Embedded Files
Maxine's Story
Dean
The decision to bring another baby into our family was not made lightly. I was no longer the naive bride nor the hopeful young mother of one, expecting medical science to help me through a pregnancy with comfort. No, I knew the price to be paid---for the next nine months anyway. But then---nothing happened---nothing. Unlike the first two pregnancies which came easily, we found ourselves watching the months roll by with no 'baby' in sight. How long did I wait before I made an appointment with Dr. Thompson? The exact dates are forgotten, nor are they important. What I do remember are the regular scheduled visits to his office for the 'current' (circa 1950's) medical treatment for infertility.
Nothing at all like the help that is available today---January, 2002. We had no drugs---though I was placed on thyroid tablets. Every month I endured a procedure that involved burning of the cervix. (I'm including this bit of information to make a point. It may not have been the dark ages---but then it wasn't too far removed either---at least we didn't use leaches or blood-letting!
We followed the doctors advice. More vacations---less stress---And I did get pregnant. Twice. Both ended in miscarriages. Grief. Back to Dr. Thompson and his treatments Hank's work was going well---we were a busy happy family, but we wanted a baby---all of us!
And then it happened! David was nine years old, Barbara turning five. We had by then joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and from that perspective gained a new and deeper appreciation for family---and the importance of children. We wanted a baby---for all the right reasons!
Suddenly I knew I was indeed pregnant, and this time nothing went wrong---not only we had a baby coming but also the greatest Christmas gift we could have hoped for---our child was due on December 25th, 1957. Such happiness for all of us. I found this pregnancy no different from the other two with one exception---a sleep problem---I couldn't get enough. I believe I slept all summer. It was embarrassing. I had two children who were very active, and I believed in keeping them at home and under supervision. Not that summer. They spent much of the time with the neighbor children across the street. I kept apologizing to my neighbor---who seemed to understand---and continued to sleep.
Somehow the time passed and after those first 4 months I did begin to feel better. As Christmas approached I managed to organize my life and had everything ready, fully expecting to be gone on the 25th. It was with much surprise when I realized my labor had started on December 18. Still I was ready and anxious to get this over with.
Having had two easy (well drugged) birthing experiences, there was no fear really about this approaching delivery---but this was five years later. Medical Science had taken a sudden turn around concerning the danger to mothers, or more importantly the child, in the delivery process. I had no knowledge of this. There were no birthing classes or hospital tours nor was there much said by my Doctor, who was a family Physician in general practice.
After initial preparations and getting an assigned bed I began to feel pretty uncomfortable. There was something else new. Daddies could now come into the labor room! Not the delivery room---just the labor room. Wow! That was pretty exciting---only it wasn't! Hank got pretty bored with nothing to do as the hours drug on. I was struggling with the pain and becoming increasingly anxious when a nurse appeared and assured me she could give me something to help me relax.
She administered a shot in my arm and I waited impatiently for relief. Suddenly Hank declared "Oh no! I can't take this---your eyes just crossed", and he was gone! I didn't see him again until the whole thing was over. Whatever part of me relaxed I couldn't tell (except my eyes )---surely it didn't help the pain. It was terrible---and I thought would never end---but of course it did and at the end I was given enough of some drug that I never saw the birth.
I was told he came out yelling---my new son, eight and a half pounds. The first time I saw him he was sucking his thumb. Later on, when he was fussy I tried to reintroduce his thumb to his mouth but he had apparently decided against it.
When Hank saw him his immediate comment was "there is my partner", and that did come to pass.
The next day after giving birth, I woke up with a terrible cold. The hospital staff decided I should not even be close to my baby, and for the next two days they only gave me a brief glance from the doorway. I was so miserable I didn't care. I had a private room with a view---the scene was so beautiful, both day and night, not that I stayed awake to enjoy it! There were carolers and a special mood created by the holiday, I slept through most everything.
