Growing Up McConnell

This story is based on a letter my sister Sherfy sent me. Before I turn you over to Sherfy, let me introduce her. She was the baby and was always fun to be around. She was one of three really great storytellers of us kids Here are her memories (as only she can tell them) of our childhood:

"I have so many memories of Growing Up McConnell, it's difficult to know where to start. I think my earliest memories are of living on Macon Ave. and visiting people. I was big into visiting people when I was a child. I remember My Friend Helen, who for a long time Mom thought was a little girl, but Helen was actually in her 60s or 70s. She lived on another street, and I don't remember how I got to know Helen, but I do remember visiting her.

I remember growing up at Beargrass Christian Church. I remember when we were in the old sanctuary and how Lawrenson would drone on and on and on. And I remember Mr. Cassiday's deep, booming voice belting out "Amen" at the end of Lawrenson's prayers.

I remember when we moved into the new sanctuary, and we always sat in the front row of the balcony. I remember one time when Mom forgot to take off her slippers, and she went to church dressed to the nines--with fuzzy slippers on. Remember her hats? Mom loved her hats. My particular favorite was a black one with a big red rose on the front of it. You and Bill called it the Coal Miner's Hat. I also remember Mom's stomach growling really loud during a church service, and you leaned over and whispered, "Next time, kill it before you eat it." Mom laughed out loud.

I remember a church function in the old Fellowship Hall down in the basement when I was five or six. Jack Acree asked me to dance, and I stood on his feet while he twirled me around. I felt like a princess. I thought Jack and Mary Jo were very glamorous.

When I was in second grade, our Sunday School teacher (I don't remember who it was) made the terrible mistake of saying to us, "Of course you children know there is no such thing as Santa Claus." We were devastated. I remember getting into the car that day and announcing that I now knew the truth, and Bill hissed, "Way to go, stupid! Now NOBODY gets a stocking!" And he was right. That was the end of the Christmas stockings, and all my siblings groused at me about letting the cat out of the bag.

I remember when Mom and Dad built the house in Ten Broeck and we moved out there. The first day of school that year, I remember when you and Bill left to catch the bus to Worthington School. I was only five and still too young for school, and I was really bummed that morning. I loved De Brudders and missed you both something fierce when you went anywhere without me. Mom felt sorry for me that day; she picked me up, set me on her lap and fed me her breakfast of egg on toast and bacon. I don't think a meal ever tasted so good as that breakfast.

That was the year Fannie McCroskey brought Susie to us. I so loved Susie!
She was a wonderful dog. I remember the year when we were all on different shifts at school. Susie faithfully came down the hill to meet each one of us at our respective buses. She never missed a bus, I don't think. When I was going through all the angst involved with being a teenager, I would go outside, hug Susie, and cry and cry.
She was a great listener.

I remember her completely unreasonable hatred of the nice little man Dad knew--
I think his name was Mr. Morrison. He was a kindly old man, but for some unknown reason Susie hated him, so I always got sent out to hold Susie so poor Mr. Morrison could get into the house without being attacked. Susie also hated Billy Joe Freibert from Freibert's Garage, and she despised black people. I remember Mom sending me outside--I was six years old--to hold Susie so the garbage men could get the garbage. It makes me laugh now, because if Susie had really wanted to light into those guys, I'm pretty sure my six-year-old self wouldn't have been able to hold her back. At the time, though, I wondered why the men kept their eyes on us and gave us such a wide berth.

One time when I was coming home from a date, the guy had said something to me that ticked me off when he pulled into the driveway. So I didn't bother to call Susie off when my date got out of the car and Susie jumped up on him. The guy was terrified and said, "Does your dog bite?" I said something like, "I hope so."
Susie died the summer John [Browning: her husband] and I started dating.
I still miss her.

