This is a story with no beginning and no ending, yet you're not necessarily starting in the middle, and when you've read it all, the best you will be able to think is "...to be continued...". Now, how can that be? And how shall I start the unbeginning? Should I start with 1924 when I came on the scene? Or back in 1921 when Bill arrived? Or possibly when your maternal grandmother. Seeta Bohner Foster, was born in 1895? But why leave out your paternal grandmother, Minnie Greer Brooks, born in 1895? Or those grandfathers? Or.. you see the problems already? Oh, poo, let's start all over.

You do know, don't you, that your dad and I met in 1941 when we were both going to A&I College in Kingsville, Texas? We actually met over the phone. Bill was calling to tell new Methodist students that a get-together was being held at the Wesley Foundation (the Methodist college youth group) room in the Kingsville Methodist Church. I was a poor little lonesome freshman, eager to hear anyone's voice (especially male, maybe), and responded to his invitation with some enthusiasm. He decided to remember my name and watch for me at the party. And so we got together...

We called ourselves engaged and even had it announced in the college paper. "Mrs. Seeta B. Foster announces the engagement of her daughter, Nona Foster, etc" before mother even knew about it. In fact, I think I sent her the clipping from the paper. However, it really didn't surprise anyone in San Benito particularly because Bill had come down for two Christmases before that, and the Valley folks all said they were pretty sure he was going to be the one.

Anyway, we were engaged and then a war broke out and Bill enlisted in the army. He took a battery of tests and the army found out what I had known for some time---that he was a smart cookie. Sooo he was put in the Army Specialized Training Program (known, surprisingly, as the ASTP) and sent right back to A&I for training as an engineer

As the war progressed, however, this particular program was closed out, and most of the fine young men in the program found themselves being sent rapidly to the front in Europe (the casualty percentage of this bunch was high). Bill, however, and about twelve others were sent, to Oregon to another college to study medicine (after more tests and more revelations about his ability he was the "top of the fop", as if you didn't know).

After about six weeks of this, Bill decided it wasn't for him, and he was attached to a construction corps of engineers and ended up going to le Shima, the island where Ernie Pyle, a famous war correspondent, was killed. Fortunately, about the time he got over there, the war ended, and it wasn't long before he came home

Then there was a bit of interrupted education to finish. Bill didn't want to go back to A&I; so we went to the University of Texas. While Bill went to school, I worked at various jobs, getting my P.H.T, (Putting Hubby Through). We also had the G.I. Bill to help us with his education, and Bill taught at UT for a year and helped, too.

While Bill was in the service, I taught two years at Pharm-San Juan-Alamo High school in the Valley. Those were bitter-sweet years. I enjoyed my teaching and the association of other young teachers, but I missed my husband. Oh, we were married on Christmas Day. Bill could get a furlough at Christmas time, just before he sailed away. He came home for good in March, 1945, at the end of my second year of teaching.

In Austin I worked various places: the State Board of Cosmetology, the University of Texas Library, and the Texas State Library. During this time, your Uncle Tom came to the University, too, and your Uncle Dick and Aunt Dot worked at Scarborough's department store, right down Congress Avenue from the State Capitol, where I worked (this was before the State Library got its own beautiful new building). We all had such fun being together in Austin! This is one reason, I guess, why we have always felt so very close to Tom and Dick and Dot.

Anyway, after Bill got his B.A., he stayed on and almost got his Masters before he burned out and decided it was time to leave and get a job.

Job hunting wasn't easy then, but on July 7, 1949, he got a job at Kelly Air Force Base, San Antonio, and we moved there.

We lived for a while in a boarding room right behind the post office in downtown San Antonio. I got a job with the San Antonio Public Library (at that time the library was in the building where the Hertzberg Circus is with the little statue of the elephant out front. You all remember when the library was there? We used to go there quite often, and you always got to have a few minutes to climb on the elephant).

We finally accumulated enough money to be able to start buying some furniture, and we moved into an apartment at 105 Glenwood Court, and I started teaching at Harlandale High School. Our apartment was just off South Presa. The State Hospital is just off South Presa too, and we had a fine time telling our friends where we lived.

Bill and I were most happy and contented and not particularly wanting to have a family, but as time went on, we decided the time was right, and we had William Greer Brooks, Jr. on November 15, 1951, on Sam Lawless's second birthday, and what we had thought had been a full, complete, and totally happy life became even more full, complete and total happiness.