Finally on the third day I was rested and feeling good and ready to go home. Home for Christmas---with a baby boy. It just doesn't get any better than that. We all felt that a new baby was the best Christmas gift of all. He was a happy baby our Dean Neil---named for no particular reason other than I liked it. (And there was that jock in high school.) In fact he was more than happy---he was downright excited! About most everything. I used to think "this baby is as happy to be here as we are to have him". He had big round blue eyes---with a wide awake look that seemed to say "let's go"! And there were a lot of places to go. We took him with us everywhere.
Both David and Barbara loved caring for him, so I had lots of help. Barbara hadn't started school yet and was available and anxious to play with her brother---and that is exactly what she did. Played house---with a real live baby. She was careful with him and knew how to handle him so well that I finally just relaxed and let her have him.
It did bother some of our visitors to realize that the doll our little girl was playing with was our baby. She never dropped or hurt him, not once. I, on the other hand, did. With a sudden move one day, he flipped right off my lap, and though he was unhurt, I felt terrible and guilty and resolved to be even more careful.
Baby number three is so easy---gone is the anxious hovering and nervous observation of every breath---the 'over' mothering! Whoever found a diaper in need of changing---changed it. Whoever wanted to feed him did. Nothing got sterilized. And I had a lot of volunteers.
His bright eyes took in everything, and as soon as he gained the use of his hands, he grabbed everything. I had a bushy green plant that stood on the mantle near the doorway by which we entered the bedrooms. He never failed to make an attempt to grab a handful. On one occasion he was sick and feverish, and I was more than a little concerned---until I carried him through that doorway and he grabbed the plant. I knew he would soon be fine.
He was fascinated with the sky---and anything moving through it. He could spot an airplane or a bird ---especially ducks and geese---even before I could. I find it interesting that he still sees ducks everywhere we go---after 44 years continues to point them out to me wherever we are. Just this week we had dinner in Pioneer Square, downtown. At the Thomas Kincade Gallery we stopped to look at the paintings in the window, and he pointed out the ducks ....
By summer we were ready to go camping. Our baby, by then known as Deanie Bug (named by friends, and it suited him), was a great camper. It was a hot summer so I simply took a small oval tub along, put him in a few inches of water and gave him a wash cloth to play with. Happy, happy baby! He grew browner and browner, his hair got whiter and his eyes grew bigger and bluer ... He was so cute!
We spent a week at Lake Chelan in Washington in August. Everybody seemed to enjoy our good baby---until in the middle of one night in that crowded camp ground. He woke---and for some reason began to cry loudly, apparently afraid of the tent. I carried him outside and he found the night sky with the brilliant stars fascinating---and we quietly watched for a couple of hours until he again fell asleep. Weary and anxious to get back to my sleeping bag, I carried him into the tent---and banged his head on the tent pole. Wo! At that point he woke up the whole camp ground. We spent the rest of the night outside the tent and the next night both of our beds were made up---outside. He never went back in the tent again.
He ate lots of com on the cob that summer---baby food? No, he liked whatever we were eating. As a result he got diarrhea and I suppose due to our casual lifestyle---though I did take him to a doctor---he just didn't get better and it became quite a problem.
We still used the old flannel diapers---though I believe there were disposable ones by then. Unless you have had a child with chronic diarrhea, you cannot begin to understand how difficult it was to keep him clean and comfortable. (A diaper changed in the bedroom could easily be detected all over the house!) I have to laugh at men today who refuse to change even wet diapers---and I've known a few. I had a ten year old son who would willingly tackle those diapers. Some of them, especially on camping trips, I simply couldn't face even washing, I burned them.
I remember saying to Hank, "I think we'd better stay home for a while". It wasn't long after that we bought a new and exciting addition to our camping trips---a camper that rode on the back of a pickup! It was the first one we had ever seen! We thought it a wonderful way to vacation with small children. Dean didn't exactly start walking, he started running! And it was up to me to keep up with him---and to keep him safe. I paddled him for every offense ---and he was full of offenses, but his attitude was always the same. It was worth it. Whatever the punishment. It was about this time I felt we weren't exactly socially acceptable and so we stayed home a lot.
