad did. My parents ran a dance for teens on Friday nights. Mom was on the phone a lot asking for chaperones.
Turning onto Molitor Road, someone honked at me and asked if I needed a ride, telling me I shouldn't be out there walking alone. He too, was one of the volunteers who came to the house…
I look back now and realize how those days and journeys contributed to me becoming an artist. Drawing horses and cows along the way was leading me. I didn't make it to Aunt Marie's. Grandpa was alerted and found me, taking me home. After the "talking to” I got from Patricia, I sort of understood the worrying I caused. When Michael was carried into the house, I showed him the drawings I did on my hike. I knew I needed more time in the attic drawing... He couldn't tell which were the cows and which were the horses. The back of the attic would have to be my hideout. Mom could yell up to me, and be happy with just me yelling back. My sister, Patricia, led us kids on an approved hike to Aunt Marie’s a week later. Grandpa followed behind, giving Cathy a ride most of the way.