Bill was a delightful, intelligent, clever, happy, cooperative guy who stole hearts right and left with his red hair, dancing eyes, and impish ways. He was clever and quick and, because he had a great deal of attention and help, he developed rapidly and learned fast. I kept lists of his first words, phrases, and clever actions and thoroughly enjoyed this time.

In fact, we were so taken with our product that we waited only sixteen months for the second edition. Barbara Ann Brooks was born on February 10, 1953, at 10.25 p.m. (I got to the hospital at 10:10-- almost saved the delivery room charge). She was a bright-eyed happy little girl - much easier to deal with than her brother (we didn't know this until we tried a second one). She squealed and laughed a lot and showed us that, indeed, these delightful little people did come in quite different models and with different characteristics. Barbara was always a little lady. She loved dolls and tea time and dress up and tiny soft things. She loved her brother, and her brother genuinely loved her, too. We have always been so grateful for this. All three of our children really love and like each other. What a blessing!

Four seemed quite a complete and happy family. I really thought we were satisfied and settled. However, after moving into our own home at 243 Wayside Dr. a few months after Barbara was born and living there for a while, we decided that one more child would be nice. It really wouldn't make any difference which sex it was; we had tried both and found them wonderful, we reasoned.

Sooo on November 6, 1956, at 7:21 p.m. Robert Dean Brooks came to complete the family. Bobby proved to be a complete delight. Show-off carefree, still sensitive and thoughtful, he added a dimension to the family that was necessary and much desired. Having an older brother and sister who were so close to the same age proved no handicap for Bob; he found his niche in the hearts of both and never seemed to have to play his brother against his sister to get their attention. I'm sure this was as much to their credit as his. All in all Bill and I found our children to be beautiful, delightful, cooperative, attractive, helpful additions to our family.

During the time they were home, growing up, going to school, attending Scout meetings, and developing powerful personalities, I felt, and possibly Bill did, too, that this would never end, but now I understand what a short time it really was, and how fortunate we were in the three personalities that came to join our family. Our children were the best, and Bill and I are so proud of them. I hope they realize and understand this. They are beautiful people who really have a good grasp of their own lives and are making contributions to their communities. Bill and I have always said that we wanted them to be healthy, happy, productive individuals, and, from our observations, this seems to be the case.

This, as you know, is really being written to three readers. It has been written, to this point, over a period of several months, and the format of the story has sorta ebbed and flowed. At first I believe I began talking to my readers directly; then somehow, things moved into less personal a narration. Now, with Christmas breathing down my neck, I find myself having to speed through something that I thought I would do much more slowly and methodically. Perhaps someday I will, but here I'm going to put some thoughts about each of you as you were growing up. You know, we all have our favorite stories about our childhood. These are just a few of my favorite memories of each of you. At one time I was going to write each of you individually, but then I decided that you would like to read what I want to say about the other siblings.

Let's reverse the birth chronology (is that a good word?) and start with Bob. I guess one of the first stories we all would remember about Bob is the day I left you all home with dad when Bob was still just a lap baby. Bill felt his responsibility greatly, I guess, and all of a sudden he decided to check on Bob and he couldn't find him! You other two were sitting on the floor in the living room, watching TV, when dad cane in, wild-eyed and frantic, calling, "Billy Barbara, have you seen your brother? I can't find Bob!" I don't know which one of you looked up first and answered him, but the answer was reassuring: "Daddy he's right there in your arms."

Sure enough. Bill was wandering around the house, looking for the baby that was cradled in one of his arms!

Bob, you're the one child in the family who has the dubious honor of having broken a bone. You broke your collar bone. I hope it doesn't give you any trouble now. I believe you did it by falling off the bunk bed. Anyway, the doctor didn't set it or put it in a sling or anything; he simply told us to watch pulling on your arm or trying to lift you by your arms, and it wasn't long before we had all forgotten about it.

Aunt Seeta Mayne has a favorite story about you. You were always our very worst eater; you were a great candy and junk-food kid, and you didn't care for normal people-type food --especially fruits and vegetables. One of my stories on this came from the one time Uncle Skipper kept you in an emergency situation when our sitter didn't come to take care of you, and I had to go to school. Skip kept you, and afterward he said, "Nona, J don't know why you complain about that boy's appetite. He ate just fine for me. "My next question was what did he eat for lunch, and Skip's answer cast a great deal of light on the problem: "Why I gave him a jelly sandwich, orange drink and a piece of cake for dessert."

