It was late October of 1958. We drove only a short while in the semi with our new home tagging along behind. We pulled into a small trailer park and slept the night in the cold, unlit and unlevel trailer. Come Monday morning we went to Winton School in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Winton School was a wonderful place. I learned cursive writing, my times tables and wore my first pair of glasses. I had a friend that was dear to my heart, we shared many times and I especially loved the ride home from school on the school bus. She got off the bus before my stop and I was lonely the rest of the ride home. One day I begged her to stay on the bus with me promising it really wasn't very far. She stayed on till my stop and then went home with me. She called her parents from my home and her parents came and got her. The next day at school we snuck off to the restroom. I asked if she got it much trouble, I was feeling very guilty for begging her to do wrong. She raised her skirt and I could see the black and blue marks of the belt. I have never forgotten the terrible guilt I felt. This is the first time I truly saw that my actions hurt someone else. It is also the first time I realized that I actually had very good parents. Our neighbor was a couple from Sweden. They spoke very little english but some how we communicated. I remember a lot of pictures and a translator dictionary. This is when I realized my Dad was deaf. I never noticed before that we had to be sure to face Dad when we spoke or that sometimes we had to write what we were saying. It seemed normal to us. Dad could read lips well enough to not need much help in the world in general. I never thought of Dad as being any different than anyone else's dad. On the other hand I always knew Mom's vision wasn't the same as everyone else. At this time she wore very thick glasses but she could still see and drive. We stayed at this location until August of 1959. Mom and Dad sold the trailer and we moved to a motel in Spokane Valley. Home number 8.