Remember Mr. Weikel? He was apparently quite wealthy, but I didn't know that as a child. I just knew that he showed up at our house on Saturday mornings, and Dad would always put him to work on some project around the house. Then Dad would invite him to stay for lunch, and we three--you and Bill and I--would be absolutely mesmerized watching Weikel eat the soup Mom invariably served. Weikel evidently had Parkinson's, because his hands shook so much that there was never any soup left on his spoon by the time he got it to his mouth. It was fascinating watching the poor man try to get something to eat. I often wondered why Mom continued to serve him soup, but I never thought to ask her.

I remember waking up on Saturday mornings to the sound of you thwacking baseballs against the backboard Dad put up for you in the front yard. My memories of summers are centered on two things: visiting Mother Mae in Georgetown for a week that seemed to last two or three months;and going to the Little League Park in St. Matthews just about every day.

I remember Uncle Hartsough being an ump for yours and Bill's games, and I remember Lula--the girl who used to live with us--hanging on the fence behind the catcher and screaming for justice for our team. My first airplane trip was when you were pitching in the World Series in Ohio. Mom and Dad had gone with you, but Kae stayed home with me--I was only five or six, I think. Then Dad called and told us to come on, that you had advanced to the final game. That was exciting! I was very proud to know my Brudder was such a great pitcher. I remember going to your games throughout your high school days.

The only vacation I remember us taking as a family was when we went to
Aunt Cordelia's cabin in Robertson County. I thought it was great fun, as I got to have Da Brudders nearby for a whole WEEK, and you couldn't go anywhere to hide from me. :-) We ate oatmeal with real cream for breakfast, and we swam in the river, and we played cards at night.

My perspective of our family is probably different from everybody else's. I always had a good relationship with Mama. She wanted to (rightly) kill me about 80% of the time, but we got along really well and were very close. Kae sees Mom as the distant parent, but I thought she was very affectionate and loving. She tucked me into bed until I was 17 years old! I remember standing at the top of the steps and yelling, "Mama! Come tuck me in!" when I was 16.

I received my parental affirmation from Mom. She often told me that she hadn't wanted me when she was pregnant with me, but she was happy to have me once I was born, and she was so glad God gave me to her. Mom said I was her "joy."

Kae thinks Dad was second only to God, but I thought of him as a very distant tyrant when I was growing up. We didn't have a decent relationship until I matured enough to realize that Dad was a flawed human who did his best with willful little me. When I was a kid, I only related to Dad when he gave me orders, asked me questions at dinner, and lectured me ad nauseum. In his defense, let me say here that I was a JERK to raise. My head was jammed WAY up my behind; I was a selfish little snot.

I felt tremendous security as a kid; I never worried about Mom and Dad divorcing, and I never had to worry about Dad not having a job. But my relationship with Dad pretty much stink, stank, stunk until I was grown. I was very proud of Dad, though. I was proud of his position at Lincoln Income, and I was proud that he was a church leader and a leader in the community. I was proud that he was so well-respected in Louisville, and I took great pride in the fact that he and Mom had such a good marriage. It was a real blow to me when I grew up and moved away, because saying "W.T. McConnell is my father!" just didn't carry much clout anywhere but Louisville.

I was also very proud of Mama. I very much admired her tremendous intelligence and her artistic talents. I thought she was a fabulous cook and a brilliant seamstress. I was terrified of her angry zingers; Mom could cut a person so far down they had to look up to see the floor. But she was also one of the funniest people I ever met.
And after I was grown I considered Mom to be my own personal concordance to the Bible. I miss being able to call her and say, "Mama, where is that Scripture that says such and such?" and she always knew.

And I was--and am--quite proud of my siblings, also. Kayce was so much FUN! When I was a child, being with Kayce usually meant a good time was to be had.
Of course she also worked me half to death, but she sure was fun. I appreciated Linda's kindness and intelligence. I loved your intelligence, your sense of humor, your athletic abilities, and--best of all--you were very patient with me. I know I drove Bill straight up a wall, but I loved him to pieces. I admire his writing abilities and his sense of humor. I think God was very gracious in passing on our parents' sense of humor to their children."