Always on the Outside Looking In

The Old House had a one-time garage attached at the north side. We used it for storage, but we called it the porch, despite it only having one tiny window on the north wall.

The storage area was an original building, but the kitchen and bathroom portion which connected the storage area with the main house was more recent. The storage area is where we kept our chickens that spring.

For a long time, the only working door to get in and out of the house was through the porch (storage area). The door on the south side, off the big room, was locked. The door off the dining room was locked. And the door from the kitchen was blocked by hot water piping which ran along the floor. So access to the house was made through the porch.

This was a problem for me. Although strong for my age, I wasn't always strong enough to get the d*mn door open from the outside. Or maybe it wasn't strength. All I know is that the adults didn't seem to have any problem with it. But it was not unusual for me to get locked out. Not a problem in summer, but a nasty bit of business in winter.

I remember a time in January when Mother was home for some reason. I was waiting inside for the bus to come around the corner about a quarter mile to the south. For whatever reason I was distracted and missed it until it was nearly to the house. Mother yelled at me and I grabbed my things and rushed outside, slamming the door behind me.

Well, either the driver didn't see me or he didn't care. (Back in those days drivers were not above driving off if students weren't ready.) As I raced helplessly toward the road the bus drove off and left me.

There was nothing more to do about it. It was below zero. I wasn't going to walk to school. I wasn't dressed that warm. So I returned to the house. Only to find the door would not open.

I beat on the door and hollered as loudly as I could, but no one came. I suppose had I been using my brains, I should have walked around the house and tapped on windows. But I was only in first grade and that never occurred to me. All I knew was there there was but one way to get in, and that was locked to me.

Eventually, I quit my hammering and sat down to shiver and wait.

A few hours later my mother chanced to come outside to feed the dogs. She found me sitting on the doorstep. I neither expected, nor received, any kind of sympathy. Instead, I was slapped my entire way into the house. Fortunately, I was so frozen I hardly felt it. Nor did I care. I went to the stove in the living room and sat near to warm up.

My day was spent being yelled at and made to do work around the house. It didn't matter.

And people wonder why I hate winter.