Dec. '54 Kevin Paul is born

I was expecting our third baby in December following our move to Chicago. We had made plans that I spend the last week or two in Hebron so I might continue doctoring with our family Doctor Quincannon. I did this. December 10, 1954 with labor pains begun, I found myself again in that nice, small-town Harvard Hospital. I would be given something to dull the pain but remain awake when the baby was born. It was known popularly as ‘twilight sleep’. Same as for Patrick’s birth. It was always given as an injection after the birthing process was well advanced. Supposedly it saved a woman some fierce pain as the baby was birthed. I surely had been saying my rosary and kept it with me. What I recall so pleasantly about Kevin’s birth was being attended by nice people. At birth I saw my son immediately for I was wide awake and in those moments I never, ever felt closer to God. This was a holy, a spiritual experience. This child was holy. This I knew. Much, much later I would recall this same experience and know for myself, within my own conscience, that babies are not born with original sin on their souls. They rather are born into a sinful world and catch onto sin like the measles. Kevin’s birth experience taught me this. Being awake at this birth was precious. Of course, as Catholic children we had always been taught Mother Mary was born free from sin, the only one, ever. And Joachim and Anne were very fine parents, obviously. Kevin was lying there on the birthing table with his red hair, a pleasant surprise. In short order he, too, was whisked away as I describe for his brother, Patrick.

Might be due to Kevin being a No. 3 son perhaps. He had lots going on in the room at all times with his busy brothers. So much to watch and to listen to and to be shared with. I said, “He’s such a good baby.” He was so easy to care for and rarely cried unless with a need. We had simply a supply of Playschool toys to challenge, we had balls, blocks, things to stimulate imagination, books, a TV schedule. Teacher on Romper Room daily suggesting activities for tots. We had a pile of sand in the yard, trikes, wagon. They were an active and very busy group together, one constantly challenging the other. Real true, healthy companionship here.

Kevin Paul Stewart- December 10, 1954

Kevin, Patrick, Michael- Brothers 3

Kevin propped up in baby swing

We attended St. Thomas the Apostle Parish all together on Sundays. Here we met Mary and Dick Davis and quite a few other couples through CFM, so active in the city of Chicago. We met our 1st acquaintance with a mixed race couple, almost unheard of. Fr. Terrell was our moderator, a young, good-looking, vibrant diocesan priest. The Davis' met in service, World War II. They married. She never had a wedding ring. We joined with them in CFM.

The Davis’ had 2 adopted grade-school aged children. When they visited they would roughhouse with the our boys- too much. Actually, they could be rowdy. Bruce restored his green scooter from Air Force days. We used this vehicle now for our transportation.

Mickey Mouse Club began in 1955.

The program was a sensation with children.

Who's the leader of the club

That's made for you and me

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

Hey! there, Hi! there, Ho! there

You're as welcome as can be

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

Mickey Mouse!

Forever let us hold our banner

High! High! High! High!

Come along and sing a song

And join the jamboree!

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

Mickey Mouse club

We'll have fun

We'll be new faces

High! High! High! High!

We'll do things and

We'll go places

All around the world

We'll go marching

Who's the leader of the club

That's made for you and me

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

Hey! there, Hi! there, Ho! there

You're as welcome as can be

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

Mickey Mouse!

Forever let us hold our banner

High! High! High! High!

Come along and sing a song

And join the jamboree!

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

Patrick with Ball and Michael with Shovel

Ballad of Davy Crockett Was a popular film which we watched as a family early Sunday evenings for it ran as a Walt Disney serial on black and white TV. Grandparents Bergin bought each of the 2 boys a coonskin cap made of genuine raccoon. My, those caps were a hit. And pioneer shirts to match. Show starts out-

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee

The greenest state in the land of the free

Raised in the woods so's he knew ev'ry tree

Kilt him a b'ar when he was only three

Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier Words and music: http://kids.niehs.nih.gov/lyrics/davy.htm

Put on your coonskin cap and sing- all together now.

USAF Captain's uniform similar to his

Bruce kept up his service in the Air Force Reserve National Guard. This was another source of a bit more income. My, how handsome daddy looked as he took off early on a Saturday once a month. The uniform was dashing. And our favorite color, blue.

Bruce tells the story of one time the hospital lost some some very potent isotope encapsulated in metal needles. A number of these were lost at Argonne which was a Cancer Research Hospital. The search was on immediately. The needles must be located before harm is done. They searched everywhere and eventually Bruce found them in a trash bin. The doctor who misplaced them was extremely grateful. He promised to deliver our next baby free. We did have our own childrens’ doctoring from a husband/wife team, pediatricians though, whose services a number of our student family neighbors used. They needed to keep up with their baby shots. The boys were often treated for strep throat. I was doing Jack La Lanne exercises from the TV show each morning. I had asked the Doctor if this was OK or advisable. He said ‘no problem’.

