January 1967
At the daycare, they taught us to sing a song. “One Little, Two Little, Three Little Indians” in English. I thought it was so neat I could sing in this strange language.
February 1967
Bent came to visit again. I was excited to have him here again. I couldn’t wait to sing my new song for him since I knew this was the language he spoke where he came from.
Mom told us, she and Bent were going on a trip to Majorca for a week. While they were gone Grandma Helfred came to take care of Sander and I. It was great to have her at our place. While Sander was at school I didn’t have to go to daycare and I could have Grandma all to myself.
When Sander got home from school, I was playing with the doll that Mom had given me for Christmas. Sander told me to stop treating my doll as if it was a real baby. I held the doll close to me because I was afraid he would hurt it. He then grabbed it and started slamming it into the wall. Grandma would not stand for it. She kept telling him to stop, but Sander just kept on going. Grandma finally lost her temper. She grabbed a bottle of pop that was standing on the table. She threw it right at him. Sander managed to duck just in time and it crashed into the wall. The bottle was full of red pop so the whole wall was dripping. There was broken glass all over the place. It was quite a sight!
Sander never bothered me the rest of the time Grandma was watching us. Instead, he would wait for Grandma to fall asleep, then he grabbed her while he screamed at the same time. This would startle Grandma and Sander would laugh. Grandma told him not to do that again or she would have a heart attack. He didn’t care. He couldn’t wait to scare her again. I began to worry that Grandma would have a heart attack while she was staying with us.
When Mom got back from her vacation she was pretty upset with Grandma for making that huge stain on the wall. I was glad because it stayed there as a reminder to Sander never to mess with me while Grandma was around.
When Mom unpacked her suitcase she gave me a pair of red high heel shoes she had bought while she was in Majorca. They were just my size, I had a hard time walking in them but it didn’t matter because I loved them.
February-April 1967
Mom had to go back to work. Since Bent was still staying with us, I asked him if I could stay home. Bent smiled and said, “No, it’s better you go to the daycare.” Then he walked me there and at the end of the day he would come and pick me up again. When we got home Mom would make dinner and as soon as we had eaten she would put Sander and me to bed so that she could have the rest of the evening alone with Bent.
Mom would sit on the couch and watch T.V. with Bent. Since it was still so early in the evening Sander and I weren’t tired. We carefully opened the door and watched T.V. through the crack. Bent caught us. At first Sander and I were afraid he would tell Mom. But he just smiled at us. Sander and I thought he was just the nicest guy.
The next day when Bent came to pick me up from the daycare he brought me candy, he also gave some candy to my friends. All my friends thought I was so lucky to have a really nice cowboy staying with us.
It was the weekend and time for Dad to pick us up. Mom had us wait on the corner just like she always did. This time while we were waiting Sander got into the mud. When Dad came he told Sander he had to go back and tell Mom he needed some clean clothes.
Sander came back crying because Mom would not let him change his clothes. Dad went to talk to Mom. It was Bent who answered the door. Dad said he needed to talk to Mom. Bent told Dad to go away. Before I knew it they got into an argument. I was afraid they were going to get into a fistfight. Mom was standing right there. Dad told Mom he was paying a lot of money in child support so there was no reason we were always dressed the way we were.
It seemed like nothing got resolved, but when we got back from our visit with Dad, Mom told Sander and I that she got paid once a month and from now on we would take turns getting new clothes. The first month it would be Mom’s turn, the next it was Sander’s and then it would be my turn. This was how it went each month. I was always excited when it was my turn, I loved trying on clothes and getting something new to wear.
At the end of April Mom took another week off from work so that she could go with Bent to meet his parents in Skive. While Mom was away Sander got to stay with our dad again. I was told I had to go be with Mom’s Aunt Mabel. Since I wanted to be with Dad too I asked if I could go with Sander. But Mom’s answer was the same as the last time. I was told that I was too much for Dad to handle. Since I believed Mom, it made me sad that I was such a bad child.
While I stayed with Aunt Mabel I told her I was looking forward to my next birthday because I had never had a birthday party before. I was hoping this year would be different. Aunt Mabel asked why I had never had a birthday party. I told her because it was in July when Mom had vacation and I was always sent away to stay somewhere else.
Aunt Mabel had a neighbor watch me for a few hours, when she came back she had a present, all wrapped up. She made a cake and invited her grandson, Patrick, and the next-door neighbor girl to come over. Even though it really wasn’t my birthday I was so happy to finally have my very own birthday party!
Patrick was my second cousin. He lived just down the street from Aunt Mabel, so I got to spend a lot of time with him. Even though Patrick was a couple of years younger than me, we had a lot of fun when we were together.
When Bent got back to Canada he began sending postcards to Sander and I. We thought it was fun getting mail and started looking forward to it.
