It cut her head wide open and she went screaming to her house. When I saw all that blood, I ran into my house to hide

These are a couple of memories from my early childhood when our family was living on Seventh East in Salt Lake City, Utah.
 

Joseph, my older brother by four years, and I were very close.  We spent time together and did many things together.  When I was about six year old, Joseph had an attack of appendicitis.  Mother figured there was something very wrong, but my Dad attributed his illness to eating so many green apples that caused his stomach ache.  But as his condition worsened, going against my father’s wishes, mother called Dr. Fibbs, our family doctor.  Joseph was rushed to the hospital with a ruptured appendix where he remained for 3 weeks. 

I was constantly on my knees praying for his recovery, because he and I were so close and did everything together.  He was always considered a very special spirit by my mother and Dad. When he lost his life at the age of 14, mother felt that he had been called home for a very special mission, but Daddy was full of resentment and couldn’t understand the Lord’s need to call him home (but that’s another story).

I remember when we were kids on 7^th East.  There was a crawl space under the house where Joseph and I would go and play sometimes.  We often played with the neighbor girls.  Their last name was Haag and one of the girls and I had played together a lot.  One time in particular, she and I got into an argument, and I picked up a rock, threw it, and it hit her in the head.  It cut her head wide open and she went screaming to her house. When I saw all that blood, I ran into my house to hide.

It wasn’t long before the doorbell rang.  It was Mr. Haag, and he wanted to speak to my father.  Dad wanted to know what the problem was, and Mr. Haag told him I had thrown a rock and hit his daughter in the head.  So they went outside to discuss it across the fence between the two yards.

At that time, my Dad made homemade beer.  When I looked out from my hiding place, because I hadn’t been punished yet and knew with dread that it would be come, I then got the courage to go out and looked for my Dad.  He and Mr. Haag were standing by and talking over the fence, each with a beer in their hand. 

I never got punished, but the length of time I was waiting for my punishment was punishment enough.  I’ve often thought and wondered how Dad felt, being a convert to the church and knowing it was not right that he was bootlegging beer.  I have often wondered how mother felt, or if she actually knew until after he quit making beer.

When I was 7 years old we had gone to church on Sunday evening.  During the closing song in sacrament meeting, my mother slumped on the bench and passed out. She was taken to the hospital with a heart attack.  I remember how that scared me.  It became my duty to care for her when she came home.   My Dad taught me how to make bread, which I did every week while mother was recuperating.