I WAS A WAIF AND CHILD SERVANT. . .
NO REGRETS
by
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The Burke family hadn’t lived very long in this last house. I never again would live with my parents, my brother, and my sister. That summer seemed long to me; probably because my memory was tucking away images that will forever haunt my mind; and sounds that will never escape my thoughts when recalling living there.
The Burke children, including me, had Scarlet Fever while we lived on this road just north of Hazelwood. I remember a sign on the front door of the house that said “quarantined”. That means no one can come in our house, and that we can’t go anywhere until the doctor determines the disease has ceased. I remember skin flaking and being hot with fever. At the time I didn’t even know what fever was, let alone Scarlet Fever. Afterwards, it required deep house cleaning to get rid of the skin flakes which peeled from our bodies from the fever; there were even skin flakes in our books.
One hot summer day all hell broke loose at that little brown house in the country far away from anyone and anywhere. In short we were isolated, alone, nowhere to go and no one to call. The fight was on. I thought it was a fight. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. Our mother tried to get Bob to load my father’s shotgun for her so she could shoot my father. He knew how to load the gun (he was now nine years old). He left and ran down the country road to the Ward family’s house. He would be safe there. After profuse argumentation and exchange of “not so nice” words, my parents had dragged each other onto the front yard. Cars rarely went by our house. My mother is screaming and trying to run into the cornfield. My father, of course, caught her. And then, the sight no child should ever witness occurred. He actually pulled her around the yard by the hair of her head. I don’t know what I was doing besides witnessing this unbelievable picture. I am sure with the personality I owned at seven years old, I must have been screaming and crying and scared out of my mind at this countryside drama, where surely one of my parents would end up dead! Finally, by the grace of God, a Sheriff’s car arrived and bedlam ended. Isn’t it interesting, I do not remember the rest of that day?
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About the Book
Joyce Ann Burke had a family like all others. She found herself at age seven suddenly without any family. Her parents separated in 1942 and divorced (rare for that era). Her mother had custody and left the children alone (abandoned). Joyce Ann was awarded to the court, and they in turn incorporated her into the Hendricks County, Indiana Welfare system. She was a welfare child, no parents, no love and no home. She was a textbook waif. She was placed in the country farm home of a sixty one year old widow lady who owned a 110 acre working dairy farm. You see the picture. She was tiny for seven with snow white blond hair and blue eyes. A total stranger she called Grandma would be her new mother, of sorts. Joyce Ann would be the little running legs for this sixty one year old guardian, and essentially a child servant. The white frame farm house was typical of a 1940’s farm home without electricity, plumbing, and central heat. This household was totally self-supporting from the farm. Foods were grown there and preserved for winter. Animals were butchered, cows were milked, hogs were slopped and fields were tended. The days were not programmed for play. Totally unaware, she learned life’s lessons, and, although sometimes reluctantly, developed a ‘powerful’ work ethic. Fourteen years with Grandma produced a young woman who became her own person. It was not easy and decisions she had to make many times were difficult and unfair for a child. Joyce Ann could not afford to make mistakes. Why? She had no one and no where to go. Mistakes were not possible and she knew it. Well, Grandma scared her to death and she walked the walk! Thank you Grandma because Joyce Ann became a woman you would be proud to know today.
About the Author
Yesterday I was not an author. Today I am an author. Guts and perseverance led me to become the author of a book, just as everything else I have done in my life. One day I said, “I am going to write a book of my life". The next day I began writing the book of my life. I had no credentials, only desire, and a story to tell.
The story in the book I write is from the heart, from the soul, and embedded in my mind so deeply, that only a child who lived in my shoes could portray such a picture. I believe unusual life experiences are intriguing to those who live normal lives. I became aware others thrive upon information they could not identify with in their own lives. Looking back as an adult, I view the whole picture of my life and understand the trauma I experienced alone, at the young age of seven. I was faced with many opportunities and prevailed by making good choices.
It is my hope, as an author, to relate a positive attitude, total truth, and most of all, appreciation for neighbors and friends who nurtured a tiny seven year old girl into adulthood. They cared! As an adult I appreciate, with grace, the life bestowed upon me. History consists of people like me telling stories which otherwise are never heard. People connect with a first person story. And if they identify with the story, they find inspiration and hope. By right choices they have the opportunity to flourish. My story “paints the picture” for them.
Viewing the world from two sides permits an imaginative description of both. I have lived in two sides of the world, the worst without family, and the best with family. I take this opportunity to tell the story of my progression from a fragmented family to the family which I have gathered around me in later life. At seven years old I had nothing to take with me, and I hope to leave something for others!