Growing Up with Judy

Growing Up With Judy

Suzanne Marsh

The wind blew the willow trees, dancing and waving their arms as if in rhythm with the rain. A small five-year-old girl stood watching, staring. Her parents bought a house on a semi-paved road, and there were houses all around them; she hoped at least one would have a girl about her age. Once the rain ended and the sun emerged, she met the girl next door, who was the same age, that began a friendship began that has lasted for over seventy years. I was fitted for my school uniform and entered first grade; I was not a happy camper. I did not want to have nuns teaching me. My mother had other thoughts. Judy was going into kindergarten; there is five months between our birthdays. Her sister Gail was in fourth grade and had no use for her sister she had her own friends. We all used to walk to school, and winter was the worst time for us. Snowsuits, which the nuns had to help children put on, and boots, most went over shoes; there were times when the nuns had a tug-of-war attempting to get those types of boots on.

Summer was great fun, Judy’s mom drove, and my mom, me, Judy and her sister Gail went to Beaver Island to swim and go on picnics. I remember one summer when I got a large splinter of wood in my foot. When mom and I got home, she had me sit on the toilet while she attempted to get the sliver with tweezers, of course, I screamed bloody murder. When dad came home that night, he got it out, then told me to wear my flip flops when walking on the piers. Gail, Judy, and I used to go to Lincoln Park for picnics. We would take extra waxpaper so we could wax the slides and go down faster. What fun we had!

Winter, for Judy and I, consisted of igloos built by my dad, hot chocolate that my mom made. Time and again, we would use the sleighs and go down the hill we would build up. We trudged each day to school, thank heaven it was only four and a half blocks, or we would have been frozen popsicles. Winters in Buffalo are cold, We used to listen to the radio and hope it snowed enough so we had a snow day; the nuns made sure we made the day up in June.

Broken Arrow, a television series starring John Lupton and Michael Ansara, was one of my favorite programs. I had the bright idea to make an arrow and tie it to another arrow. Judy and I had a disagreement. I was so angry that I grabbed the two arrows and broke them. I have no idea what Judy thought about that, except that I was angry. In our day, you used your imagination, I had a dandy one. I remember one time I had the bright idea, I had been watching track field events, being the child I was, I got one of Dad’s sawhorses. I cleared it. Judy fell, her knee had a bruising...she was fine. I was also a fence hopper until I tore my new blue jeans. I did not want my mom or dad to know I was fence-hopping. I had seen mom use the sewing machine...that was great, I managed to stitch three fingers together and missed the rip in my jeans. I took the jeans and headed next door to Judy’s. Her mom removed the stitches from the three fingers; she never asked questions, I think she was afraid to.

I ran track for two years in grade school, and I also graduated from eighth grade. My mom decided I was going to Sacred Heart Academy or perhaps Saint Joseph’s Academy. I decided I wanted to go to the Mount; I won the battle, and in July, I was fitted for my uniforms. I thought Blessed Sacrament had crumby uniforms, but they had nothing on the Mount. A long-sleeved navy blue uniform with white collars and cuffs. Judy was now in eighth grade, her grades were much better than mine...the following year, she and I were once again on the same bus, provided I was up and dressed, otherwise, Dad dropped us off at the Mount. Things began to change, Judy and I moved in different circles, she was studious, I was hell bent for leather. I had joined the Riders Club. I loved horses; I still do. The president of the club and I became good friends, except she got into trouble in more ways than one. She dropped out in her sophomore year, pregnant.

I was a constant pain to the nuns who thought I should be more like my cousin; she never got into trouble, but I was a contrary spirit, to say the least. Judy, at this point, watched from a distance. I think she knew I was going down the wrong path in life. I remember sneaking up into the cloister, which is where the nuns sleep. I expected hairshirts and self-flagellation, but there was nothing up in that cloister except a bed, crucifix, and all the rooms were pale green. I was late getting back to the second floor. I ran down to my locker, grabbed my Economics book, and slipped and landed at Sister Marian’s feet. I don’t know who was more surprised, she or me.

Time went on, I went to Kenmore East, Judy stayed at the Mount; we both graduated. Judy went on to college, and I found myself pregnant. Judy stood up for me when I married the first time. She became Godmother to all three children; I am Godmother to her first son. I was her Matron of Honor when she married.

My second husband and I live in Texas, and Judy and her husband live now in sunny California. It is difficult to believe that I am now seventy-five, and Judy will be seventy-five this year. We still correspond via Messenger. Seventy years ago, my parents moved next to Judy’s parents, that is a long time to friends, but we are and always will be.

Here is to Judy and growing up.