Fish Pond

Me by the Fish Pond

The first house I lived in still stands as a monument to my first four years, custom built for my mother's wheelchair, a Spanish style stucco with red tile roof.  Before having to move out due to The Great Depression meltdown, my father built a fish pond in the front yard of concrete with a rock surround and a bridge.
         
Mother, always handy with her hands to make up for the lost use of her legs, was a marvelous seamstress. Proud of her costume design for my 'Little Dutch Girl' tap dance routine, father had no choice except to take this photo of me standing on our fishpond bridge.  It was a very hot summer afternoon as you can tell by my squinting eyes.  Can you imagine putting a small child in all those layers of clothes and having the child stand in the hot sun for a photo?  Amazing that kids survive their adoring parents.
        
Again, showing her sewing skills mother fashioned a winter white wool suit, pleated skirt and jacket for my go-to-church Easter outfit. Father stood me on the bridge, with my hair done in Shirley Temple curls, for an Easter photo as my proud mother watched from the arched bay window.  Once the photo shoot was finished I stepped back and fell into the fish pond. However, I was saved by father as mother looked on in horror. It was a cool day in April and the water in the pond was just plain cold. Brrrr!
       
As you might suspect, the wool suit did shrink, my curls did unwind in straggly tendrils and we were late to church. My Godfather Charlie, as usual took me by the hand and apologized.  He had to ring the church bell by himself.  As long as I could remember it had been my job to climb those stairs with him early every Sunday morning. He would stand me on a wood stool and count the number of times I would need to pull the rope to ring the bell.
       
I might add that by the end of the day the fish pond was filled with dirt and flowers.  Not sure what happened to the gold fish.  You would think that would've been the last fish pond that father would build. Nope.  Since I was four going on five when we first moved to 1175 West Fourth Street in Pomona, he probably figured I was old enough to not risk falling into a fish pond again.  Besides, this time he omitted the bridge.
       
Though wouldn't you know, after we moved down the street to another house and my paternal grandparents moved into the other house, my little sister was born. I had turned six.  Then, three years later, exactly six years after I fell in the Sixth Street fish pond, little sister tumbled into our grandparent's fish pond.  Although by this time grandfather was 'legally blind' and walking with a white red-tipped cane, he did hear the splash and rescued her from the depths. He then walked her home. She looked like a drowned kitten.  However, my sister wasn't the least bit concerned.  It was a warm day and she was "playing with the fish and got all wet." 

This time the pond remained intact since grandfather had proved to be such a good life guard.  Over the years, Uncle John brought home Bluetail fish to add to the Goldfish and it became a very special pond with Gold blue-dotted fish and Blue gold-dotted fish.  Go figure.