About 4 months into this pregnancy I began looking for signs of movement in my womb. The pregnancy had begun to ‘show’. Alas! I began to ‘spot’. Bruce didn’t know what was happening when I contacted my doctor and checked myself into Billings hospital. They put me into bed and examined me at intervals. At one point a nurse came into the room to examine all around my belly. She exerted a bit of pressure here and there and left the room. I asked that they let my husband know where I am. They did. He arrived. Said I looked fine. I shared with him that nobody was talking to me to let me know my progress. It was then he was informed I had miscarried. Nobody had said boo to me. I certainly was confused. Eventually, I returned home and remained in my bed a while. It is here that I had Fr. Terrell, from St. Thomas the Apostle, pay me a visit. I shared how I kept the guilt with me all these years of licking the jam off my fingers in 3rd grade while fixing my breakfast followed by receiving Communion, [after Vatican II we would say after receiving the Eucharist] because I feared my 3rd grade nun. He said this had been OK. I held on to this scruples for a long time!

I was scrupulous because I was a scared child. In retrospect we know as little children we were taught too much of a fearsome, punishing God, not a unconditionally loving God, of our human tendency to be bad, and surely in dire need of forgiveness. I wrote a long, mean letter to this Billing’s doctor putting a lot of blame onto him. I know he didn’t deserve this. Yet, I do feel I was entitled to explanations, to play by play description as to what happened in the hospital. I never received a bit of consultation from him or from the hospital personnel. What had they done with the fetus? How had they disposed of it? Had anyone baptized? In retrospect, as I hadn’t been feeling motion since sometime after the 4th month this tiny heart must have ceased beating. What puzzles me is how little education was around the entire human sexuality all my life. Nobody talks, instructs, shares. Yet it is what humans do.

A lovely, welcomed letter arrived in our mailbox from my godmother, Auntie Flo Collins, mother’s sister, in which she shared the feelings she had following a miscarriage. I didn’t feel so isolated and alone afterwards. She had empathy--been there and done that. She was there for me. I always thought I would meet my child I hadn't known in heaven. I think Auntie did, too. Now I don't truly believe this. I had a couple of other loss of fetus' which I believe most certainly didn't have souls. Would it be God's plan to have innocent souls pass from the body to a field of shit when flushed down a toilet? Uh-uh. The only cure I felt that was available to me following my disappointment and to put my feelings behind me was to get pregnant once again as soon as I could. Couples following World War II were having large families. Before marriage Bruce and I kept referring to a popular book, Cheaper By The Dozen, Often we’d say we’ll have a dozen. We were on our way. Society referred to this as ‘the baby boom’.

Cousins: Judy w/ baby Kevin, Gene, Priscilla, Michael, Polly, Patrick, Sue

Gran writes- 'I dressed Kevin in his father's hand sewn romper'

December 9, 1955 Granpa Stewart's Birthday w/ Lisa and Priscilla

Moment has arrived to speak of disciplining children. Time of baby Kevin’s birth we parents are 28 years old, 3rd child. Educational Psychology class in College had wised me up a tiny bit. From the beginning I leaned toward the Bruce method. I judged him as experienced having older nieces and nephews. There were times when I wanted a child to behave as I wished. Earlier I referred to my parental upbringing which only once included a slap from daddy. Other than that there was the ‘dusting’ routine, the cannot yet forgive you routine and the responsibility for health of my father. When Bruce used a quick slap on the behind I thought it quite effective in the moment. Seemed so clean-cut and then it was over with. I adapted to this as ‘head of the house’ pattern. So now this is what each over-used in so many ways, even like hurry up, get the show on the road. Overdone I believe. Then I recall those times at the University when I would take care of a problem I might have with Michael or Patrick or Kevin. I’d sometimes heard a women say, “You just wait until your father gets home.” I thought that a foolish attitude for a parent to want to scare the child who would wait all through the day in anticipation of father’s return bringing punishment. With the spanks I, mother, could take care of behavior problems as they came up throughout the day. There was a catchall to this which took me years and years to wake to this repetitiveness Bruce and I engaged in. Here’s how it went. I would take care of a problem. After my hubby was home a while, sharing the days escapades, I would invariably share a child’s misbehavior that day tale. Hearing this Bruce would get the child, scold, and spank. The child was twice punished. And a lingering thought from college was that a grownup looks like a giant to a child and when punishing can be fearsome. Here is another area in parenting which needed instruction. The other automatic, 'trigger' word used today, was to do as one’s parents did with you which probably wasn’t informed, not healthy, picked up from parents’ parents. Our intention, at least mine, was to do the job of parenting better in our generation. Another thing I abhorred was the shouting at children by their mothers. Being in the midst of families with small children one could hear mother’s rather constantly yelling out orders to the children. I promised myself uh-uh. I won’t do that. I am not a ‘fisher-woman’ as my mother used to label such.