Leigh's Memories of Ron
Wyngate: Probably my first memory of you is when I was around 6 and you were a toddler. One day, as I was lying on the floor playing, you sat down on top of me. I struggled to get up and couldn’t and so began to call for reinforcements. The adults in the other room kept telling me, “You’re a big girl and he’s a baby, just push him off and get up!” Finally, someone came into the room and found you, sitting on my head—and I really couldn’t get up by myself!
My second Wyngate memory is the time Grossy was babysitting for us and you put your finger into her Schlitz beer can—and it got stuck! The next day, in Sunday School, we were talking about caring for each other and I shared the story with my class! Only in a German Lutheran church would such a tale be
Long Beach: One evening when we had company, you thought up a wonderful game that we called “elevator.” You were the operator of the elevator and stood inside the double, sliding-door closet. The rest of us were outside. When we called the elevator, you would open the door wide, announcing, “Elevator, going up!” We enjoyed the game for awhile and you got even more enthusiastic as we played, eventually opening the door with such force that it banged against the door frame. Dad, hearing the loud noise, came in to investigate. As your riders backed out of his way, you “arrived,” and began your announcement. When you saw dad standing in front of you, your call changed from “Going up!” to “Going oo-oo-oops!” And that was the end of the elevator game!
Karen's Memories of Ron
Do you remember
... when you were young and someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you replied, “a bus driver and a mother.” Raising five children, it seems you are, indeed, fulfilling your destiny!
... summers at the beach and on the boat in Indiana, and an especially exciting time in St. Joseph, Michigan, when an unexpected storm forced us ashore and we huddled together (along with the rats!) under a picnic pavilion, waiting for the storm to subside.
... vacations at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm, picking raspberries and other delicacies from the garden; eating “dinner” at lunchtime; “pumping up the cows”; swimming with the cousins at Tingley Lake; “boating” on the lily pond; riding the hay wagon and driving the tractor; and escaping from bats in the bedrooms.
... just like me, you wanted to play the accordion. Only you didn’t realize you would need to “practice.” In your youthful naivete you thought that paying for lessons and spending time with the teacher would enable you to play! (I think you had all of six lessons before Mom and Dad decided “enough was enough.”)
... our first (and last!) family camping trip to South Dakota and the windstorm that nearly blew us away early one morning in the Badlands.
... accompanying me on a road trip to Fort Dix, New Jersey, when you and I were teenagers. I particularly recall the drive home to Massachusetts. Unsure of which of the many “parkways” to take north, I stopped to ask directions—and you got out of the car, found a pay phone, and called Mom and Dad to tell them we were lost!
... your early cars: Corvair, Sunbeam, Montego, Valiant, and my personal favorite, the Cutlass F85
... close encounters with a guard rail and a tree, and moving to New York when faced with losing your Massachusetts driver’s license
... taking me to a Doobie Brothers concert at the Broome County Arena, pointing out the sweet smell that permeated the air and explaining to me what it was
On your 50th birthday, I want to thank you for sharing so many special times with me. May the years ahead be filled with many more happy (and memorable!) moments.
Wyngate: Probably my first memory of you is when I was around 6 and you were a toddler. One day, as I was lying on the floor playing, you sat down on top of me. I struggled to get up and couldn’t and so began to call for reinforcements. The adults in the other room kept telling me, “You’re a big girl and he’s a baby, just push him off and get up!” Finally, someone came into the room and found you, sitting on my head—and I really couldn’t get up by myself!
My second Wyngate memory is the time Grossy was babysitting for us and you put your finger into her Schlitz beer can—and it got stuck! The next day, in Sunday School, we were talking about caring for each other and I shared the story with my class! Only in a German Lutheran church would such a tale be
Long Beach: One evening when we had company, you thought up a wonderful game that we called “elevator.” You were the operator of the elevator and stood inside the double, sliding-door closet. The rest of us were outside. When we called the elevator, you would open the door wide, announcing, “Elevator, going up!” We enjoyed the game for awhile and you got even more enthusiastic as we played, eventually opening the door with such force that it banged against the door frame. Dad, hearing the loud noise, came in to investigate. As your riders backed out of his way, you “arrived,” and began your announcement. When you saw dad standing in front of you, your call changed from “Going up!” to “Going oo-oo-oops!” And that was the end of the elevator game!
Do you remember
... when you were young and someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you replied, “a bus driver and a mother.” Raising five children, it seems you are, indeed, fulfilling your destiny!
... summers at the beach and on the boat in Indiana, and an especially exciting time in St. Joseph, Michigan, when an unexpected storm forced us ashore and we huddled together (along with the rats!) under a picnic pavilion, waiting for the storm to subside.
... vacations at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm, picking raspberries and other delicacies from the garden; eating “dinner” at lunchtime; “pumping up the cows”; swimming with the cousins at Tingley Lake; “boating” on the lily pond; riding the hay wagon and driving the tractor; and escaping from bats in the bedrooms.
... just like me, you wanted to play the accordion. Only you didn’t realize you would need to “practice.” In your youthful naivete you thought that paying for lessons and spending time with the teacher would enable you to play! (I think you had all of six lessons before Mom and Dad decided “enough was enough.”)
... our first (and last!) family camping trip to South Dakota and the windstorm that nearly blew us away early one morning in the Badlands.
... accompanying me on a road trip to Fort Dix, New Jersey, when you and I were teenagers. I particularly recall the drive home to Massachusetts. Unsure of which of the many “parkways” to take north, I stopped to ask directions—and you got out of the car, found a pay phone, and called Mom and Dad to tell them we were lost!
... your early cars: Corvair, Sunbeam, Montego, Valiant, and my personal favorite, the Cutlass F85
... close encounters with a guard rail and a tree, and moving to New York when faced with losing your Massachusetts driver’s license
... taking me to a Doobie Brothers concert at the Broome County Arena, pointing out the sweet smell that permeated the air and explaining to me what it was
On your 50th birthday, I want to thank you for sharing so many special times with me. May the years ahead be filled with many more happy (and memorable!) moments.