Spotlights in My Life
Frances Kendrick
English I
June 7, 1942
I
I was born at 9:00 o'clock on February 14, 1927. Though it really wasn't my fault, I think sometimes that the world might have been happier without me. But it can't be helped now, and so I'll attempt to tell a few incidents out of my very adventurous career.
At the tender age of fourteen months, when I was just starting to walk, I decided to go out and explore the outside world. The little red brooder house where I was never allowed seemed to be sufficiently fascinating, and so I very industriously endeavored to transport myself there first. I don't remember what happened after I crawled through that small six by eight inch door (which was really meant for the chickens only) but my parents remember, after searching and hunting for me everywhere, seeing me emerge out of that door with one baby chick clutched in each fist by the neck. Naturally, this occupation couldn't be continued, and so my father, being a very kind and understanding man at the time, explained that I must not do that because the chicks were dead, they wouldn't move. This was all very interesting, I thought. Five minutes later I again appeared crawling out of the brooder house. And of course with two baby chicks. My father then decided that a different means of persuasion seemed to be necessary -- and so I received my first spanking.
II
One year when I was about six years old I received a beautiful doll for Christmas. Of course I had received a bunch of dolls before but this one was especially valuable to me because it had real hair. It was different too, from the long curls I wore at the time (and which I detested heartedly). Her hair came just to her shoulders and she had adorable little bangs.
One rainy day everything seemed rather dull, so my brother hit upon the brilliant idea of playing barber shop. He said I could be the mother of the doll and I would bring my little girl to the shop to get a hair cut. I saw no objection to this, and so I dressed my doll in her best, and, after lecturing her about how one should behave at a barber shop, we strolled in.
"Just trim it on the ends," I remarked sweetly.
"Aw no, gee whiz, that would be no fun. We gotta bob it."
"But what will mother say?"
This question was scornfully and disgustedly ignored. After the operations were almost completed we heard Mother coming. So I pushed my doll and the scissors under the pillows at the far end of the bed. I was sure no one would ever find her.
The next day Ted and I trooped innocently off to school. A neighbor lady stopped and left her little girl with Mother. Little did the poor child know what she was walking into: She was still rather young, but perfectly capable of getting into mischief. Mother sent her into the living room to play. Naturally, when Mother came in later and saw a dolls leg sticking from one of the pillows, curiosity prompted her to see what was under the pillow. There was the doll, scissors, and all. The evidence was strong.
Mother told me about it when I reached home that night. Naturally I was heartbroken.
III
My first day in high school was an experience which I shall never forget. I knew one teacher well -- Mr. Dutler. The other teachers were strangers to me. They all had one thing in common. They were so superior. In grade school I would think nothing of telling my teacher that she didn't know what she was talking about. The situation was different in this school.
I spent the noon hour wandering around. Somehow I got the impression that the noon hour of every day would be the same. I hope this doesn't shock the reader too dreadfully. I really was glad to hear the bell ring.
My first impression was one of ______ confusion. I think that the number of teachers in the building was partly responsible for this.
I sincerely hope that the audience who watched the stunts at the carnival enjoyed them. Because I did not. Now, really, I don't have anything against the carnival. Neither do I condemn Miss Dueringer or Miss Baehner in their choice of stunts. But my memory of both stunts is very unpleasant.
Our freshman stunt was named "Wild Nell, the Pet of the Plains." I was perhaps, wild once or twice, but I cannot claim the title "Pet of the Plains." The other characters were introduced, and then I entered. The audience recovered, presently and the play went on. At the climax I, desperate because of being jilted, was supposed to stab myself. Dramatically I walked forward, arms outspread in desperation. Suddenly, my mind was made up. With determined movements I grasped my mean knife and plunged it into my heart and fell with a thump to the ground. The hero rushed over and took my pulse, then reverently he removed his hat. The curtains began to fall. I began to feel triumphant, as I lay there. I wondered how they liked it. Well, I thought it was over now. I opened my eyes and started to get up. But as I did so a roar rose up from the audience. The curtain had not closed completely. I felt (and looked) like a fool.
The last item on the program was a jig by the girls glee club. We were dressed in fragile paper skirts. Everything went smoothly until we did the step where we kicked. I heard a snap, and I knew that the string on my skirt had broken. I hurriedly backed off of the stage accompanied by howls of laughter.
They say that the older one gets, the wiser he gets. I'm sure I must be an exception to the rule. Just as now I look back and think how foolish I was at four, at forty I will probably look back and think how foolish I was at fourteen.
My hobby has always been drawing people. Even when I was four I was drawing girls of my own imagination. My grandmother said that all my people's faces looked alike. My mother said that all a waste of time and perfectly good paper. Cleo was insulted when I showed her a sketch of herself. Mrs. Swearingen remarked "My, my, who's the artist?" was slightly sarcastic when two of my sketches fell out of my home ec notebook. But I always manage to ignore these, and keep on drawing. I like best to draw a person while watching them. I never try to improve them afterwards because I like to keep my impression of them at that moment. My first impression of Miss Schwabe was put down on a piece of paper. It really doesn't give anyone a correct idea of how she looks.
I really have no special ambition for the future. When I was small people were always asking me what I was going to be. I always answered "I don't know." I guess that's still my answer. But whatever comes along I hope will lead to an occupation that will always be as amusing to other people as that of my youth.
Paintings of Midwest farms, roads, and crops exactly like my grandparents' farm in Melvin, Illinois, circa 1960s to 1980s, by artist Harold Gregor.