The Flu
A little while after Bent had left, Sander got really sick with a high fever. Mom had already spent her vacation, and since she didn’t want to take any more days off from work, Sander was left home alone. Mom would call home to see how he was doing. When Mom got home from work she had a toy for him. Mom told me it was because he had been sick. I thought Sander was so lucky to get sick so that he would get a new toy.
A few days later I came down with the same thing. I was six years old. Mom still would not take time off from work. She left me home alone. Before she left for work she told me to lie on the sofa so that I would be close to the phone. I was frightened. I asked Mom to stay home with me. Mom told me I had to be brave and that she would call me later to see how I was doing. After Mom left, I fell asleep. I woke up when she called. I told her I was fine, giving her the answer I knew she wanted to hear.
The next day I was still not doing much better. Mom left me home alone again. On the third day, I finally started to feel better. Since I had been sick just like Sander, I lay there wondering what kind of toy Mom was going to bring me. When she got home from work I asked her why I didn’t get a toy. Mom got annoyed with me and told me I would get a toy some other time. I was disappointed, especially since I had a fever just like Sander and because I had been so frightened to be left home alone. I reasoned with myself that it was probably because I was not as smart as Sander and I also thought that if I behaved better she would love me too.
May 1967-Met Great-Grandmother Anne Kritine Larsen
My great-grandmother, Anne Kritine Larsen, was living in a nursing home. Grandma Helfred asked Mom if we could take a trip to Alborg and go visit with her. Grandma’s sister, Ada, and her daughter, Edith, were also going to be there. They were coming from Germany.
I had heard very little about my great-grandma, so I didn’t understand who she was. While we were visiting with her I felt very uncomfortable with Great-Grandma looking at me. She reminded me of the witch in the story of Hansel and Gretel. I hid behind Mom’s dress. Great-Grandma pointed toward me and asked, “Who is that?” Mom explained how I was related to her. Great-Grandma asked who Sander was. Mom told her who he was. By then she had forgotten who I was. The same conversation started all over from the beginning. After this happened a few times I was even more uncomfortable. Edith could tell I was having a hard time so she offered to take me for a walk. I was glad to get out of the room. Edith only spoke German and we couldn’t talk to each other but I thought it was still nice to be outside in the fresh air.
4 Generations
Later, we had to go back to the room because a photographer had come to take our picture. It was four generations. In the picture, I wore the beautiful yellow dress grandma had bought me. Grandma told me how lucky we were to get this picture because Great Grandma was 89 years old. She died the following year.
My Hair
I loved my long hair. Ever since I was born only my bangs had been occasionally trimmed. As far back as I can remember people would look into the baby carriage and ask Mom how old I was because they were amazed to see how much hair I had. I began to understand not everyone had such thick long hair. It made me feel special. Mom always kept my hair in braids because it made it easier for her to manage.
I loved when I went to Dad’s on the weekend. He always let me take out my braids. Dad would brush my hair and do different things with it.
Whenever Grandma would watch me, she always told Mom that it was time for her to cut my hair. Grandma said it was just too much work. Mom told Grandma she wanted it left long and she was not going to cut it.
July 10, 1967
Mom went on vacation. As usual, Mom’s vacation didn’t include Sander or I. Mom went to Italy with a girlfriend. Grandma didn’t want to watch Sander because she said he was too much for her to handle so Mom had a member of our ward watch him. I was excited because, once again, I got to have Grandma all to myself.
Mom was barely out the door to the airport when Grandma told me it was time to cut my hair. I told Grandma I didn’t want it cut. She told me short hair would look so pretty on me. Besides that, it was summer and it would make me feel a lot cooler. Grandma would not let up on me. She finally managed to convince me that having short hair would make me look so much better. I trusted Grandma so I gave in.
Grandma got the biggest scissors from Mom’s drawer. She took one braid and hacked through it with the scissors, and then the other. I ran to look in the mirror expecting to look so pretty. To my horror, it was all choppy looking. I burst into tears. Grandma told me it looked terrible because it needed a trim. She had me sit still as she “trimmed” my hair. No matter how much Grandma cut it, she couldn’t get it to look even. When she was finally finished, my hair was even shorter than before, all chopped into all different lengths! I looked in the mirror hoping to see it looking better. I cried like I had never cried before. I would try to forget about it, but then I would go look in the mirror hoping somehow my long hair was back. No matter how much I cried or how many times I looked in the mirror my hair was gone! When Mom got back from Italy and saw my hair was cut, she yelled at Grandma. They got into a terrible fight. Grandma left crying.
Mom took me down the street to the barber where Sander always got his hair cut. In those days there were two different places to get your hair cut. One was called a Barber for men and the other was a Beauty Salon for ladies. Why Mom chose to take me to the barber I will never understand. When we got there she asked the man to fix my hair. I can still remember when the barber took the buzzer to the back of my neck. The raiser must have been dull or broken because it pulled at my hair and burned. I started to cry and said it hurt. The man looked at the buzzer and said it was fine and then he told me to be good and hold still. As he continued, I wanted to scream out, “Stop! You are hurting me!” Instead, I sat there doing my best to be good. To finish the job the barber shaved the back of my neck. I thought the barber was going to fix my hair, and not shave off what little was left. When he was finally done, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I looked just like a boy!
