Most of me was born in Utah. Try as I might, I have had to rely on the recollection of my parents for details of this story. It is probably a good thing I don’t remember it. I am told that Mom did not have labor with me. Her water broke and my foot came out at home. I can only imagine the frantic and rapid sequence of middle-of-the-night events, as arrangements were made for the care of my brother Wade and sister Julie, and then Dad and Mom got into the car for the rocket-like trip to the hospital in Logan, Utah. The reason I wasn’t born at home was due to my other leg being stuck. When Doctor Bishop freed my other leg and I did emerge into this world, the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck twice. Thank goodness for the wedged leg and the skilled hands of a physician. Dad was 33 years old when I was born, Mom 29, Wade 10, Julie 8.
Home was in the rural farming country in the town of Preston, Idaho. After the customary stay in the hospital for that time period, I was brought home to Address: 687 North 8th West, Preston, Idaho 83263, located in Franklin county. This would be the only house I lived in until moving away to attend college at age 18. Preston was primarily an agricultural community with the town population being roughly 3,300 in 1970.
Because Dad and Mom had wanted another child so earnestly, and yet it took several years for that to happen, when I was brought home it was a greatly celebrated event by my family. I’m told Wade and Julie could hardly contain their excitement when riding home on the bus the day I came home. Later in life, I actually asked my mother if I was an “accident.” She assured me that I was not. I was probably spoiled to some degree being so much younger. Well, wait! I should not kid myself. I was spoiled, but not bratty (Julie may debate this when she was a teen and I was an obnoxious little brother). I lived in a home surrounded by love, and was taught the value of caring, good manners, hard work, the joys of learning, and engaging in wholesome country-kid play.
Dad was a mechanic and used his skill primarily with agricultural equipment while working at the local John Deere dealership. Mom was working as a librarian, first at the public library and then at Jefferson Middle School. They worked as a complimentary team to create a love-filled home. Dad enjoyed gardening, fishing, and music as his hobbies. Mom loved to read, be out in nature, and work in the yard.
Wade was my hero (he has been good with children from my earliest recollection). He loved planes, and assembled many models of them to decorate his room. As soon as I was able, I would climb out of my crib to sleep with him. He ended up letting me sleep with him all the time. In retrospect, a noble and generous thing for a 10 to 14 year-old brother to do. Julie was a wonderful big sister. I successfully filled the role of annoying little brother as I got older. I never remember complaining about going to church when I was real young. Why? At church, after the sacrament was given to the congregation, I would lay my head on Julie’s lap. She would glide her fingers over my face and through my hair. I fell into a blissful sleep until I was awakened after the closing prayer. I wonder if I drooled on her lap sometimes?
The house I was brought home to sat on just over an acre of ground. Lots of trees were on the property. Lilac bushes and apple trees were the most plentiful. House, lawn, and driveway covered two-thirds of the property, and garden area the back third. It was a modest, single-level home my parents said they bought for $8000. It had a combined kitchen/dining area, a living room, three bedrooms (one bedroom was more like a small office), one bathroom, a mudroom in back, and covered front porch. The basement was for food storage only and had a pump in it to push out water that came in during the time of irrigation ditches and flood irrigation of the fields around us. During the 1970s an addition was added on the west end. Or, I should say, part of an addition was added. Economic inflation hit strong during that time, and the outside was finished while the inside remained used as a storage area for decades to come.
At that time, the closest neighbors were a few hundred yards in either direction. McEntire brothers, who were farmers, were on the north and south. The Roper farm was across the road to the east. Farm ground was all around the house, and the local airport was the closest structure to the west about three quarters of a mile away. On our mile-long road there were only about nine homes along the whole stretch in 1969.
The first memories that come to mind as I sit here, unprompted by stories from others, is that of attending preschool at the McEntire’s just down the road. I don’t know how long it took before Mom trusted me to walk there on my own, and how much longer, if ever, it took her to let me walk there without watching me the whole way….maybe never.
I do recall two specific things from this time: A cartoon Superman was on a cereal box. I cut it out, with blunted scissors, and Superman “flew” with me to preschool until he wore out. Also, when it came time for tying shoes, I was frustrated to tears that I was not understanding how to do it like the other kids. No matter how many times the teacher showed me how, I just couldn’t get it. For a four-year-old it was so traumatic. I am sure I had shown tendencies before then, but it was discovered that the reason I was having such a hard time is that I was left handed, and it was being demonstrated to me right handed.
