Ruth....
Ruth is 104 and plays Bingo or another game every Thursday at Wellbrooke Retirement Community in Westfield, Indiana. For as long as I've known her, she is a woman who has commanded the room with her kindness and sincerity. Judging by the Wellbrooke staff and fellow residents, she may very well be the most sought after lady in the house. No one passes her without speaking or acknowledging her presence, and, in turn, she never fails to address the speaker with a smile and cheerful greeting of her own. Ruth is in a wheelchair and is losing her hearing. Her short-term memory is also fading, but she still knows me and her other three sons, Dave, Carl, and Ken, along with other family members and friends. Just a few months ago, I had a conversation with her that focused on some of her early recollections of girlhood.
When she was 13 years old, my mother worked in her dad's corner grocery store. A year later, she went to work for her uncle (1929), who paid her a dollar a day for a 10-12 hour day. As she tells the story, she gave the dollar to her father to help with household expenses during the start of the Great Depression. When I asked her why she left her father's store, she told me her dad had helped so many people in their neighborhood with free food, he no longer could afford to pay her and the family needed her income.
Ruth's older sister, Alice, who worked too, and baby brother, Frank, also lived in the house. My aunt and uncle were wonderful people and I deeply regret not taking the time to have them tell me about their lives and how the siblings interacted. But, something I know about all three are the many, many stories of their kind acts. In fact, the stories about each are almost legendary.
In the 1970s, my mom and dad owned a restaurant in downtown Indianapolis. Ruth told me a story about a letter carrier named John who walked into the restaurant, saw her behind the counter, walked up to her and asked if her name was Ruth (It's amazing he recognized my mother). He went on to tell her that in 1928 he walked into Ruth's father's grocery store and stole some candy. My mom saw him pocket the goods and walk out of the store. She followed him outside and asked him to sit down on the stoop with her. John, who was about 7 at the time, sat down and this 13 year old girl proceeded to tell him all the reasons he shouldn't steal candy or anything else. Some 45 years later, John told Ruth how that moment changed his life. He said he had never stolen anything else in his life and he felt he had become a successful human being. John told Ruth he had never forgotten her, although until that afternoon, he had not seen her in all those years. It's impossible to imagine the words she chose that redirected John's life.
Ruth has always had a fascination with words and language. She wrote poetry all her life and many times voiced regrets about not keeping her earliest writings. One time when she was in her early teens, she tried to write about a family trip to Elwood, Indiana. She said it was a half a day ride from Indianapolis and the roads were full of potholes. This particular trip was to see family and friends and as best she could recall, it was in the late 1920s. Her dad's car didn't have glass windows, but had shades pulled down over the window space. The idea was to keep as much dust and road grime as possible at bay. Flat tires every few miles were common and she said the engine may or may not run the entire distance. Alice and Ruth's plan was to have their dad stop just outside Elwood. The two sisters were then going to pull the curlers out of their hair, brush their hair, change into Sunday clothes and proceed to their destination looking fresh. Instead, the car overheated and the family sat on the roadside an additional two hours until help arrived.
My mom told me she wrote a story about that episode, but has never been able to find it. One night seven or eight years ago, she and I searched her desk in her apartment looking for the story she wrote, but we didn't run across it or any of her earlier work.
Ruth has lived in Wellbrooke for the past few years, but prior to that, she had her own apartment in Indianapolis. During the last 17 years of my career, I stayed with her weekdays before returning home for weekends and school vacations. Since my home was out of state, it was a truly unique experience and allowed me to see and interact with my mother in a very different capacity. The first year or two, she loved to say, I wonder what the neighbors think. A 55 year old man living with his mother. Then, she'd start laughing. Looking back, I realize how funny it must have been. She still has that wonderful sense of humor. And, just to show moms are moms no matter your age, this kind, thoughtful, funny, sincere mom never fails to tell me to zip up my jacket on a chilly night. HUH? What's up with that?
