(The picture above was taken when I was a "Pixie". Something created by my mother when my older sister was a Brownie Girl Scout and I was too young to be in the Troop. About 1965)
I spent a little bit of time out shopping today and I had a truly wonderful time! I brought home some amazing treasures…some to sell (“whoo hoo” for you!) and some to keep (and another "whoo hoo” for me) and even met up with an old friend. Peter and I talked and laughed for a bit and thoroughly enjoyed reminiscing about the days when we shared a space at an Antique Mall here in Oklahoma City. I’d forgotten how much I liked him! Pete showed me around and we chatted until the busyness of the store called for his attention…
Left alone to wander about I found myself eagerly walking down each aisle and visiting every booth. Weaving through a maze of interesting old finds and quite a bit of junk, my eyes were looking for the “good stuff”. However, while moseying slowly down the last row my eyes fixed upon something I hadn’t seen in years. A Brownie Beanie like the one I wore during my Girl Scout days. I was instantly, frightfully pulled me back in time. Back to the worst days of my childhood…back to being eight years old and attending elementary school on the Texas Coast. Back to third grade life and sitting under a wench of a teacher named Miss P…back to the year 1967…back to living life in a parsonage built on top of a church…and…back to the year I met Delores.
You can ask me a million questions about being a “Brownie”, but all I truly can remember is the copper-roofed church (Moody Memorial Methodist) where we had our Troop meetings and the little girl who was born without legs and with only one arm…
It was during a year of great childhood want, the closest I ever hope to come to knowing and understanding real poverty, I first recall learning about the physical disabilities of others. My family had precious little during the months we lived in Galveston and it must have been sacrificial for my parents to even allow me to participate in Scouting. The dues alone would have bought a loaf of bread back then and the cost of providing a full uniform must have been impossible to bear…to this day I don’t know where mine came from...
Delores and I were in the same Troop and as I walked towards the stately church for our weekly Scout meetings she would roll her wheelchair along side of me. My mother insisted on starching my dress and my orange tie. My brownie socks, coin purse, belt and beanie were expected to be neatly in place as well (we might have been poor, but we were “neat-poor” if that makes sense!). One spring day as we hurried to the church I noticed how Delores’ uniform always seemed wrinkled and how she would never have a need for socks… This certainly set my childhood heart to wondering…
One spring day in particular caused much excitement for our little Troop of ten. We donned long-hair wigs and dressed up as like the Fab-Four (The Beatles) for an amusing, fanciful skit performed for fellow Brownie Troop members in the City. When it was over I recall us all being in a panic to sort out our mixed up uniforms before heading back towards our school and homes…
Delores was particularly upset because she couldn’t find her Beanie. She was after all, by all appearances, even poorer than me, and loosing any part of your uniform was cause for great trouble! She wheeled herself closer to me as I put on my socks and black Mary Jane shoes. When I wasn’t looking, with her one good arm she picked up my Beanie, and began to place it on top of her head…
I quickly grabbed it away and screamed out~
“It’s mine! Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!”
Left alone to wander about I found myself eagerly walking down each aisle and visiting every booth. Weaving through a maze of interesting old finds and quite a bit of junk, my eyes were looking for the “good stuff”. However, while moseying slowly down the last row my eyes fixed upon something I hadn’t seen in years. A Brownie Beanie like the one I wore during my Girl Scout days. I was instantly, frightfully pulled me back in time. Back to the worst days of my childhood…back to being eight years old and attending elementary school on the Texas Coast. Back to third grade life and sitting under a wench of a teacher named Miss P…back to the year 1967…back to living life in a parsonage built on top of a church…and…back to the year I met Delores.
You can ask me a million questions about being a “Brownie”, but all I truly can remember is the copper-roofed church (Moody Memorial Methodist) where we had our Troop meetings and the little girl who was born without legs and with only one arm…
It was during a year of great childhood want, the closest I ever hope to come to knowing and understanding real poverty, I first recall learning about the physical disabilities of others. My family had precious little during the months we lived in Galveston and it must have been sacrificial for my parents to even allow me to participate in Scouting. The dues alone would have bought a loaf of bread back then and the cost of providing a full uniform must have been impossible to bear…to this day I don’t know where mine came from...