You weren't always "into" sandwiches, however. That's where sis's story comes in. She gave you a sandwich for lunch and told you to sit right there in the breakfast nook until you had finished it. Pretty soon you came in and having, apparently, finished your lunch, went to take your nap. However, sis was soon in your presence again with the offensive sandwich in her hand and a rather angry question on her lips: "Bob Brooks, just why did you put this sandwich under the rug?"

"Now, Aunt Seeta Mayne," you calmly answered, "Have you ever said to me, 'Bob Brooks, don 't put your sandwich under the rug'?"

"Well, no, I haven't, "was her slightly puzzled answer.

"Well, then... ?"  was all that Bob had to say, and this was said with a shrug.

Your eating habits led to "the best day I ever had in my life". I gave you pancakes for breakfast. Then sis had given her family pancakes for breakfast, and, as was her habit, she saved some of the dough so you could have pancakes for lunch. That evening we went to Earl Able's for supper, and you ordered the dollar-sized pancakes. It wasn't until after you had eaten them that you confessed to have eaten three meals that day of your favorite food, and that made it, "the best day I ever had in my life".

Bob was quite a playwright in his early school years. He had several of his plays put on at school, and, of course, the cast had to practice at our house periodically. He, along with Barb and Billy, used to invent all sorts of outdoor games in the playhouse or in the swing set. I never remember my children coming to me complaining that they were "bored" or "had nothing to do". They were innovative, ingenious, improvisors who didn't have time in the day to get all their projects finished.

Bob's projects included being active in Scouts, working hard on school projects, getting involved in his Middle School, Jackson, starting a journalism and photography club, and taking bicycle trips to New Braunfels. I don't think he knows how many gray hairs he caused me with that and his fascination with the sewer system (oh, all right, the enclosed drainage ditches) of the city. Oh, he was a busy guy -- always, and I loved it.

His Aunt Seeta Mayne was his cub scout den mother. Oh, he attended cub scout meetings long before he was of legal age, for sis was Billy's den mother some, too, I believe. Or maybe she was Dan's, and that's when Bob attended. Anyway, sis still remembers the Christmas she worked so hard with the boys on some lovely little Christmas angels (made out of Dove detergent bottles). They really were cute -- had tinsel halos and white cardboard wings and angelic little faces on styrofoam heads. Anyway, when the boys had finished them and were out in the front yard waiting for their parents to pick them up, they all began to "fly" their angels like gliders --much to sis's chagrin.

And speaking of flying, Bob did that out in front of the house once, too. We were having quite a wind storm with winds up to thirty or 50 miles an hour. Bob came tearing in, got his plastic raincoat on, went out and, running with the wind, he would open his coat, give a jump, and actually "fly" for fifteen feet or more. He called us all out to watch. Years later he told us that he thought it was just a dream that he flew in front of the house, but he really did. There was just enough slant to the land to make this possible -- for a real light boy.

I have no idea what was important to Bob in his growing up years around Wayside Drive, but a small plastic green bear with his front paws raised high seemed to be very important to him for several years. It was his constant companion, and, especially at bed time, it was important to find Bear. I'm not sure what games Bob played with Bear, but at various times he was wrapped in masking tape, washed, and once had the tip of his nose cut off. Bear is now incased in plastic.

I personally got a great deal of satisfaction out of Bob's Scout work and his journalistic endeavors. Jackson Middle School was good to him -- and I can truly say he made quite an impact on it, and on Charlie Cox, its first principle and a good friend of mine.

I have to tell my version of Bob's attempt to burn the school down. At least, that's the way we have referred to it for years.

Bob made a project for a book report he had to do for English. The report was on H. G. Well's War Of The Worlds (did you REALLY ever read that book, Bob?). He fixed a miniature replica of New York City on a heavy piece of board, and then, with the help of carefully dribbled gun powder (which he made), he proceeded to destroy the place. His teacher had the good sense to take the class outside to a patio area for the demonstration, but after school Bob went by to pick up his materials in the room. The teacher wasn't there, but some of the kids were, and they teased him into another demonstration. He poured some gun powder into the metal lid of the mason jar that contained it, lit it, and then, too late, discovered that he couldn't hold the jar lid because it got too hot; so he dropped it on the floor of this brand new school. Needless to say, it burned a hole in one of the asphalt tiles on the floor, and, unfortunately, Bob moved the lid to survey the damage and burned another hole in ANOTHER tile.

