Tribute to Mrs. John D. Ure
It has been said that we were raised in a Leave it to Beaver household. That is a complement and my sister and I are proud of it. First of all we were raised as Seventh Day Adventists. That is the only church I have ever known. Early on when we lived in the apartment on Paseo Mom would get us ready and take us to church every Sabbath. We had our own pews just behind Grandma Rose. We were expected to be quiet even though we were seldom interested in or understanding what was being said. Writing this causes me to recall an event when cousin Pat and I were up on the platform of the old Central Church at Linwood and Charlotte, In Kansas City, Missouri. We were pretty young at the time and for some reason we saw a hole in the front of the platform and we were both on our hands and knees looking down into the hole. Our actions brought forth chuckles, and I am sure our parents did not think it was very cute.
Every night after school we were to do our chores. Do our homework. It was then time to play. No Game Boys or X Boxes. No sir ee we played all of the sports in season. Rode bikes, flew kites, played Kick The Can and Red Rover Come Over, Mother May I and Hide and Go Seek as one of the favorites. We played army had play guns, played cowboys and Indians and even tied each other up. Things that kids today have never heard of nor would they be interested in. In the Winter there were snow ball fights, snowmen and forts to build and icy hills to sled down. Then we had to be at the table for a family meal and then Karen and I would fight to see who would wash and who would dry the dishes. TV was only black and white and we were permitted to only watch a few wholesome shows such as Lassie or one of our favorites, Rin Tin Tin on Friday night.
In the summer Mom would take us to the show on Wednesday afternoon and it seems like we bought tickets for the whole Summer. They were about twenty five cents. She always managed to find a patch of weeds that needed pulling before our departure. Also, I could never figure out how the hero in the serials came back the next week, I watched close and he did not jump out of the boat before it blew up, but by golly in the replay for the following week he jumped out just in the nick of time.
Now there were the holidays. They were all important but Christmas was the best. Karen may have more to say but our folks always managed to get us exactly what we wanted. Nothing electrical, no way besides they had not even been invented yet. No sir the good old things like bows and arrows and guns. I still have all that they provided and they are treasures without a price because they are not for sale for any amount. I had to learn the multipication tables to earn the first bow. Mom always had fun hiding them in a special way because how can you possibly wrap a bow so you could not tell what it was. One of the best surprises was when Dad got a Browning shotgun that I helped pick out for him. I absolutely never suspected that she had behind the scenes purchased one for me and when I pulled it out from under the couch I was speechless. They were paid for on a payment plan. We may have been poor in the eyes of the rest of the world but we were rich beyond measure with love.
As for cursing, alcohol, smoking or other funny business. There was not a thought of it.
Mom and Dad were not perfect but I could not tell you any time I saw them even think of doing the wrong thing. They were excellent role models and we were so fortunate to have had them. Now that they are both gone and Mom soon to be resting along side Dad where she often sat and contemplated. She knew her role and accepted it graciously and I know without question they will both be in Heaven.
It is with joy and pride that we will continue to follow their guidance and teaching with the assurance that we too will be among the heavenly throng. As it has been said many times before the purpose for their being on this Earth has been fulfilled, but the effects that they have had on those that knew them will carry on in the lives of those that yet remain.
Leave It to Beaver
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