This book is a first-person account about growing up poor in small-town America. It is a diary of sorts, a memoir, about life as perceived by a fictional boy from a fictional family living in a fictional town. The chapters are compilations of similar experiences and venues about school, girls, family, living without money, and social challenges. "Making lemonade out of everything" is a figure of speech, a metaphor for how people make do with nothing. For example, integrating Chevy parts into a Ford; making a wheel barrel out of oak, nails, and a lawn mower wheel; feeding a family for under ten dollars a week; and entertaining yourself on a rainy Saturday playing with Mom's clothespins and pie pans. The context for the story is introduced through third-party narration in chapters 1 and 2 and then transitions to a first-party account by a boy named William Seabold. Everyone called him Bill.

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Making Lemonade Out of Everything

By J. Wayne Stillwell

AuthorHouse

Dedication, vii, 
Disclaimer, ix, 
Author's Preface, xi, 
Chapter 1 A View to the Past, 1, 
Chapter 2 Slag Town, 8, 
Chapter 3 The House, 19, 
Chapter 4 Living on Nothing, 30, 
Chapter 5 Playing with Fantasies, 42, 
Chapter 6 Snow Days, 50, 
Chapter 7 The BB-Gun War, 66, 
Chapter 8 Non-Events, 75, 
Chapter 9 The Fairer Sex, 86, 
Chapter 10 Learning to do Quadruple Time, 104, 
Chapter 11 Senior High Firsts, 120, 
Chapter 12 Holidays, 133, 
Chapter 13 Thinking Poor, 157,

CHAPTER 1

A View to the Past

Circa 2013

Returning to your roots for a visit makes most people reflective and nostalgic. Bill Seabold was no exception. It had been years since his last visit so the list of relatives, friends and places to see was long. As he drove along the winding two lane asphalt road leading from the Pennsylvania Turnpike exit to his sister's house, his mind raced from one memory to the next. A half century had passed but everything seemed to be just as it was when he was a boy.

He glanced at his watch and realized he was ahead of schedule. His sister didn't get off work until five and it was only 1:30. He decided to take the long way to her house. The long way would take him through the area where he grew up. In particular, He wanted to check out the condition of the house his family still refered to as home.

His first stop was the small community where he attended elementary school. It was an area frozen in time. There were a few new businesses here and there, the biggest being a new gas station and deli complex but everything else was the same. It could have been 1938, 1958 or 2015.

The houses, all pre-world war II vintage, would be recognizable in a 1930 photograph. A few owners had covered the clapboard exteriors with aluminum siding and installed asphalt shingles but had done little else. Though square and plain in design, many of the homes had interior staircases and wood work that would be unaffordable today.

Main Street was part of a nineteenth century turnpike that ran through the center of town. Its concrete surface a testament to a half century of asphalt cold patches, cracks filled with black tar and the general neglect it had endured. Construction of a bypass around the town after World War II isolated the community and doomed the small businesses along the street.

He drove the entire length of Main Street from east to west at 20 miles an hour. Not one car or truck passed him going in either direction.

Every building triggered at least one memory. His brother's high school girlfriend lived there, that's where the small store used to be where kids bought penny candy during school recess. The stores display window now had curtains and several green potted plants on display.

A little further down the street was a boarded up duplex building where the barbershop and Justice of the Peace used to be. The last building on the left was the old bank. It had been turned into a private home. He made a U-turn and headed for the school building.

As he approached the elementary school he was amazed at how big some of the trees had gotten. In numerous places the roots had lifted pieces of concrete sidewalk completely off the ground. The color of the exterior and the landscaping around the house across the street from the school was the same as it was in 1957.

He looked at the bushes along the side of the house. That's where he and his friend Tim hid while playing war during recess. Where had the time gone? What were his classmates doing, where did they live and who did they marry?

Bill parked so he could take a few pictures. The sounds of children playing at recess filled his head. Girls jumping rope and playing hopscotch, boys playing kick ball or running around as part of a pretend army.

His thoughts were about the first day of fifth grade, a day during which he had more than one epiphany, although he didn't know what the word meant at the time. At eleven years of age he was on the front edge of puberty. Boys in his class had peach fuzz on their faces, girls had budding breasts, hair was beginning to grow in new places and genitals were becoming functional.

These realities were not in the forefront of his mind at such a young age but he knew something had happened to everyone during the summer. The boys seemed a lot bigger, were more serious and better athletes.

The girls, well they didn't act as silly as they did in fourth grade, were careful how they sat with a skirt on and hung out together in little cliques. Some even had lipstick on. Bill felt like a little boy going to school with adults.

At the bus stop, on the bus, during recess and in the classroom, the rule seemed to be, "boys over here and girls over there". If a boy sat with a girl on the bus, the other kids assumed they were going steady.

The second day of school he sat with a girl on the bus ride home because there was no choice. Bigger boys said they were saving the seats next to them. The girl did not object when he sat down. She said hi. He said hi back. Both of them looked straight ahead for the rest of the bus ride.

Bill made sure he didn't brush against her arm or in any way give her a reason to say something to him. He was nervous and afraid of her in some ridiculous way.

What he was really afraid of was that she would be friendly and maybe ask him to get off at her stop someday to meet her family and have a glass of Kool-Aid. If her Dad discovered he was a bum from Slag Town he might chase him away. What if she came to his house and his Dad was drunk and urinating in the front lawn.

All of these crazy thoughts raced through his head as he continued to stare straight ahead. Bill and her attended fifth and sixth grade, junior high school and high school together and never had a serious conversation.

When your forty years old, not much changes over a season, but a lot changes between the ages of ten and eleven. He wasn't a child exactly, neither was he an adult, but that year he began to see the realities of life in a more discerning way. Adults were no longer perfect and in some ways more irresponsible than children.

Being more aware was a curse in some ways because he started to worry about things a boy should not have had to deal with. Things that had always been there but were now in the forefront of his consciousness. Living off welfare, surplus government food, coal delivered by the Salvation Army and wearing the neighbor kid's hand-me-down clothes makes you stoic, serious and ashamed. Especially when they recognize their clothes and tease you about it.

Like a Phoenix rising up from its own ashes, the worries were reborn on a daily basis. Everything from his Dad's drinking and bare cupboards to his Mom's loneliness, lack of money and the constant faking about their situation to people outside the family.

It didn't take much to trigger a low self-esteem event. He noticed, or maybe cared for the first time, that other kids wore different cloths each day to school and always had paper money in their pocket to buy ice cream and candy bars at lunch. They had lunchmeat sandwiches, store bought deserts, bananas and potato chips in their fancy lunch boxes. It made him angry, disappointed in his Dad and worried.

There were humorous happenings though. He had one good pair of shoes which were reserved for school and church. They...

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