See this beautiful dead baby photographed outdoors in front of a black drape. He was the cause of my first major social failure. Before you get too outraged with me, bear in mind this child was my grandmother’s baby brother, stillborn in 1898. Even she never knew him. From the time I could remember, whenever I caught Mother busy, I’d slip into her closet and rifle through a small box of pictures and letters, which I enjoyed all the more because they were forbidden. I’d sit cross-legged on her closet floor, pouring over the forbidden loot.
One day when I was in third grade, I ran up to Margaret Green, who played with me if she didn’t have a better offer. I was a friendly kid, the kind who’d have played with a rattlesnake if it hadn’t bitten me too much. Today, Margaret wanted no part of me, having hit the jackpot. She and Rita May Bowers, the snooty daughter of the principal were bonding tearfully, comparing notes upon discovering they each had a long dead stillborn baby sister in their past. They hugged each other and wept luxuriously. Bored, I went on my way.
Determined to compete, I queried Mother that afternoon. “Mother did you ever have a baby born dead?” Hugely pregnant, she wasn’t partial to this question.
“No! What an awful question!”
“Well, did you ever lose a baby?” (I had no idea how one could be so careless, but I’d heard it whispered.)
“That’s enough of that kind of talk! Go do your homework, now!”
Nothing was left but for me to visit the closet, slipping the dead baby picture into my Arithmetic book. At recess the next day, Margaret and Rita May were still deep in mourning, freezing me out as I trotted up. “I have a dead baby sister,too.” I bragged. I happily waved the picture. “Looky here!” They couldn’t deny it. It was a dead baby, alright!
Rita May grabbed the picture, studying it, reluctant to admit me to the club, even with this proof. She was softening when the jealous Margaret grabbed it for a gander. She studied it before flipping it over, to find written on the back, Floyd Franklin Perkins, born and died May 3,1898. I was out!
I felt horror reading this. Then you made me laugh again in the middle of my horror (the rattlesnake line)…you pulled me right through to the end.
What a slice of messy life!! I LOVE when you bring out so much complexity in such a simple way.
What a gold mine re: life you are! (And what a precocious child!!!!)
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Don’t forget sensitive and compassionate!
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That’s what makes it all…work.
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I spun a story when I started at a new boarding school about being in a circus and my brother being killed on the trapeze (I think it was the trapeze). I have no idea how many of the girls believed me, but the guilt of my lie haunted me for years. Funny that I now write fiction!
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I didn’t feel guilty at all. Just disappointed I failed.
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Oh, I’m waiting for you to tell the story of the corpse posed by the tree!!
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Forgot about that! Great idea!
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Ahhh.. a memento mori. Nice Beth. 🙂
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Thanks
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Another one of those little white lies! They’ll get you every time! ~Elle
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Never was too slick!
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Wonderful storytelling!
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Thanks
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MY pleasure!
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Oh man. This is tragic and funny altogether. I wish it could have been a scene in Mean Girls. Is it weird that I think it’s strange to photograph a dead baby? Is that standard protocol? Lol
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Don’t think anybody would do it now. The last thing I’d ever want to see is the image of someone I loved in a coffin.
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Hi Stella’s Mommy! Back in those days, before most people had cameras, the baby might never have been photographed at all while alive. If the child died, the memento mori photograph was often the only photo of the child ever taken. Sad, isn’t it?
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You are right! There was only one other infant pictures in their family!
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Really sad!
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It is so sad. The baby looked full term. May have strangled on cord. She had several more afterward.
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Memento Mori. A fascinating Victorian photography trend which extended even to older children and sometimes adults. Your stories ring so absolutely true, Linda, this is exactly how children behave. Why do I picture Nelly Olsen as Margaret?
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Perfect analogy. I’ll have to link you to Prignant when she enlightened me about “administration.”
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Oh, the young competition for friendship and acceptance. Funny story. 😀 😀 😀
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So nice when u outgrow that!
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It is great when you outgrow that, but that’s not until a.f.t.e.r. high school. Right?
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No kidding. Today, I don’t envy Margaret or Rita. Margaret lives next to the school in the house she moved into right after she married her junior year of high school. She may have a great life. I don’t know. I have no idea about Rita May.
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I’ve been learning about that era lately. It was amazing that the postmortem photos were so popular. Truly a different time with different perceptions. Lovely post. Hugs!
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Oh thank you. It was creepy, wasn’t it!
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Now, did you learn any lessons from this?
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Cover yor bases before you lie!
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😉
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Reblogged this on Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life and commented:
Meet LBETH at school… as far as creative thinking goes this is up there with the best… what whopper did you tell at school.. visit LBETH and let her know.
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Oh thanks so much! What a kind thing for you to do!
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Great story… I had to stop by after you said such lovely things about me and here I discover that you have a creative mind…me too.. I told everyone at school when I was 7 that my elder sister of 17 was engaged to a prince… I had them believing me too until my mother found out and made me retract.. still it was fun whilst it lasted.
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The truth can really mess things up for you, can’t it?
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You were so close!
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But I failed!
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It’s probably best… they were snotty, anyway.
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But , but but…….
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