We gathered as extended family nearly weekly. We either met at our home or at Grandpa and Grandma Byington’s home that was also in Preston. At that time, believe it or not, most televisions received only three or four stations. Each Sunday night Disney would televise one of its movies. Also at that time, you either went to the theater to watch a movie or you watched it on one of the limited television stations. There were no other options. We would gather nearly every Sunday night to watch the Disney movie, pop popcorn to eat with cheese, drink Kool Aid, play games and talk. When I was little, I thought the movie was the focus. No, I was mistaken. As I grew more mature, I realized the movie was an excuse that created a lasting family tradition.
I continued this tradition with my own family. Even with the evolution of available entertainment because of VCR and DVD players, (and later internet streaming) we would either rent movies before Sunday, or check out some from the local library. Even when I was working away from home in North Dakota during 2012 to 2014, I kept this tradition alive. Whether I lived in an apartment or travel trailer, on Sunday evenings I would pop microwave popcorn, put a family-friendly movie in a DVD player, and if possible, invite a coworker in that area to join me.
Grandma Byington had a stroke when I was six years old. Her personality and abilities changed because of that, so I don’t really feel I knew her well. She lived for ten years after the stroke and passed away when I was fifteen. In my young, limited way, I remember the dedication and care my Grandpa Byington gave her. Before her stroke he had retired and bought a camper and truck so they could travel together. After her stroke, he sold it all so he could care for her.
Grandpa was known for his organization, skilled hands with woodcraft, sharing short quotes and inspiring stories, and his testimony of Jesus Christ. Because Grandpa and Grandma Moosman had passed away before I was born, and with Grandma Byington’s stroke, Grandpa Byington was the only grandparent I really felt I knew. He did an excellent job of filling that role. He was a noble son of God.
Friends. Living out in the country with not a lot of houses close by, my friends came from school and church. My two closest friends during the first years of kindergarten and elementary school were Jeff and Casey. They moved away before elementary school was over. Mom worked at the public library during my youngest days, and she dropped me off at a family called the Burks. I enjoyed spending time with those kids too. On our street Chad Noyes lived about a half of a mile away. As time moved on more houses were built on the road, and I remember playing (and sometimes getting in arguments) with Jason Roper, Dwayne Gebs, and Scott Fredrickson. At church were also Randon and Ryan Neagle (twins), Adam Gleason, Brian Baxter, and probably many others that I should remember but cannot recall right now. Besides playing football with them (no organized league for kids then, just casual kid-led play time), we were involved in cub scout activities together.
I learned to occupy my time creatively. I loved making things out of boxes and tape. I remember making a box robot as big as me. I would spend hours with the little, green, now classic, plastic army men, and little plastic cowboys and Indians. Wade gave me an army doll that stood about 11” tall when he felt too old for it. Stony was his name. He and I had grand adventures together. As an adult, I gave him back to Wade as a Christmas present. (As I am writing this personal history, I grew nostalgic and decided to look online to see if a Stony doll was still available. I found one and bought it. Definitely an impulse buy based on emotions. I am excited. I do feel like a little boy again just waiting for that package to arrive.)
I am told that I nearly died as an infant due to being allergic to my formula. No one could figure out what my problem was. It was my Dad, by inspiration, that suggested changing my formula. I did spend some time in the hospital for surgery because of a strangulated hernia. I think I was four or five when that happened. I seemed to have regular lung issues, most often in the form of chronic bronchitis. This condition seemed to flare up until my late teens. I believe it was an improved commitment to regular exercise that helped me overcome this condition.
Wade and Julie had pets. I remember a ginormous dog named Lash that Wade had. Julie had a Siamese cat, and a Pekinese dog named Dushka. I remember my Uncle Kenny and Aunt Bonnie gave me a white Malamute puppy as my first dog, but that dog and Lash chased cars, and that was the demise of my first pet. I don’t remember seeing its body after it was hit, maybe Dad and Mom spared me that sight. But, I do remember sobbing violently holding only his detached white tail in my hands.
The pet I had the longest was Phantom. I have no idea what breed he was. He was black and white and on the long-haired, small side. He slept in his own bed in my bedroom. He was a good dog. He tolerated my boyish teasing. He was still in our home when I left for college and to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His end finally came when a neighborhood dog attacked him, and his old body could not withstand the blows of the young, bigger bully.
