Barling, Arkansas, circa 1962-1964
We moved to Barling, Arkansas, a few weeks before Christmas, not long after Dad returned from his second tour of Korea in the Army. It was my sixth move. At that age, moving was simply part of life, something I accepted without question.
We settled into a duplex apartment with exposed brick walls inside. To me, it felt special. The apartment itself was simple, but to the little girl I was, it seemed like something grand.
Across the street was an empty stretch of land where my older brother Glenn and I spent much of our time. I would often take a spoon from the kitchen drawer to dig in the dirt. One of the boys who played there told me that if I dug too deep, I might hit the devil. One day, while digging, I struck something white and pointed. Certain I had found the devil’s horn, I ran in fear to Glenn and the others. It turned out to be nothing more than a rock, but for a moment, it felt very real.
Mom and Dad became close friends with a couple named Joe and Gussie, who lived a few blocks away with their daughter, Barbara. When they decided to have Barbara baptized Catholic, they asked my parents to be her godparents. Years later, we saw them again after returning from Germany, but after that, we lost touch. I looked Barbara up many years later and learned she had passed away in 1999 at the age of forty-seven. When I told Dad, he recalled that she had been a sickly child, and perhaps that explained her early passing.
I remember stopping by Barbara’s house after getting yet another pixie haircut. Their stone house sat near the beginning of our street, a familiar place in my memory.
That summer brought a small swimming pool in our yard, where Glenn and I played while Dad stood nearby grilling. After supper, we often had watermelon. Dad warned us not to swallow the seeds, telling us a watermelon might grow in our stomachs if we did. It sounded believable enough at the time.
I never rode in a helicopter, but I did pose beside one at Fort Chaffee. We also spent time there with Joe, Gussie, and Barbara, enjoying picnics, swimming, and simple afternoons together.
A girl named Susie lived next door. She was about my age, and we played together often. Other than her and Barbara, the names of the children I knew then have mostly faded.
Sunday afternoons sometimes took us to the Non-Commissioned Officers Club, where I would dance to songs like “Let the Little Girl Dance” and “Peppermint Twist.” I did not think much about it then, but those moments stayed with me.
I remember visiting people my parents knew and noticing, for the first time, the deep red dirt that covered the ground. One woman showed Mom how to make tacos, and afterward, it became something we had often. It is still a favorite memory.
While we lived there, Mom got a sewing machine and began making clothes for my new Barbie doll. I had wanted the blonde doll with long hair, but Mom chose one with dark, short hair instead. It was not what I wanted then, though years later, after I met my husband Larry, I finally got the doll I had wished for as a child.
As a young girl, I loved washing dishes. I imagine I did not do it very well, but I enjoyed it all the same. That feeling did not last as I grew older.
While we were in Barling, my younger brother Kevin was born, just nine days short of being six years younger than me. After years of being the youngest, it took some adjusting. Eventually, I found it better to help with the baby than to feel replaced. Momo came by bus to stay with us and help Mom when Kevin was born. She was there for my birthday, and the next month, we traveled back to Opelousas to spend Christmas with family.
That time also brought dreams I still remember. I often dreamed of a small door in the wall beside my bed. In the dream, I would open it and step through into a place filled with witches flying, like something from a fairy tale. Before waking, I would return through the door to my bed. Another dream had me in a swimming pool that felt impossibly deep, sinking lower and lower until I woke up. Even now, I still have unusual dreams from time to time.
In Barling, children had to be six years old by October 1 to start school. My birthday was in November, so I had to wait. Back home, I would have been able to start that year. Because of that, I ended up a year behind throughout my school years.
We attended Mass at the chapel at Fort Chaffee. Chaplain Wilfred Menard noticed that I understood as much as the children in Glenn’s catechism class. He asked my mother if I could make my First Communion. She agreed, and I did, before I had even started school. I was the only child receiving Communion that day. I believe it may have been Easter Sunday.
I remember hearing that God always was and always will be. Even as a child, I struggled to understand that. I asked the priest, but his answer did not bring clarity. Over time, I came to realize that some things are not meant to be fully understood, only accepted.
We lived in Barling for about seventeen months before Dad received orders to return to Giessen, Germany, his second assignment there. There were no quarters available for us at first, so we went back to Opelousas while he made arrangements. About four months later, we joined him.
Years later, my husband Larry and I went to Barling. We visited the duplex where I had lived. The woman who lived there welcomed us inside. It was much smaller than I remembered. The brick walls had been painted white, and the kitchen had been changed. A deck had been added to the front.
We also went to Fort Chaffee, which had since been privatized. The chapel where I made my First Communion still stood, now used for weddings. Larry took photos of me on its steps, just as he had taken one of me in front of the duplex.
There is something about returning to the places that shaped you. They may look smaller, quieter, or different than you remember, but the feeling of being there again never quite fades.
