Deem’s Lake was a popular spot where I grew up. My parents took me there when I was 8 or 9 (I can’t remember which.) I remember fishing with my dad, but not doing a lot with my mom except setting out the picnic lunch we brought.
I also remember going swimming there, but I got a bad headache so my mom thought it was time to go home. We found out weeks later that the headache was from my swimming cap being too tight. It was the last time I had to wear one.
The favorite time I remember with my mom is when she took me for my first perm. She took me to J.C. Penny’s salon to have it done by the guy who did her hair. His name was Gary.
I was only 14, so she got to decide how I had my hair done. The perm she wanted me to have was the uni perm. It was similar to a regular perm but the rods they put in your hair were heated first. It came out extremely curly and a bit frizzy, but mom liked it so that made me like it.
I had that type of perm for years until the found out that it was bad for your hair and discontinued allowing them to be done. But I kept having my hair done by Gary even after my mom died. He eventually opening his own hair studio called Illusions. I only started going elsewhere when I moved away from my hometown.
But for my mom getting her hair done was something special. The fact that she shared her special time with me made it special for me.
My favorite memory with my Dad is when I was seven and he took me fishing for the first time at Georgetown Lake in Southern Indiana. Before we headed to the lake, he went to Ayr-Way and bought me my first fishing pole (it was black and white) and then stopped at a little store near the lake to buy night-crawlers.
When we got to the lake, he spent 5 minutes assembling my pole and baiting my hook (being a seven year old girl I was a bit squeamish about things such as worms, I am not now.) He demonstrated two or three times how to cast and them left me to figure it out while he assembled his own pole. I am not sure why his was disassembled since mine was never taken apart after we got it.
A few minutes after I made my first cast, I felt like my line was snagged on something. I called my dad and he said I had a fish on my line. He told me how to reel in the fish. I did as he said and found a beautiful bluegill at the end of my line. Dad took it off the hook for me and re-baited my hook and went back to what he was doing.
A few minutes later, I felt another tug, so Dad came back over and we repeated the process. This happened two more times and them my dad announced it was time to go. He put the 4 bluegill I caught in a bucket of water that I was responsible for in the car and we left.
After I showed the fish I caught to my mom, Dad and I walked down to the creek and set the fish loose. Dad said they would find their way to the river.
Looking back, I feel sorry for the fish, but I loved the one on one time I spent with my dad that day. Our first fishing trip lasted about anhour and he never got to assemble his pole, but they memory he created will stay with me forever.
I was 5 when I got my first bicycle. It was a beautiful blue Schwinn. I loved it. I rode it around for two years and then my Dad decided it was time for the training wheels to come off. For weeks he and my mom ran along behind me holding the seat, and then letting go hoping I would keep going on my own. Of course I crashed every time. Finally one day, my Dad got tired of it before I did, and said he was going in. I picked up the bike, got on and started pedaling all on my own. I did it. I rode a bike without training wheels. I will never forget the look on his face that I did it on my own after all the times they tried to help me.
I have a fond memory of these. My parents would get these from the local store. Once a week they would let me sit down and put them in the redemption booklet. Just before my birthday, they marked in the catalog everything we had enough full booklets for and I was able to pick something I wanted from that.
I have noticed that in the last few years, I have outgrown a fear that I have had since I was four years old. The fear of locking a stall door in a ladies room. I know it sounds funny, but there was a reason for the fear.
My parents and I went out to dinner in a seafood restaurant. Of course being four, I had to go to the bathroom. At that age it was impossible to eat out without needing the use the restroom. They fascinated me, especially one I had never been in. Anyway, my mom took me and went into the stall with me. I finished up and we got ready to go back to the table and the stall door wouldn’t open.
I watched as my mom struggled with the lock for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. Finally she gave up and we waited for someone to come in. No one did. Then mom realized I was small enough to fit under the door. She told me to go let my dad know what happened.
So there I was, a small, very very shy little girl, crawling out from under the stall. I opened the restroom door that felt like it weighed as much as I do. Then the hard part. I had to walk across the restaurant to the table my dad was sitting at. I was terrified. Being so painfully shy, I felt like everyone in the restaurant was watching me walk. But my mom needed me.
I made it to my dad and told him what happened. He let the staff know and they had to take the stall door off to get my mom out. I was proud that I helped my mom, but for years after I was terrified of locking a door in a public bathroom. In fact, I didn’t lock them I kept one hand on the door to hold it closed.