Eleanor Jean Nelson/Lansberry

Mother:
Mother was a beautiful butterfly princess, a princess who paid careful attention to her appearance. Persnickety was a word invented to describe my mother. Other words described her too; worry wart, coquette, silly, and butterfly. Mom was 5'4'', thin and trim with a full head of brunette hair that framed her face in gentle flowing waves. She was a sexy woman with a petite ever-so-slightly upturned nose and two deep brown laughing, flirtatious eyes. With her fine, almost classic features, she was a charmer. A beauty, albeit, easily flattered by the attentions of admiring men. Mom loved Dad and was a reasonably faithful wife. She had sowed her wild oats before she married and shouldn't have had any insatiable need to sow them after they were married.

My first clash with my mother was in the backyard at that house in Ambridge. The year was 1944 and I was five years old. Dad had bought me a toy double barreled shotgun that shot small corks. I quickly tired of shooting corks, discovering I could load and shoot little rocks. One morning in the front yard I was having a grand time shooting rocks at everything around me; tin cans, a cardboard box, the garage, even the side of the house. Some stones hit the windows on the side of the house, rattling loudly against the glass. Which brought Mother rushing out.

I was just reloading my gun when she demanded I give it to her. I shook my head. I had a grim determination at times, when I wasn't being mule headed, and I wasn't about to give up my toy gun. Mom ordered me to give her the gun. When I shook my head again she reached to take it from me. As she reached down I leveled the barrel at her face and pulled both triggers. It was only a toy but the rocks, propelled by the inner spring, were enough to sting and startle her. She jumped back shocked and angry, giving me time to run to the other side of the yard and reload. I pointed the gun at her again.

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