I couldn't trust him with baby sitters, and surely not his grandparents---he was much too busy. His Dad and I enjoyed every minute. At that point we may have been the only ones. Surely my parents didn't have much tolerance for a two year old with mischievousness just popping from his eyes. In their home at dinner time we would have him fold his arms until the prayer had been said---just to keep him out of the food. We soon found out he could reach a lot of stuff with folded arms.
He didn't need help! For anything. If he wanted a drink of water he climbed up on the counter-top and swinging by one hand while he opened the cupboard door, get a glass and fill it. It used to amuse visitors who often commented on his independence.
As Dean became older we discovered how to make long trips more fun---and also how to stay awake as the hours rolled by. We would stop and take him up front.
The other two liked the back well enough, they could read or play games---or sleep---but Dean was too filled with anticipation and excitement. His constant watchfulness and happiness over everything and anything just made all trips fun and enjoyable.
That excitement was heightened by any part of nature---sighting a real live animal brought squeals of joy and bouncing all over the cab of the truck. Had he been born a few years later, his style would have been severely cramped by child-seats and seat belts. Fortunately we never had an accident and somehow managed to keep all our children safe by just hand restraint when we applied the brakes. And just maybe, guardian angels!
That exuberance over nature flowed over one spring day when Dean was about three or four years old. I was in the basement washing clothes---my machine was a new Maytag wringer washer---and I was proud of it. (I believe there were modem automatic washers available at that time, but I stubbornly refused to consider such a water-waster.)
On the night before there had been a wind storm and a PGE transformer blew out almost right in front of our home---causing a great deal of concern. So there I was downstairs, wringing a large garment through those double rollers, when the door burst open and Dean, in his most excitable high energy voice, yelled "MOM MOM MOM, COME QUICK, COME QUICK, COME QUICK! And I just left everything as it was, running to rescue him from whatever was happening outdoors---where dancing around with eyes ablaze with happiness he said "THERE'S A BLUEBIRD IN THE CHERRY TREE!"
By the time I got back to my washing machine the wringer had stalled and the motor was pouring black smoke---burned out. I remember we replaced that motor---not even really upset---it was just part of the price we happily paid to parent this exuberant child.
There were a few other occasions that also proved costly. He took a hammer and tapped his Dads' new pickup back window in five places. He was two or three years old, and Hank was more amused than angry. He also took that same truck on a drive through a service station lot by simply slipping it into gear when Hank left it idling---stopped by a phone booth and just missing both other cars and Barbur Blvd. There was that guardian angel again.
Actually that G. A. was kept pretty busy. I remember the day when a young boy from our neighborhood rang the doorbell and breathlessly said, "Mrs. Hansen, did you know your baby is on the roof!" No, I did not know! Neither did I know that someone had left a ladder leaning against the house. He and I both reached that ladder about the same time, but since I was about eight months pregnant at the time I gave way. The poor young man was starring at my middle and saying "I think you had better let me do this", and somehow he did.
Dean was not afraid of heights at age two, nor is he afraid now. This has led to adventures he doesn't talk to me about---nor do I want to know.
Dean's first day of school
Our good friend and neighbor Bob Gillmore stopped by today and I asked him what he remembered about Dean as a little boy. Without hesitation he said "He was always doing something in the shop". And indeed he was. The shop held little interest for David---who had a more scientific bent---but anything mechanical---all men's toys or tools were more than interesting to Dean. He couldn't be trusted! His dad used to say "I've got to be in that shop when Dean is---I'm afraid of what he will attempt". Welding, power tools---he couldn't wait!
At an early age he began to maintain his bicycle---something David had never done. In fact he changed the oil on David's' motorcycles. Soon he was building bicycles from parts. One of particular interest was a bike built up-side down. At least the frame was upside down. I can't explain it, I just know he did it.
This led to doing his own car mechanics---which he still does to this day. (Somewhat.) He was quick to make changes in a frame, lower or raise the body, change the wheels, add on extra 'cool' stuff. The Jeep he bought used to lay all over the driveway in hundreds of pieces, and every time Hank would shake his head and say "that thing will never run again", but pretty soon it did!