The next day when I got to the daycare the workers didn’t recognize me. They thought I was a new boy that had just enrolled at their center. At the end of the day when Mom came to get me, she could tell I wasn’t myself. When we got home Mom kept reassuring me that my hair would grow back.
That weekend when Dad came to pick us up, he was quite upset to see my hair was cut off. He asked me why I had let Mom do this to me. I felt like it was my fault. I didn’t realize just how much it meant to me, that Dad would put me on his lap and brush my hair. It was my one-on-one time with him. I went and got the brush just like I always did. Dad laughed, and then he said, “What do you want me to do with it?” He then told me to go get a comb and do it myself.
Dad told me never to allow Mom to cut my hair and that I was to let it grow back. This was much easier said than done, because every time my hair grew just a little past my ears, Mom took me back to the barber, just to have him give me the same haircut. I pleaded with her to let my hair grow back. Mom told me it needed to be trimmed so that it would grow back faster. Over the next four years, I was not allowed to have my hair much past my ears.
September 1967
I drew this picture because whenever Sander would hit me, I always wished he would get in trouble. I also wished that Mom would take him by the arm and get him away from me.
Fall 1967
This weekend Mom told me to stay home and that I could not visit Dad. Mom told Sander to go wait on the corner. I thought for sure when Dad didn’t see me, he would have the police come to get me again, but he never did. I waited all evening for Dad to come to pick me up. By the time I had to go to bed, I finally realized he was not coming. I thought Dad didn’t care about me and I cried myself to sleep. Once again Mom had said to Dad that I didn’t want to be with him and he believed her.
The next day, Saturday, I went outside by myself to play on the playground. As I was playing in the little wooden house that was by the sandbox two older girls came. They told me to go away because this was their private playhouse. I told them it was here for everyone to play with. They told me if I didn’t go away they would beat me. I started to walk off, then I turned and said, “I am going to get my mom and tell her what happened.” They yelled back, “Go ahead, and we will tell her it was you who is causing trouble.”
I stormed off and got Mom. I told her what had happened. Mom came back to the playground with me. When we got there I pointed to the two girls and said, “These are the girls I was telling you about.” I was so sure Mom was going to tell them I had just as much right to be there as they did. The girls then said to Mom that they didn’t want me there because I was causing trouble. Mom turned to me and said, “Is that true?” I assured Mom that the girls were not telling the truth. One of the girls then said to Mom, “She is the liar!” To my surprise, Mom then turned to me and said I had to be nice or else no one would ever want to play with me. As Mom and I were walking back, I turned to look at the girls. They were standing there laughing at me. I tried to tell Mom what had really happened, but she would not listen to me. Instead, she told me unless I changed my ways I would never have any friends and no one would ever like me.
Even though I knew I was innocent that day, it affected me for years to come. I was always afraid of making new friends and I was sure no one liked me. If someone was nice to me or became my friend, I was sure they were just pretending.
The next day Sunday I went to church with Mom and Grandma. After church, Grandma came home to eat dinner with us. I asked Mom to sing the song we had sung at church. Mom asked me what song I wanted her to sing. I told her the one about the horses galloping in the fields. Mom and Grandma looked at each other and at the same time they said, “What song are you talking about?” Mom assured me that we had never sung any song about horses. I couldn’t understand it because I was so sure I saw horses in my mind going through a field, a very large dusty field. I said, “It’s a song about horses galloping into a field.” Grandma got the songbook out and looked at the songs we had sung at church this day. Grandma found each song and sang it to me. When she came to the song called, Come, Come Ye Saints, I said, “Yes, that’s the one!” Grandma and Mom laughed. Grandma then finished singing the song for me. I asked her, “Are you sure this song has nothing to do with horses?” Grandma assured me that nowhere in the song did it say anything about them. I was confused, I was sure the song was about horses. From that day on, it became one of my favorite hymns. I ended up naming it, “Come, Come God’s People, Go Forth in the fields Galloping.” Every time I hear it, it’s as if I have heard it somewhere before.
Later, when I was 18 years old, I took a trip to Utah to visit with family. My Aunt Jytte took me to see Brigham Young’s grave. There by his tombstone was The song engraved in stone. I asked my Aunt why this song was there. She told me it was the song the saints often sang as they came across the plains with their horses. It was a song that gave them hope in their travels. I got goosebumps all over and I wanted to shout, “I knew this song had to do with horses in a field.” Instead, I said, “This song has always been my favorite.”
Later in 2006, I was asked to go with my ward to sing “Come Come Ye Saints”. The members and I were dressed in pioneer clothing and sang this song as horses were coming down the street. Once again I got goosebumps and I knew the song had to do with horses. It was the strangest feeling.
There are just something’s in this life that can’t be explained.
Leave a Reply