As with many kids, I tried several sports: basketball, baseball, wrestling, football, soccer. The two that I gravitated to were football and soccer. For some reason I was unusually large for my age, and remained so up until about age 15, then peers started passing me in weight and size. You know how they say girls grow faster than boys? Well, in middle school I was about the same size if not bigger than most of the girls, even then. When I played eight years of AYSO (American Youth Soccer Organization) soccer, mom would often tell me parents were complaining on the sideline because they thought I was too old compared to their boys and could use my power and strength to get the ball most of the time I wanted, legally of course. I usually played the defensive position called Sweeper. I played in front of the goalie. My legs were strong, and I could easily kick the ball far upfield to protect our goal.
My size is why I liked football. I was hard to tackle, faster than most, and my coordination was good. Mom would say that I ate, drank, and slept football for a few years. I must admit football probably occupied too much of my time. The Pittsburgh Steelers pro team was consistently one of the best then, and I watched them play as much as I could. I was a fan of Terry Bradshaw, Mean Joe Green, and Lynn Swann. But, my hero was Franco Harris, the running back. I became a member of his fan club, had a signed picture of him on my wall. (A picture I received in the mail.) One Christmas I received a Pittsburgh Steelers football uniform with shoulder pads, helmet…the works. I put Franco’s number (32) on my shirt.
During the 1970s and 1980s, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was trying an experiment with the Native American population. Conditions on the reservations were not very conducive to allowing a young person to break the cycle of alcoholism, low education, and to some degree a pervasive cultural laziness. So, they started the Indian Placement Program. During the school year, kids from the reservation would come and live with families in developed, Christian areas. During the summer they would go back to their reservations for three months. Dad and Mom were concerned about me getting lonely at home since Wade and Julie were leaving as they were so much older than me, and they decided to participate in this. Darrell Nelson Cadman, from the Navajo tribe in New Mexico, lived with us for eight school years. I’d say on the whole it was a good thing. There were times he and I got along well, and times we didn’t. I think that is typical of brothers close to the same age especially. One reason Darrell came to our home specifically was he had severe arthritis. Dad had challenges with arthritis too. While in our home, due to proper diet and health care, his symptoms subsided a great deal. Unfortunately, each summer when he returned to the reservation he did not, or could not, keep the same habits, and he came back to us at the end of the summer in physically struggling conditions because of it.
Darrell terminated his own participation in the program during his teen years. There were rules to follow about conduct which included no tobacco or alcohol. The last year he was with us he would sneak out of his window often, and spent time with kids doing things they should not. I don’t know how much alcohol he drank, he didn’t smoke that I knew of, but he chewed tobacco. Occasionally, I hear from him every few years, but he has had a rough life because of a series of choices that do not produce health or stability personally or in relationships. So, I look back on it with mixed feelings. I am glad I can say I had and have an Indian brother, but also sad for what I know he could have become had he not made the choices he did.
Dad and Mom were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We lived in the Preston 3rd ward my entire life, and went to the same meeting house. At one point it was extensively renovated and remodeled, but it was a source of joy and stability in my life. I was baptized at age eight. I will discuss it later in this personal history, but as an adult, and gaining an understanding of other world religions and other organizations, I am still in awe of the inspired multi-faceted aspects of this Church and have made it a choice to stay active in the religious practices.
I asked Wade for a memory I would have been too young to recall. Here it is: “The first one to pop up made me laugh out loud….hadn’t thought about it in decades! We were all sitting around the dining room table having supper. You were in your highchair next to Mom by the parakeet cage. No clue as to how old you were, but we were working on counting to 10….A LOT. As I recall, the numbers came up several times during the meal between mouthfuls…when suddenly outta nowhere, a high-pitched squeaky little voice ripped through those numbers fast. Of course we all looked at you first in amazement, but you were looking all bug eyed and open mouthed at the bird just as it finished the last 3 digits. I remember just about choking on whatever was in my mouth as realization of the bird counting, a whole lot of sputtering, and uncontrollable laughter erupted around the table. I may have even fallen off my chair at some point. The sudden ruckus kinda scared you a bit. The look of shock on your face as the whole family went slightly crazy was totally priceless! I remember Mom trying to get out some soothing words between gasping for breath and fits of giggles. Once you figured out everyone and everything was really alright in spite of all the howling going on, you joined in. It was TOTALLY AWESOME!!!!”