He had one favorite car fixed up so well he wanted me to drive it. When some high school boys saw me get out of it they stared and said "that isn't your car, is it?" Far too cool!
He was around ten when Hank bought a wrecked Volkswagen, and together they created a dune buggy. It was a wonderful learning project. He was allowed to drive that little yellow buggy anywhere he wanted to go on our own property. That soon extended to the neighborhood---but not on the roads.
When he turned sixteen Hank suddenly decided to sell it, considering it a death trap for a newly licensed driver. Dean wasn't happy about selling the buggy, but by then had his sights on bigger and better cars. Dean and I had a couple of experiences with this machine. I drove it to a lake on the other side of Mt. Hood, following Hank in the pickup---when suddenly the horn began to honk---and wouldn't stop. It was very unnerving but Dean just said to pull over, and he jumped out, raised the hood and in a minute fixed the problem. He was perhaps twelve years of age, but very knowledgeable and gave me needed assurance that we could do this. That was a long trip in a dune buggy but it was fun to have it in the central Oregon dessert.
The first experience I had with it was about the time it was being finished. I had to go out to the shop early one morning to get a can of gasoline (we had our own tank), for an employee who was stranded and called for help. When I opened the garage door the first thing I saw was smoke coming out from under the dune buggy! I panicked! Dean was still at the school bus stop in front of the house. As I ran into the office to use the telephone I yelled "FIRE"---and he came running. While I called the fire department he crawled under the car and pulled out the oily rags that were smoking! They immediately burst into flames upon receiving more oxygen, and he quickly put them out---while I canceled the fire department.
We found him in the basement trying to blowup David's big safe---with firecrackers. We took a picture! He went into the chicken business and built his own coop. He came in one evening just as I had dinner on the table, with the blood pumping like a fountain out of his arm---a board with a nail had fallen across his arm, and we spent the dinner hour in the emergency room.
He decided to become a trapper and managed to free the neighborhood and Fanno creek of several varmints before he caught a hawk with a 6 foot wing-span. He thought that a great idea---to have a pet hawk, and put him in the dog run---until someone pointed out how illegal it was. The bird was turned loose.
Another time he brought a baby beaver home. Cutest baby we'd ever seen. One call to the zoo and beaver went back to the same place he came from. Duck hunting was his joy---the fact that his gun shot bee-bees didn't worry him. He was sure that his aim was better than his Dad's. We found ourselves eating duck one night that actually had bee-bees in it. He had of course, planted them there but felt he had proven his case nonetheless. That enthusiasm over duck hunting disappeared during his early adult years but has been resumed lately and with the same zeal he had as a boy.
He has never lost his interest in guns---and has a great assortment of them. Other than ducks or target practice they have had little use. He lost interest in deer hunting many years ago. He did hunt pheasant and quail with Hank at one time. He now raises pheasants to 'give back'.
Fishing was another passion---and still is---mostly fly fishing, catch and release. As a little guy he accompanied his Dad and became an avid salmon fisherman. They spent a lot of time in our little water skiing boat on the mouth of the Nehalem river and very successfully too. It was Dean who caught the thirty five pounder, probably the biggest fish ever to be brought home.
When I visit that area now and see the power of the ocean and the tide on that river I am appalled that we ever let our little boy into that small boat in such dangerous circumstances. We really must have had divine protection.
We were having such great times---and it just continued. We drove everywhere---all over Oregon, Washington, and Montana, dragging our boat and camper, enjoying the outdoors and our family.
Hank and Dean got trial bikes---then his turned into motorcycles, another passion. His love of dirt biking and his fearless jumps were more that I could handle. I remember praying a lot.
Dean had to share the family pets. He didn't like cats but did love dogs! This has led to some beloved dogs, Wolf, and Judge for instance, with great stories that I cannot take the time to write, but do hope he will.
His one exclusive pet while still at home was a parakeet. He picked this bird out and paid for it with his own money. He told me once that his 'Pretty Bird' wasn't actually the one he pointed out to the pet shop clerk! But it was a happy union! He loved that little bird. His name wasn't Pretty Bird but rather Blue Peter (or something similar), however his best and maybe only phrase he ever learned to say was pretty bird, so that is what we called him.