Ruth is 104 and plays Bingo or another game every Thursday at Wellbrooke Retirement Community in Westfield, Indiana. For as long as I've known her, she is a woman who has commanded the room with her kindness and sincerity. Judging by the Wellbrooke staff and fellow residents, she may very well be the most sought after lady in the house. No one passes her without speaking or acknowledging her presence, and, in turn, she never fails to address the speaker with a smile and cheerful greeting of her own. Ruth is in a wheelchair and is losing her hearing. Her short-term memory is also fading, but she still knows me and her other three sons, Dave, Carl, and Ken, along with other family members and friends. Just a few months ago, I had a conversation with her that focused on some of her early recollections of girlhood.
When she was 13 years old, my mother worked in her dad's corner grocery store. A year later, she went to work for her uncle (1929), who paid her a dollar a day for a 10-12 hour day. As she tells the story, she gave the dollar to her father to help with household expenses during the start of the Great Depression. When I asked her why she left her father's store, she told me her dad had helped so many people in their neighborhood with free food, he no longer could afford to pay her and the family needed her income.
Ruth's older sister, Alice, who worked too, and baby brother, Frank, also lived in the house. My aunt and uncle were wonderful people and I deeply regret not taking the time to have them tell me about their lives and how the siblings interacted. But, something I know about all three are the many, many stories of their kind acts. In fact, the stories about each are almost legendary.
In the 1970s, my mom and dad owned a restaurant in downtown Indianapolis. Ruth told me a story about a letter carrier named John who walked into the restaurant, saw her behind the counter, walked up to her and asked if her name was Ruth (It's amazing he recognized my mother). He went on to tell her that in 1928 he walked into Ruth's father's grocery store and stole some candy. My mom saw him pocket the goods and walk out of the store. She followed him outside and asked him to sit down on the stoop with her. John, who was about 7 at the time, sat down and this 13 year old girl proceeded to tell him all the reasons he shouldn't steal candy or anything else. Some 45 years later, John told Ruth how that moment changed his life. He said he had never stolen anything else in his life and he felt he had become a successful human being. John told Ruth he had never forgotten her, although until that afternoon, he had not seen her in all those years. It's impossible to imagine the words she chose that redirected John's life.
Ruth has always had a fascination with words and language. She wrote poetry all her life and many times voiced regrets about not keeping her earliest writings. One time when she was in her early teens, she tried to write about a family trip to Elwood, Indiana. She said it was a half a day ride from Indianapolis and the roads were full of potholes. This particular trip was to see family and friends and as best she could recall, it was in the late 1920s. Her dad's car didn't have glass windows, but had shades pulled down over the window space. The idea was to keep as much dust and road grime as possible at bay. Flat tires every few miles were common and she said the engine may or may not run the entire distance. Alice and Ruth's plan was to have their dad stop just outside Elwood. The two sisters were then going to pull the curlers out of their hair, brush their hair, change into Sunday clothes and proceed to their destination looking fresh. Instead, the car overheated and the family sat on the roadside an additional two hours until help arrived.
My mom told me she wrote a story about that episode, but has never been able to find it. One night seven or eight years ago, she and I searched her desk in her apartment looking for the story she wrote, but we didn't run across it or any of her earlier work.
Ruth has lived in Wellbrooke for the past few years, but prior to that, she had her own apartment in Indianapolis. During the last 17 years of my career, I stayed with her weekdays before returning home for weekends and school vacations. Since my home was out of state, it was a truly unique experience and allowed me to see and interact with my mother in a very different capacity. The first year or two, she loved to say, I wonder what the neighbors think. A 55 year old man living with his mother. Then, she'd start laughing. Looking back, I realize how funny it must have been. She still has that wonderful sense of humor. And, just to show moms are moms no matter your age, this kind, thoughtful, funny, sincere mom never fails to tell me to zip up my jacket on a chilly night. HUH? What's up with that?
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