Betty Jean Wood 1938
I thought I would share some of the
stories of each of my siblings that were told to me by Mother, Daddy, and
around the family table by everyone when we all used to get together and do
that. Since Betty was the first born, I'll tell her story first. (Always good
to start at the beginning, right?) Also, her birthday is March 28, 1937 (today)
so the timing is perfect.
Daddy and Mother had been married
over two years when they learned they were to be parents. Back then there were
no fancy pregnancy tests, sonograms, or even rabbit tests to detect pregnancy.
There was only nature's way of telling a woman she was with child, as there had
been for centuries before. Mother said she knew exactly when she was pregnant
with Betty because suddenly she couldn't eat, what she did eat she couldn't
keep down, and the smell of cigarette smoke, food, and even doing the wash (on
a washboard, by the way) made her violently ill. This continued all the way
through the pregnancy and even through labor. Mother lost weight and Dr. Hunt
was worried about her, but the baby seemed fine and grew in a grand fashion. A
very grand fashion. So grand that Mother couldn't see her feet five months
along.
Back in the 1930's in Texas,
once a woman was showing, it was expected by some of the older generation that the
mother would not be seen out in public unless absolutely necessary. Grandmother
Wood particularly thought it shameful for a pregnant woman to be seen in public
and so was completely outraged when Mother would go to town with Daddy for the
Saturday shopping. Mother said, "You would have thought I was acting the
harlot instead of just going to town with my husband to buy groceries and
supplies. She would barely speak to me through most of my pregnancy. Of course,
she didn't like me anyway because I took away her son and my going out in
public while pregnant was the last straw with her. I didn't stop going, though.
I got lonely and loved to see everybody in town." Isn't
amazing how things have changed? Pregnant women now have no such societal restrictions
about appearing public. The very idea seems ludicrous.
In 1937, when Betty was born, women in rural areas still had their babies at home. There was not even a question about whether they would go to a hospital or deliver at home. That did not occur until World War II when a shortage of doctors created the necessity for women to go to town hospitals to deliver their babies. Mother went into labor and Daddy drove to town to get Dr. Hunt and bring him back to the little house near Woodrow to assist with the delivery. The labor was long and tortuous for both baby and Mother, lasting well over a day. At one point, Daddy and Dr. Hunt went outside a few minutes and Daddy offered Dr. Hunt a cigarette. Dr. Hunt normally bought pre-rolled, packaged cigarettes, but Daddy rolled his own. Daddy thought Dr. Hunt acted a little odd after they smoked their cigarettes but thought nothing of it. Years later Dr. Hunt told Daddy that was the strongest cigarette he ever smoked and he was so dizzy he could barely stand up after smoking it. Nonetheless, shortly after smoking that cigarette, he was able to deliver Betty Jean Wood, who weighed a whopping 9 pounds 13 ounces. Forceps were required in the delivery and Mother cried when she first saw Betty because she had little marks on her head from the forceps. Suturing was required for Mother and she was completely spent. Betty, on the other hand, was in fine condition.
Mother said Betty was a very good baby who never cried unless hungry or wet and slept through the night fairly young. Betty was always a good child, quiet and serious, loving to read more than anything else. The love for reading caused problems between Mother and child as the years went by. As Mother told it, "Betty was always finding a place to hole up and read, especially when I had housework for her to do! I never could find that girl and by the time I did, I'd be mad as a wet hen!"
Betty did well in school, but was quiet and non-competitive, which drove Mother nuts. Mother was competitive and wanted all of her kids to be popular and active. Mother often told stories about how Betty wouldn't "put herself out to be more popular, when she was the cutest, smartest girl of the bunch." One particular episode was a real sticking point between Mother and Betty. Betty became a very good twirler, but was too shy to try out for the twirling squad at school. She instead taught several of the other girls how to twirl and especially Betty Smith. Betty Jean taught Betty Smith so well that the girl became the head twirler. Mother was really disappointed and just didn't understand. This episode revealed the real differences between Betty and Mother. Mother was extroverted and competitive with others, especially women. Betty was introverted and competitive mainly with herself. Despite these differences and the difficulties they caused over the course of their lives together, Mother loved Betty deeply. She didn't understand her, but she loved her.
Betty and Daddy were quite a bit alike and so got along fine. They both liked quiet, reading, and talking politics. They seemed to see the world through similar eyes and when together could, and would, spend hours discussing the state of the world at large and American politics in particular. I think Betty and Daddy shared a special bond because she was his first child and first daughter.
Betty grew up to be a beautiful woman and an extraordinary mother. She had a kind heart and gentle spirit that could be bruised easily by unkind or thoughtless words or actions. She weathered many difficulties through life with aplomb and grace. She never complained about her difficulties and often no one in the family even knew what she was going through because she didn't talk about it as most of us would. Every Saturday morning for years Betty, Mother, and Daddy would talk on the telephone for an hour or two. (Betty lived in Southern California. Mother and Daddy were in Texas.) Yet in those long telephone conversations, Betty didn't complain or even share what was happening in her world at the time. Daddy was particularly attuned to Betty and periodically would sense that she was going through a difficult patch and would send her a little money. Betty never asked for help, though. Daddy somehow just knew when she needed some encouragement and a little assistance. They were always very close, mostly without words.
When I told Daddy that Betty had
cancer in 2004, he cried. Not just cried, but sobbed. When she died on November
26, 2004, just a very short time after her diagnosis, Daddy broke. He had been
strong for all of his 90 years, but Betty's death was the final blow from which
he could not recover. His Alzheimer's became full blown. Even in his foggy
mental state, however, he would often ask about Betty and how she was doing. (The
social worker had told me that if Daddy asked about people who had died, to
just say they were fine and not to tell him that they were gone because to him
it would be like learning of their death over and over again.) Numerous times over the last year of his life, Daddy would say, "I haven't heard from Betty in a
couple of weeks. Is she doing alright? She's had such a difficult life and is
such a sweet, good person. I worry about her." I'd always respond with,
"Oh, Betty is doing fine. She said to tell you she loves you and hopes
you're doing well. She'll call soon, I'm sure." Daddy would say, "I
love Betty. She was the prettiest baby girl you ever saw and always so good.
Tell her I love her too." Soon enough, they got to be together, once again.
The love between parents and child lasts longer than life.
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