Sharon Grace Smith

Sharon Grace Smith April 1, 1939 - December 30, 2015 Sharon crossed over to meet up with loved ones who had passed before her. No one could tell her story as well as she could. The following is from an article she wrote about growing up in a family with 10 children. The Gift There is something to be said for growing up an only child. I would not know. Nor would my nine brothers or sisters. We all dreamed of it then and joke about it now. Actually, I stood the best chance. But, I must have been a remarkable kid because my parents couldn't wait to have nine more who looked just like me. (They deny this.) I don't recall ever having been psychologically ""prepared"" for the arrival of a new sibling. They appeared on the scene and I moved over. (More arrived and we all moved over.) How curious. We were expected to love and accept the new face without question. And we did. After all, didn't everyone get his chance in the limelight? (Too bad if it was so short lived.) Large families are a microcosm of society in general. While at CSU, I took a course in Abnormal Psychology. No need to memorize personality disorders, I'd lived with these folks. There was always at least one hysteric in the group. (Sometimes we took turns.) My sister, Mary remains the reigning queen of high octane energy. This is the one we tried to lose at a campground once. We drove right off and left her. ( She still wonders why none of us reported her missing for over an hour.) Things just ""happen"" to large families. We certainly didn't go looking for trouble. It found us. When the best laid plans go wrong, they do so in Cecil B. DeMille style. Like the time dad's VW Bus broke down with all of us aboard. The garage repairman, seeing his plight, graciously offered to loan our family ""that van over there"". It was a Chicken Delight delivery van with a huge, bright yellow fowl perched on the top. My teenage sisters were horrified. But, dad had promised us lunch in a real restaurant ( something he was world famous for avoiding), so in we scrambled. Unfortunately, at the door of the restaurant, we were met by the real, certified owner of said vehicle who demanded to know what we were doing in HIS van. Dad nearly ended up in jail, and we all learned that humiliation shared by nine others is no comfort. Mothers have their trials as well. Mom was not into fine jewelry, but nevertheless got to wear the wood earrings my brother, Bill, made as a Mother's Day gift. Each was about the size of a Honda. The Carmen Miranda look was a small sacrifice to spare the feelings of a kid. A trip to the park for a Sunday picnic must have appeared to onlookers as an invasion by a third world country. We soon had the grounds to ourselves. Inevitably, one of us would ""find"" a watermelon that someone had just ""left"" in the creek. That always increased our popularity. There were the war days. The weapons required to win the battle were located at the end of our arm. Poverty, dirt and immoral behavior were the enemy and we were the foot soldiers. Outnumbered and outranked by two parents, we went through basic training together. I never heard my dad raise his voice. He didn't have to. There was only one Admiral in this Navy, and we all knew who to salute. Tattletales were dealt with swiftly. Two cracks on the palm of the hand for the guilty party and one for the guy who told on him. It was so eminently fair, we couldn't figure a way around it. It did cause us to stop and consider what might be in our own best interest. There was always a cheaper way to do things. (My brother, Tom, swears that dad never spent a dime without getting two nickels back.) Dad had the local monopoly on the school supply distributorship. He bought in quantity and we were allowed to purchase from him at his ""discount"". (We all believe that he built his present empire on our pennies, but none of us have even been able to prove it.) There was always a cheaper and BETTER way to do things. I recall the time dad decided to wallpaper our kitchen with oil cloth. Great idea, Dad. You were the first to invent washable wallcovering. Too bad you didn't figure a way to allow the glue to dry. Within a week, black mold had formed underneath, and in no time, our kitchen walls closely resembled Spandau Prison. A man ahead of his time. This was pre TV, video games or Disneyland. We were expected to entertain ourselves. And, that we did. A considerable amount of time was devoted to hurting each other. It was unsportsmanlike, but gratifying to inflict pain without, (A) , being caught in the act, or (B), leaving the victim with the kind of damage that elicited sympathy…. And search for the perpetrator. Sometimes fate gave you a hand. Like the time I fell out of the Avocado tree, leaving me punchy for about a week. Brother Tom relished this as payback for the times I nagged him until he ""proved"" his manliness by climbing onto the roof. Then I told on him. ""Mom, Tom's on the roof again!"". This is the same person who will tell you that the best part about a large family is that no matter how many people are mad at you, there's always someone around who still likes you. And , like each other we do. And love each other we do. We are our own support system in bad times and our own cheering section in good times. ""I wonder what the poor folks are doing today?"" Nobody bothered to tell me that we WERE poor folks. I didn't know it for a long time. Some things were considered none of our business. ""How much money do you make, Dad?"" ""You ate today, didn't you?"" Our allowances (35 cents a week) were kept in dad's empty tobacco cans ( The First National Bank of Prince Albert). Funds were strictly regulated. Every penny was accounted for and ""found"" money was suspect, and no guarantee of ownership. ""Money is just an exchange of labor"", dad would tell us, ""Spend some, save some and throw some away."" We never witnessed the ""throw some away"" part. We all hope to live so long. Just going for a ride in the car was considered a treat. The most fun was watching the baby's car seat fold, flatten and spindle the kid when the brakes were applied. Sometimes we drove into Los Angeles. ""Hey , dad, there's a Fosters Freeze. Can we stop and get some?"" "" Sure, son look for one on the right side of the street."" We fell for it every time. We didn't get any because my dad knew the location of every Fosters Freeze in Los Angeles County and immediately took evasive action. We stayed occupied for the rest of the trip searching for the non-existent and wondering what could have caused the sudden attack of ""generous"". I can't identify with the ""typical"" family. We grew up rubbing elbows (quite literally) with the best of them. How better to know how different personalities ""work""? In this sometimes dog-eat-dog world, my parents knew about survival of the fittest. What better boot camp? Life is not fair, and we all learned it early when learning is less painful. I am grateful to each one of my brothers and sisters. For their sense of humor, bordering on lunacy, and all of the other remarkable human traits they've chosen to share with me. And, I thank my parents for the gift that goes on giving. THE END By, Sharon Grace Sharon is survived by 8 children, 19 grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren, with another on the way. She loved to travel, and camped and fished her way through several states. She read anything she could get her hands on. She had many interests including Native American and German history. She always had a soft spot for Veterans, elephants and babies. She was a sun worshipper and her favorite thing was to sit in the sun, with her pole in the water and a good book in her lap. Our brave, funny, witty, beautiful mother, you are loved and missed. Please share memories of Sharon and condolences with the family by signing the guestbook below.