Family Lore

balloony

This photograph of my brother (sucking his thumb) and me was taken in 1960 in my grandparents home in Wichita, Kansas.  I remember being very proud of our "muscle man" sleeveless t-shirts.  My brother always required a deflated balloon when he was feeling sleepy.  He'd rub the end of it against his upper lip and bottom of his nose.  Often my brother misplaced his "loony" and became impatient.  My dad would hurriedly blow up another balloon (color was insignificant), then stick a pin in one end so it was freshly deflated.  Then my brother could chill-out.  I'm certain that parents today would consider having a child fall asleep with a slippery wad of latex near their mouths pretty much out of the question.

hammerfamily

In this photograph (1961) I'm sitting on my grandpa's lap.  My Grandpa Hammer worked as an editor and librarian for the Wichita Eagle newspaper.  He also was an avid collector of coins, a numismatic, and often gave his grandchildren silver dollars for birthdays.  Grandma Hammer made sheet after sheet of Christmas cookies of dizzying shapes, colors and sprinkles.  All of the cousins would sit at our own little card table at family holiday dinners.  Grandma Hammer was a geneologist  who painstakingly typed family lineages on a big black typewriter in her office in the days before word processors and the "information age".

bobby

This photograph (1958) includes my Grandpa Bixler (upper left), his dad (my great grandpa), my mom and dad, and my beloved Grandma (Ruth) Bixler.  My dad is petting Bobby-dog, a maternalistic boxer who guarded me ferociously and followed me everywhere until I was in second grade when some mean person poisoned her. Great Grandpa Bixler had lost his right eye long before I was born while cutting and making chainlink fencing. Grandpa Bixler, Grandma Bixler, and Great Grandpa Bixler are buried in a lovely rural cemetery in Turon, Kansas,  a small farming community to the west of Wichita.  My mother's remains are enshrined on top of a grassy hill, shaded by an edge of post oaks on my little brother's farm in Jones, Oklahoma.