What Didn’t Kill Us, Made Us Stronger

Was online texting back and forth this morning with my little sister/cousin Jan Beaver. We grew up to be parents that jerked our kids up and hauled them to the doctor every time they had a snotty nose. I guess we were making up for the lack of us going to the doctor when we were kids.

Jan told of climbing up on the cabinet next to the stove top where Bonnie Gay was making Mustang Grape Jelly and turned the pan over, spilling it all over her arms. She grabbed her up and ran cold water on it and cooled it down and cleaned it. Then took a stick of butter and rubbed her arms down with it.

Can you imagine if a parent did that today? I think a visit from CPS would be forthcoming.

I seriously don’t ever remember going to a doctor except to get my routine shots, until I was grown. If things were real serious I’d go across the highway and see Hannah Cox and she could tell me what was wrong and how to get well. (Oh please don’t remind me of the story of “The Disease”. It brings back memories of my adolescence that scarred me to this day)

The horror of Cecil Lewis performing surgery on my ingrown toenails right there in the kitchen floor. He would have set me in chair, but sitting on me in the floor was the only way he kept me from running off.

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