They played games those two---I was the one who ended up cleaning the cage and making sure his water was fresh and the seed bowl filled---and he bit me every time I got close. He was Dean's bird and he knew it. He followed him around and sat on his shoulder whenever he could. He would share whatever he could of Dean's food---let himself be carried in a pocket or up a sleeve and be thrown like a baseball---run up and down the hardwood floors, racing a crawling Dean---then flying just enough to catch up. If left in the house he would sit in the window and watch and scold Dean for leaving him---He was Dean's constant companion, and I believe never bit him---not once.
We had this fun bird for years---then one bad day the inevitable happened. He flew freely around the house and on this particular occasion, in the flurry of things, he was caught in the closing of a door.
I can't remember ever hurting as I did to see this boy having to accept the fact his little bird was dead. And then taking the responsibility himself to put him into a little box and then burying him. I cried for days---we all did I think.
It became clear to us early in Dean's life that we had a budding artist. He drew things that looked like they should look. In grade school he won the contest on 'safety in the home' by drawing an outlet plate crowded with far too many plug-ins. I asked him where he had ever seen such a thing---his answer, "Mom, you have them all over the house."
1964 ~ Courtesy of the Tigard Times
His Thanksgiving turkey picture was published in the local paper.
He told me once that DoDo gave him his start. Dorothy DoDo Nelsen was our good friend who taught the Jack and Jill class to the four and five year olds while the mothers attended Relief Society.
His exuberance was a challenge to his Primary and Sunday school teachers. He was the child who always got to sit right at the teachers side---or hold her hand if there was any place to go. But he was DoDo's favorite. One morning she brought a special treat for her class, to be a surprise. Since Dean was there early, she showed them to him---explaining this was a secret and not to tell anyone.
At the proper time she reached for her box of treats and they were gone! A frantic search ensued---finally involving some of us mothers. We found them eventually, hiding away in an empty class-room. At that point the little culprit came forth and demanded that these were SECRET! And nobody was to know.
Dean might be playing his 'air' guitar,
but if not then he is driving his car
Music came naturally to Dean---just the harmonica at first, though he had piano lessons. It was just too hard to practice regularly---he preferred to learn on his own time.
At sixteen he announced his intention to pick pineapples in Hawaii for a summer, and then did. We bought him a bigger and better harmonica to take with him. He came home with a guitar---we never saw the harmonica again. A trade. He was very good at trading---usually bettering himself. He became a fervent guitarist, self taught and unfortunately as far as his parents were concerned, loved 'rock and roll'.
When did he begin his bricklaying apprenticeship? Hank had proclaimed him to be his partner the first time he saw him. He wanted both his sons to learn his craft, though he always said they could choose for themselves whether or not to use it.
Dean couldn't have been very old when he was taken to the job and taught to work---even if it was just moving brick, one at a time. He learned very well. Over the years I have heard numerous comments from those who've hired him about not only his skill, but also about his work ethic. He did try other jobs, but eventually came back to work with his Dad and was with him at the time of Hank's retirement.
He had a way with money that differed from our other children. Shopping at Fred Meyers for instance, where there was a wide variety of merchandise. If he was with me he hurried me through saying "Don't buy that! We can make it at home"---whatever it was. Until we got to the grocery department and the seafood section. At that point he had complete melt-down. Excitement over any or all of it---he loved seafood and still does!
We had a 'Family Home Evening' activity one night where everybody took fifty cents, and going to the store, picked out anything they wanted to fix for dinner. (Remember this was over thirty years ago---prices have changed.) Dean's choice: Squid. He cooked them and we did eat them, or tried to---they were so tough! But he thought them delicious.
He never 'nickled and dimed' his small earnings away but rather saved his money to buy something of value. In that way he was able to buy a car at sixteen. With his saving---trading skills, worked that into a series of cars, jeep, van, trucks, that became pretty impressive. Though the one new car he bought, a Volkswagen Scirocco, was sold to pay for his mission for the church.