The first I heard of it was from Mr. Cox. He called me at my school and started out very formally, "Mrs. Brooks, I have your son Bob in my office. He has burned the floor of the English room. What do you suppose we should do about that?" Well, I suggested that Mr. Cox have Bob go up and scrub the tiles carefully and then help the custodian remove them and replace them. I further suggested that he pay for the damage and stay there at the school until I came. Charlie told Bob all this, and I heard a weak, "Yes, sir," from the background and a door closing. Then Charlie said, "Ha, ha, ha, Nona Your kid's trying to burn down my new school!" At the time I didn't see the humor in the situation... but now...

The other incident with Mr. Cox I thought was good from the start, but HE didn't. That was the time Bob took it upon himself to address a PTA meeting and tell them that the cafeteria was using non-biodegradable throw away styrofoam trays and that this was very bad for the ecology of this region. Charlie called me later and said, "Nona, if your son's going to talk to the PTA, will you please let me know about it ahead of time?"  I assured him that I would, if I knew about it myself. I was proud of Bob for that one -- and the PTA did take action on it and the school started using a better type of tray.

Anytime we think our puny little individual actions are not important or don't have an impact, I hope we remember some of these stories. There's one in Billy's and Barbara's background, too. I guess, since I'm ready to move on to Barb now, I'll tell this one now.

This one happened after we moved to Wayside Dr. and both children were beyond the baby sitting stage -- they were just little people who had not started to school. As all kids their age were, they were pretty addicted to television and spent much of their afternoon in front of the idiot box with their grandmother who kept them while Bill and I were at work. They watched the kid shows -- Howdy Doody and the like, and there was a local program in the middle of the afternoon with a man who was a ventriloquist. The kids were very fond of this show and seldom missed it. However, the little dummy was in the habit of saying, "shut up", to the ventriloquist. Well, anyone who knows mother knows what she thinks of THAT expression, and, sure enough, it wasn't long before mother heard one of the children telling the other one to, "Shut up!"!!! It happened during the program; so what does mother do? She goes to the phone and asks to speak to the ventriloquist as soon as the program was over. She told him that she had two grandchildren she wastrying to raise correctly and that they had picked up this bad habit from him. The next day Billy and Barb were in front of the TV listening to their program. At an appropriate time the dummy started to use the phrase, but his friend popped his hand over the dolUs face, looked right into the camera, and said, "That's a naughty thing to say, and, Billy and Barbara, your grandmother's right. You should never, never say it!" Mother said the kids' eyes got big as saucers, and, as far as we remember, the dummy never said that again on the screen. Yes, our actions DO have impact.

Barb was a great little person while she was growing up. School wasn't easy for her, and she had a great deal of ear trouble, but she wasn't one to complain or whine about her lot. One of my earliest remembrances of her was at Aunt Dot's house in Odessa. She was just a wee little one, barely walking, and one night she "served" us all tea from her little tea things, much to Dot's delight. Dot had only a little ole rough boy, and she thought Barb was the cat's pajamas.

Barb went to Dellview School with Billy and Dan, and they gave her a bit of a rough time. When walking hone, the boys would run through every rotating sprinkler they could find and not get wet, but they would then "help" their little sister and cousin by telling her just the WRONG time to run; so she would be sure to get a soaking. However, they wore careful to do it far away from sis's house; so she would have time to dry before they get home. Barb tells of remembering all the good smells that came from sis's house when they came in from school. She would notice things like that.

It was after Barb got into junior high and high school that she cane in to her own in school. Her home making classes were some of her happiest and most productive ones, and the whole family profited from that. One of the first times was when she had to, for six weeks, I believe, tell what she was having for breakfast and try to balance it. That started the family on the very good habit of having orange juice with breakfast. I also remember a project where a computer made meals for our family of five - chosen from our likes and income bracket. We followed the meals as faithfully as possible and had a great time, learned new ways to fix old favorites, and had many new dishes. Barb also did many fine home making projects that helped the whole family. Once she redecorated her own room - painting furniture, making new curtains - she's the one that started the "gimmick" of putting matching material around the light switch quite an interesting decorator idea.

Barb's and Bill's singing with the church youth choirs also was an important and fun part of their growing up - at least, to the rest of the family. It gave us a great deal of pleasure to see then in the Up With People - type performances. And, of course, this is where Rusty comes into the story.

