March 15, 1966. March 6, 1967. July 19, 1971. Three dates that will live in love and infamy in the lives of Don and Marjorie Scooler. Why? You ask. Those are the birthdates of our three children, Christine, Jim and Jeffrey.
Recently, Jeffrey requested that I write a post about what I learned from my young’uns and what their impact was on my life. There is no way I could do adequate justice to that request in a short blog post. I’d need to write something as long and exciting as “Gone With The Wind,” but I’ll open the door here and nibble around the edges of the subject matter. Let’s see what that looks like.
Impact——. March 15, 1966. There we were. Lt and Mrs Don Scooler, a young, happy couple, married less than two years. Practically honeymooners. Don is an Air Force navigator, who flies overseas a bunch.
Ergo, every time he returns, it’s like Christmas, cause of the goodies he brings home, and it’s also like another short honeymoon, cause he’s only home a few days before he’s gone again on another Air Force mission.
He’s obviously home long enough for Christine and Jim to happen. Jeffrey’s gotta wait for two more Air Force assignments before he shows up in cold country, Denver, Colorado, in 1971.
Sometime about 5 PM on that fateful day, Marjorie felt the first serious pangs of labor. We lived about a block away from Roper Hospital in downtown Charleston. So, on doctor’s telephone advice, we casually walked to the hospital and checked in. We laughed and talked a lot while walking, tittering about how special it was gonna be to have a tiny baby in the house.
At 8:14 PM, Christine arrived without any complications, and our lives were changed forever. This absolutely precious, tiny baby girl is dependent on us (well, mostly Marjorie) for EVERYTHING.
OMG we’re parents!
Our first born was so good, but she conned us. We could take her any place, and she always behaved like an angel. We thought all babies would be like that, so guess what? We had another one less than a year later. Yes, less than a year. Welcome. James Joseph. OMG! First, he was two months early. Therefore, he weighed in at 3 lbs 13 oz. A regular roasting chicken. At that time, 1967, a baby born two months early had less than a 50% chance of survival. But, my son was a tough hombre. And the Good Lord blessed us by giving him the strength to beat the odds.
Let’s see. Christine rarely cried; smiled a bunch and was very pleasant. Jim, on the other hand, yelled a bunch, and I thought if he’d smile his face would break. Toughness equated to orneriness, I guess
So now it’s the fall of 1967. Jim is still an infant. Christine is only about a year and a half old. We’re ready to start our Air Force family journey.
We first leave the familiar environs of Charleston and head to Columbus, Ohio, where I can pursue my MBA degree, by order of the US Air Force.
Lesson learned from the children—- When they are infants, life is so easy. Sure, your focus is on loving, caring, feeding and nurturing these wonderful, little kids of yours. And that’s a big job and sometimes a scary time, like when one of ‘em spikes a 102º temperature.
BUT—-you have total control.
No schools or dear friends they have to leave when Uncle Sam requires us to change addresses.
And He did. In spades. Before I graduated from Ohio State with my coveted MBA, I got my orders to Vietnam for a year. So I shlepped Marjorie, Christine, and Jim back to Charleston for a year, while I vacationed in Nam. LOL
I left Marjorie with the sole responsibility for a two and three year old for an entire year. She is the real hero of our family.
The next chapter of our family’s history was our 4-year tour (‘70-‘74) at the Air Force Accounting and Finance Center in Denver, Colorado. Christine and Jim become walking, talking, thinking and feeling children spanning 3 to 8 years of age. Our control is slipping away and they are growing up so fast. Oh BTW, our wonderful son, Jeffrey, arrived in July, 1971. Now we are a quintet.
Our time in Denver was the most stable period for the kids. My flying days were done. I was home most of the time. We lived in an upper-middle-class rental apartment called Canyon Club in southeast Denver on Happy Canyon Road. Sounds like the locale of “Happy Days” or “Leave it To Beaver”.
Things we did for fun together—driving through mountains, picnicking in parks (Jeffrey’s favorite pic), vacationing in South Carolina, playing in the club the pool, and generally taking advantage of the good things Denver had to offer.
Christine and Jim like to remind us that we believed in bedtime at 7 pm for them. Denver in summer had daytime until about 9. The kids remember looking out their bedroom windows at their friends still playing. They also remember frequent usage of our young next-door neighbor, Terri, as a babysitter, while we enjoyed our evenings out. Remember, I said we didn’t qualify for “Parents of the Year”. Enuf
