9-11-22 -- Childhood Clothing inspired story

 

The Pink Nightgown

By: Carrie Keiser

There once was a little girl who loved her pink nightgown. She wore it at every chance she could.  She NEVER left home without if, except for the time that she did. She had gone to visit her gramma and somehow her favorite blanket, pink nightgown and her teddy bear, Ojoewah, were left behind. Many miles away.  The little girl was distraught and was stuck with finding an alternative to her favorites.  She acquired her mother’s nightgown and toted it around until it was time to go back home.  Her gramma found a blue panda bear that waited patiently for her to come visit.  I don’t think the panda got a better name than panda tho.  The girl outgrew the little pink nightgown and her mother got her a bigger, better, pink nightgown that she wore until she could no longer wear, ripping the side seams out like slits.  

The Dress that Gramma Made 

By Colleen Flynn Holmquist 

September 11, 2022 

Okay, so I don’t have any childhood memories of this article of clothing but as I understand it, it was my first dress. I guess I was supposed to be a boy. But then, I wasn’t. Back in that day, moms were kept in the hospital for several days after childbirth. So, my gramma Booher went to work and sewed me a little dress so I would have something more to wear home from the hospital than just a diaper. 

Esther Lucile (Vogler) Booher in August 1959 sewing a dress for her first granddaughter, Myrna Colleen Flynn.

It often appeared in multi-generational family photos. 

This four-generation photo taken shortly after I, Colleen, came home with Mom includes L-R back: Sam Booher, Lucile (Vogler) Booher, Emma (Bodenheimer) Vogler, Frank Vogler. Front: Daren Flynn, Myrna (Booher) Flynn and baby, Colleen Flynn.

While I can’t be certain that I was wearing that dress in this picture it seems likely. Gramma Grace (Shearer) Flynn is holding. Grampa Willard Flynn looks on. 

Years, many years later, the garment was worn during naming and blessing ceremonies. First by Hosanna Lucile Holmquist. She was blessed in Cheney, Washington by her father, Cary Eli Holmquist. Also in this picture are grandfathers, Daren Flynn, left, and Ed Holmquist, right. 

This picture shows her with grammas, Coreen (Vance) Holmquist and Myrna Flynn, as well as maternal great-grandmothers, Lucile Booher and Grace Flynn. Mom, Colleen Holmquist is between the great-grammas.

In 1995, Hosanna’s sister, Maja Dora Grace Holmquist, was blessed in Frenchtown, Montana. These are her paternal grandparents, Coreen (Vance) and Edwin Holmquist. 

Years and years later, the next generation, Hosanna’s daughters, wore the dress when their father, Joseph Tabor, named and blessed them. 

Leyla Esther Marie Tabor, born January 27, 2013

 And Jemma Rose Tabor, born June 20, 2015 

These last two pictures show the needlework done those 50+ years before by their great, great grandmother. Hosanna (Lucile) and Leyla (Esther) each carry one of her names. 

So, my memories of one little baby dress made by my grandmother, worn first by me and then by my daughters and granddaughters, connect six generations of mothers and daughters whose births span three centuries from 1878 to 2013, across the United States with roots in North Carolina, California, Idaho, Washington, Utah and Montana.

By:  Aaron Leavitt

Mind you, this is viewed through the lens of recollection, and some 40 years, but apparently I had my parents very concerned. Around my first grade year, as I recall, I decided that my favorite color was black, and I liked red a little bit. So given a chance that was my dress code of choice, as much black as I could get away with, and maybe a little red. And then I’d head off to do six-year-old things, and not think of it much past that. If If recall correctly, they were worried enough to consult a counselor about it at least briefly. I just liked black though, and eventually grew out of it a bit. Though to be fair, I may not have grown out of it very far. If I don’t think about it, I’ll pretty regularly leave the house in almost entirely shades of grey. 

By:  Ryanne Leavitt

Clothes for my childhood you say?  What, one piece in particular?  Hmm, let me give this a think…well, there are a few that I can think of that bring some memories, but there is this one shirt. 

Yup, a shirt, a tee shirt to be more specific. Now, some of you may recall that I played a bit of softball in my life…way back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, no wait, too far back, I mean way back in the 80’s and early 90’s I meant.  I even had the great joy of playing some post season ball on an all start team a few years.  

There was this one year that we had a team that was RED HOT (if you get, it you get it).  I mean it was loaded with all the best talent in Missoula, or so it seemed, and they let me on there too!  Oh what a season!  We, the mount Jumbo league senior girls were on fire!  The parents even had shirts made that they proudly wore to proclaim which was their off spring, and mom was no different!  Our colors were yellow and green and she sported a shirt that heralded her as number 28’s mom!  We played and won the city title, then on to district, which we also won!  Then on to state!  Victory!  Oh what a tournament that was!  It propelled us on the divisional tournament!  We were to play teams from California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Alaska!  

This meant we got to travel all the way to Poulsbo Washington!  And we were stoked!  We caravanned with parents, we stayed with host family homes, we went to a Mariners game and professed our undying love not just for, but loudly to Ken Griffey Junior!  There was pin trading, friend making and games to be played!  We were still on fire, winning our way to the championship game! We played our hearts out and loved every minute on the field!

  Then we came up against the Oregon team, and those girls were of a beastly size.  I am still not convinced they weren’t men in wigs!  They were a tough team that played rough, it was a brutal game. This was made worse by the fact that we were losing.  I mean, not horribly but far enough behind that something had to happen.  I had been riding the bench for most of that game, but that all changed when one of my team mate got on base.  Coach decided to have me pinch run, why, I am still not clear on that, but I happily jumped at the chance to be on the field.  He gave me the sign to steal second on the next pitch.  When the ball cleared the pitchers hand I was off and soon sliding into second!  I heard the ump call safe, and I got to my feet, brushed off the dust and looked to coach.  Again the sign to steal on the next pitch came and again I was off and running, then sliding in for a second safe call.  I was now on third base with my eyes on home plate.  I looked to coach and he gave me the go ahead sign once more.  

Now, I think we all knew I pressing my luck. The pitch left her hand and I leaped off the base, running with all I had…There was just one problem, the catcher, did just that, she caught that pitch, boy was she ready for me.  I slid, half hoping half praying I would get under the tag.  She, however, wasn’t having any of it.  That wall of a girl squeezing, the ball tightly in her mitt, swung her arms around, and with the full force of her massive body threw a tag on me that I felt for many days to come.  

That was it, game over!  We had needed that run to tie it up and go into extra innings.  I lay there winded, and wounded and broken hearted that the wild ride was over, but you know what Mom did with that shirt?  She kept it!  She has it, and every now and then she proudly wears it (yes, out in public).