My younger brother, Carl, was born in October of 1958 when I was four years old. The only memory I have about his birth, is that Pa took me and some of my siblings to visit Ole and Elsie Olson. Usually when we went to visit Ole and Elsie, our whole family went together, and we would all stay and visit. This time was different, Pa dropped us off and left. That had never happened before. I didn’t know there was going to be a new baby in the family or that Pa was taking Ma to the hospital to give birth.

What I remember most about that night is that we sat and watched television. Our family did not have a television, and we only listened to the radio when Pa turned it on to get news.

Ole and Elsie were not related to us, but they were like what I imagined grandparents would be. My grandparents died before I was born, so I never knew the delight of having attention from grandparents. Ole and Elsie were of Norwegian descent, and I loved to listen to them speak Norwegian to each other.

Pa had two brothers, Elmer who was older, and Lloyd who was younger. Ole and Elsie had two daughters, Margaret and Clara. Elmer married Margaret, and Lloyd married Clara. So in many ways, Ole and Elsie were part of our family.

Later that evening Pa came and took us home. That was when I learned I had a new baby brother.

It seemed there were babies everywhere! Many of the families in our community had four, five or six children. There was always excitement in the air when a new baby was born. It was talked about as being a blessing and a gift from God.

I don’t recall the first time I questioned Ma about where babies came from, but it was a question that burned in my mind at times. It worried me. I wondered if God would bless me with a baby. I fantasized about God knocking on the door and delivering a baby to our house that was for me. Ma explained to me I wouldn’t have a baby until I was married. After marriage, you prayed and asked God to bless your family with children, and that’s how babies came to be.

We had attended a wedding some time later and I thought there must be something the preacher did to the couple when they were at the alter exchanging their vows. I craned my neck to see what might be happening at the alter. The bride and groom had their backs to the congregation, and I couldn’t see exactly what the preacher was doing, but I could tell he had a bible in his hands. I thought there must be something special that takes place between the pastor and the bride and groom that would open the flow of God’s blessings and babies.

Ma’s answer satisfied my curiosity for a time. That all changed one day when Ma and a neighbor lady were having a hushed conversation in our basement house about a young woman who had a baby and wasn’t married. “How on earth does she think she can take care of a baby by herself?” they worried.

I was older now, and later that day I clearly remember point blank asking Ma how it was possible for an unmarried woman to have a baby. Ma became very flustered. She turned her face away from me so I wouldn’t see how embarrassed she was and stammered something about there were some things I didn’t need to know or ask questions about.

According to my oldest sister, Doris, Ma or Pa never explained to the children when she was pregnant or going to have a baby. Before I was born, Doris found out Ma was going to have a baby from one of her classmates.

I was in fifth grade at public school when I learned about changes my body would experience in puberty. It was explained how girls start to develop larger breasts and have a monthly menstrual cycle. This was the natural process of maturing and becoming an adult. There was a health education class for girls and a separate class for boys.

It was not taught how babies were conceived during this education class, only about the physical changes to expect in my body.  

Somehow, in fifth or sixth grade I never understood that it required a physical interaction between a man and a woman to create a baby. All I knew was that boys didn’t like girl germs, and girls didn’t like boy germs.