Delores and I were in the same Troop and as I walked towards the stately church for our weekly Scout meetings she would roll her wheelchair along side of me. My mother insisted on starching my dress and my orange tie. My brownie socks, coin purse, belt and beanie were expected to be neatly in place as well (we might have been poor, but we were “neat-poor” if that makes sense!). One spring day as we hurried to the church I noticed how Delores’ uniform always seemed wrinkled and how she would never have a need for socks… This certainly set my childhood heart to wondering…
One spring day in particular caused much excitement for our little Troop of ten. We donned long-hair wigs and dressed up as like the Fab-Four (The Beatles) for an amusing, fanciful skit performed for fellow Brownie Troop members in the City. When it was over I recall us all being in a panic to sort out our mixed up uniforms before heading back towards our school and homes…
Delores was particularly upset because she couldn’t find her Beanie. She was after all, by all appearances, even poorer than me, and loosing any part of your uniform was cause for great trouble! She wheeled herself closer to me as I put on my socks and black Mary Jane shoes. When I wasn’t looking, with her one good arm she picked up my Beanie, and began to place it on top of her head…
I quickly grabbed it away and screamed out~
“It’s mine! Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!”
I don’t remember much after that except running as fast as I could to our modest home in hopes of convincing my mother to wash my Beanie.
“MY BEANIE! MY BEANIE!" I cried out to my mother! "You have to wash my Beanie?”
“Wash your Beanie” she said? “But WHY?”
Through my tears I blurted out “Delores touched it!”
It was then my loving mother explained to me about the sufferings of Delores as she knew more about her history than I did. “Her mother was given some dangerous medicine* while she was waiting for Delores to come into the world…this caused her to be born without arms and legs. Touching and playing with her won’t hurt you, Becky! I promise” she said. “Don’t be afraid! She’s just like you and she needs you as a friend!” (*Thalidomide)
As I stood in the Antique Shoppe turning the Beanie over and over in my hands my thoughts turned once again to the little girl who had so greatly impacted my life. I couldn’t help but remember the wise and timely words of my mother, and how grateful I felt for having been spared such suffering…
I bought the Beanie for eight bucks. A small price to pay for a gentle reminder that love and kindness offered up to others is always in order. When our sweet Miss K is over next I'm going to set aside a little time to chat. I plan on sharing with her the story of Delores and passing along the words of wisdom voiced from her aging, but ever lovely great-grandmother...
“MY BEANIE! MY BEANIE!" I cried out to my mother! "You have to wash my Beanie?”
“Wash your Beanie” she said? “But WHY?”
Through my tears I blurted out “Delores touched it!”
It was then my loving mother explained to me about the sufferings of Delores as she knew more about her history than I did. “Her mother was given some dangerous medicine* while she was waiting for Delores to come into the world…this caused her to be born without arms and legs. Touching and playing with her won’t hurt you, Becky! I promise” she said. “Don’t be afraid! She’s just like you and she needs you as a friend!” (*Thalidomide)
As I stood in the Antique Shoppe turning the Beanie over and over in my hands my thoughts turned once again to the little girl who had so greatly impacted my life. I couldn’t help but remember the wise and timely words of my mother, and how grateful I felt for having been spared such suffering…
I bought the Beanie for eight bucks. A small price to pay for a gentle reminder that love and kindness offered up to others is always in order. When our sweet Miss K is over next I'm going to set aside a little time to chat. I plan on sharing with her the story of Delores and passing along the words of wisdom voiced from her aging, but ever lovely great-grandmother...
“…you should practice tenderhearted mercy and kindness to others…Most of all let love guide your life…” Colossians 3:12, 14 (TLB)
Blessings as you do good unto others…Rebecca
