The other day a series of cherished memories, which began in the late '40s and culminated 50 years later, came to mind.
My older brother and I were initially raised in Salmon Arm on a small acreage. Fortunately for us, our parents didn’t believe in discipline so we were freebooting little rascals.
Our neighbour, Ernie Doe, was a quiet and extremely tolerant man, who never seemed to be bothered by pesky kids. When he married Margaret, she instigated a wide variety of new fun things to do.
Ernie passed away, when "he was much too young," as Margaret later said. Eventually she ended up living in a care home.
One afternoon my brother and I went to visit her. We entered her room and noticed she was dozing on top of the bed. As we were standing there, unsure what to do, her eyes began to slowly open and instantly got wider. I said, “Your worst nightmare!” Without a flicker of hesitation Margaret replied, “Two of them!”
After a few minutes of chit-chatting, Margaret looked away apparently staring into space. I now believe she was recalling those days of long ago. When Margaret looked back at us, she smiled and said in a hushed voice, “Ernie always said the Atkins boys could do no wrong.”
Lloyd Atkins
