Babies Born During Wars
You might wonder why I, of all people, would be writing about War Babies. Well for one reason, I have strong feelings for children who have a mother or father off in a War. “Why,” you might ask me. Well, I was a war baby. It affected the person that I am today. I am a saving person. It is hard for me to let go or to lose anything. This might have something to do with all the rationing during World War II and later being unable to have any children. Back then, Mom had taught me to pray on my knees before bedtime for my Dad. Though I cannot remember, I do believe she also took me church. When I was two or three, I stole a small ceramic dog and cat from a store. Mom took me back to the store and made me give both back. However, they would not take them back. I still have the little ceramic dog. When I was married, Mom saw the little dog on my shelf and remembered what had happened, and she bought me a little ceramic cat to replace the one I lost.
I was born in 1942 and my mother found it hard living off the money that Dad had sent home. I have no memories of him until I was almost four years old. Dad came home when I was still three and was home on my fourth birthday. Mom baked me a cake, and he pretended that he wanted to scrape out the icing bowl. This caused me to feel guilty, because I would not share the bowl or spoon with him. I guess it took me a while to adjust to having a dad around. However, I was one of the lucky children. Not all children had fathers who returned. All my uncles and father had come home alive and in one piece. I still have vague memories of a sad voice coming out of a box (radio) telling about all the young men who had become casualties.
My mother and I lived in a World War II housing project. Mom would take me to visit her friends, relatives, and my grandparents, who were divorced. She once told me about leaving me with an Aunt while she went shopping. She said that when she returned her sister came to the door hysterical and crying, saying that as soon as I found out that she, my mother, had left, I screamed, and would not stop. Today I wonder, wouldn’t any child under such circumstance do this? After all, dad left and hadn’t returned. Mom was the only person who cared for me, and she, too, left without saying anything about leaving me there. Mom said she thought I wouldn’t miss her because my cousin and I were playing.
During that time, many women took over the men’s jobs. Since they were inexperienced, many of the jobs were not probably done up to par. In my teens I nearly died. I has hospitalized and learned I had a rare type of Tuberculosis, one that starts in the stomach. Doctors found it after my appendix ruptured. This same doctor explained that only babies and very young children caught this disease, because they have no immunity. He said it came from contaminated water, milk, and food. It later spread into my reproductive organs making it impossible for me to have children. In a way, the children I would have had ended up being a casualties of that war.
I learned about my father through pictures, which my mother often showed me. She even took a picture of me holding a framed picture and pointing to him while sitting in a little red wagon. She even had some done professionally, which she send off to him to show him how much I had grown.
The Army taught Dad to be a Medic and sent him off to Europe to care for the wounded. My first memory of him as a real person came in the middle of the night when he returned home. I woke up seeing him standing over my crib and looking down at me.
The picture above is of my mother and me. Mom had it professionally taken during the war. This is an oil painting that I did from that picture. Wars affect children, too. I know from experience.
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