He has parlayed this love of cars through a Corvette convertible to the present day Dodge Viper and a beautifully restored 1968 'muscle car' Dodge Charger. And a work truck that is his current pride and joy.
There are also a lot of other men's toys gathered along the way---listing those would take another book. The guns and the bikes---the fly rods, boat and the quads. His Air-stream trailer he has restored---etc., etc. What makes his mother happy is the way he cares for his treasures. Everything in it's place and carefully taken care of. The most organized pole-barn and/or garage I have ever seen. As is his cute 'A' frame house. He never stops making improvements---always planning on future projects.
Perhaps the most unusual of his projects as a young man (still living at home), was what he called a gravatram, An amazing contraption it was! Using a dozens and dozens of welding rods (I think that is what they are called), he welded all together in a series of drops and inclines and falls and lifts, until they made a complete and balanced track for a steel ball. Once put into motion it was a wonder to watch. Circles and turns, racing downwards until it reached the bottom, where it was picked up mechanically and lifted to begin the whole process again. We entertained visitors for years with this great toy. He actually made two of them---the only ones we ever saw, outside of OMSI. It was there he got the idea I suspect. He worked there part time through his high school years. There were some great stories that came out of his OMSI experience---maybe another time----
This has taken me into his adult years, where I never intended to go! It seemed logical and I've enjoyed the memories it has brought back. It is not my intention to write my children's life stories---though I'm sure they would like me to. Only their birth stories and some of the early years. Since my assignment for my writing class at this time, January 18, 2002, is to write about one of my children, I chose Dean because it was his turn. I wrote about David and Barbara last year. Susan will be next, depending on my assignments.
I love writing about my family but shudder to think of their reaction. I'm quite sure they will take exception to some of my facts, and maybe not approve of my choice of their stories. I've left things out---this I know. If they feel something should be included or enlarged upon, I can only say "go to it". And I hope they will. They are good writers, all of them. Better than their mother.
There is one sweet memory of Dean's early years that I've not forgotten. We were at a lake---probably Chelan, and we had had a big day. I was dealing with fatigue even then and leg weakness, even though I didn't know why. So it was my practice to sit and watch him play and not get physically involved. He understood this and seemed to like having me just there observing---whatever he was doing.
The day was ending and he was a tired and wet little boy---about three years old. He was not only wet but covered with sand---and someone had given him an ice-cream bar and it was melting. So he came to me and sat on my lap and cuddled up---water---sand---sticky with chocolate and ice cream---growing cold---it didn't matter. After a time Hank said "let's go". He just snuggled in closer. "NO" he said. "Me-n-Mom's havin' fun"! And so we were.
He came into our family, this happy third child, with a zest for living that captivated us all. Yet he had a sensitivity that was surprising in a boy with such high energy. I was hanging my washing outside one beautiful spring day, when an absolutely monster size spider ran across the concrete pad. I was in house slippers, and Dean, who was about three years old, was in cowboy boots. I yelled "step on it---step on it---step on it! And excited, he did. Then burst into tears. Surprised, I said "What is the matter"? and he answered---"he wanted to go home to his mother."
Coming into a family in third place has it's problems. He didn't get quite the same parents the first two got. We were older and busier and more distracted. He didn't seem to notice---had his own agenda! Bouncing into this world, this little guy had more vigor than his parents did. I used to think, "I'd better stop giving him vitamins and start taking them myself!"
It would have been easy to just stop there and feel we had our complete family. But even he seemed to know there was another baby to come. Almost his first word was 'baby'. He chatted endlessly about babies and we searched every picture book for babies---he wanted a baby! I am convinced he knew from before he came to us, that their was another child that would come to our family. It was with his encouragement and anticipation that we soon planned for our fourth child---his baby---and he was not yet two years of age. His love and influence on her will be recorded in her story.
His story has not ended by any means and I can't wait to learn of his next adventure. He still shares them with me (though made less dangerous in the telling I think, to calm my fears.)
He has always known I love him---and I always will. And that sometimes I slip and call him Deanie Bug. He doesn't seem to mind.
Pages 86 - 101
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