We soon became aware of the fact that one special boy kept appearing at our house (especially at meal times). And Barb's conversations were dotted more and more with "Rusty says..." and "Rusty and I. ".They worked together to raise money (we still are using up the light bulbs we bought from then) and to make their points so they could go on the choir trip to New York. They made it ! And that was the forging of a beautiful friendship...

Bill Jr. showed quite early where his special interests lay. He came home from one of his very first overnight Scout hikes with a battered garter snake in his uniform pocket. He was, from that moment on, hooked on creepy crawly things. We were lonesome if we didn't have a batch of snakes, lizards, and turtles around.

He was a creative youngster; he, and Bob, too, bad a wonderful door full of "monsters" they had drawn, and he, too, wrote and acted out little plays at home.

I guess one story that must be told is Bill's trip to Austin with his seventh grade class. We let him take the camera on the trip, and since this was his very first experience with it alone, we sat down with him and discussed good picture taking techniques: have the sun at your back; watch the background and shadows, try for unique shots, remember to turn the film after each shot -- all those good things. When he got in the car after the trip, he was so excited and immediately said, "I took the whole roll ofpictures, mother!" Then he went on, "You know, lots of those kids didn't think I had film in the camera,' so Ijust opened the back and showed them!"

I guess he could tell by the look on my face that something was amiss. I told him, then, that opening the back of the camera exposed the film and that his pictures would be no good. At this he burst into tears. To try to help the situation, I said, "Well, maybe some of them will be alright -- at either end of the roll"

"But I opened the camera three times!" was his tearful reply. Sure enough, the pictures were all ruined.

This first experience might have daunted a lesser boy, but not our Bill. He any Bob have turned out to be prime photographers. Bill Jr. was THE photographer on our Florida and Hawaii trips, and some of those pictures are the very best we have in our slide collection. No, come to think about it, Bill's picture taking started before that. He took his famed, "Moose on Yellowstone Lake" picture on an even earlier trip -- that's the picture that won first place in a national contest.

Billy is also the one who would lie on the bed with gramma and eat chocolate covered orange peels. And gramma will always remember his telling her that the Christmas tree was "unsanitary" because it was touching the ceiling. Gramma took him to a rock concert once, too. She won the tickets in an Express-News contest by saying that she wanted the tickets to, "show her grandson that she was no old stick!".

Billy's the one that wanted his driver's license so he could go out on the roads at night (often with Warnie) to hunt snakes. He also told Dan he was going to pickle him in a bottle of alcohol as soon as he found a big enough bottle (Barbara was in on this one, too). And, when Bill was about junior high age he took on and completed the project of writing to every state in the union and receiving from them road maps and information. Bill's projects also included entering and doing very well in the science fairs in high school and running a little track -- until he got cat-scratch fever (I agree with Barb -- it probably wasn't from her cat; more likely it was from Hairy, the armadillo). He won a high jump competition in junior high once, too -- five feet. And he put together a skeleton of the snapping turtle (that Warnie conveniently saved for us by putting it in our refrigerator freezer) that is still quite a marvel. That Warnie! It was he who helped Bill gather and deliver to the Wylie patio a huge mound of Christmas trees.

I've rushed through this much too fast; there are many other fond memories that I simply don't have the time to include, for I must go on. I can't comment much on the lives of our children after they left home -- either because they got married or went away to school, but the leavings were a little hard on Bill and me. However, in all three occasions, the leavings were such happy occasions for the leavers that we could do nothing except rejoice for them and their independence.

This story is really just of their childhood with us and the trips we took together. The rest of the story is being written right now by all three of them in their own ways. My observations of these stories are not going to be recorded here.

So, when did the traveling begin? Well, Bill Jr. went with Bill, mother and me to Colorado and Yellowstone when he was eight months old. I guess you could say Barb did, too, because I was four months pregnant with her at the time. However, Barb, I really don't expect you to remember much about that trip, and, Bill, I imagine this is true of you, too, although we do have some pictures of you on the trip, and at the time, you seemed to be having a fine time. I'm going to end this part of the narration right here. The trips and maps will follow. Let me just say that, kids, whether you ever read all of this or not, your dad and I have had a fine time reliving this small part of your lives again. We hope that this Christmas of 1983 finds you all healthy, happy, and productive, and that you will continue to be a blessing to your God. We love you all very, very much!

Nona Brooks