It Is What It Is

In December 1945 the Second World War, the one that tried to end what the first one had failed to do, was over. The celebrations and kissing of strangers in the streets had passed, the young soldiers had come home, many of whom had come broken physically or mentally or both. The war-weary lad who had married before or during the war had come back to his bride. But in many cases, her returning soldier was NOT the same; so much had changed in him, and to him, in the war. Yet he had a wife, one who had welcomed him with loving arms, unlike those who had received the dreaded Dear John letter while away fighting the enemy. Those guys came home broken no matter what else they had endured while serving their country. Whatever the condition in which he returned, he needed a HOME to come back to. For those of limited funds (and there were many) finding a place was one of a multitude of difficulties he faced. There were so many men and their wives and in many cases their children (their war babies) needing a place to call home. Such was the case in Texarkana, Texas and Texarkana, Arkansas for that matter. Shirley Jean McNatt (that’s me) was one of the war babies; I was born on December 1, 1945. My daddy, Travis, hadn’t gone off to war. He had been called to go like every other red-blooded American boy after December 7, 1941, but when he showed up and took the medical examination and all the other things required that day, he was told that he didn’t qualify. He didn’t know why. He said he never went back to find out why either. He was satisfied that the military equipment he hauled on flat-bed 18 wheelers all across the land of the free and the home of the brave qualified him as patriotic. He didn’t wear a uniform of the United States Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines. His brother Thurman did, though, and he made it back in one piece. But my mom’s cousin Dale never made it off the shores of Corregidor in the Philippines and he’s still there to this day buried with thousands of other brave young men. My parents, Travis and Geraldine, met in January 1943 in a small town in south Arkansas. Geraldine was quite the looker in her teen years, tall and shapely. It was love at first sight for Travis even though he was only eighteen and she just 15. EVERYONE, except the two lovers, believed they were too young to be considering marriage, but they weren’t about to wait for anyone’s approval. So, they borrowed a car, a Model A Ford, and drove to some other county to some justice of the peace, and Geraldine lied about her age, and she came home Mrs. Travis Arnold McNatt. Her dad went ballistic, however I’m not sure folks back in 1943 knew of the term “ballistic” considering it was before the age of the ballistic missile and all. Nevertheless, Geraldine’s dad WENT BALLISTIC!!! Her mom, ever the calm and sensible one, sent Travis home that night without his bride and told him to “come back in the morning so we can discuss this.” He came back, they discussed it, Geraldine went home with her new husband, and one year later their first born, William Travis McNatt (Billy), entered their lives. Then a mere 17 months after that, I arrived. It’s quite certain my mom named me Shirley because she could just envision her little angel dancing and singing “On the Good Ship Lollipop”, blonde curls bouncing and dimples sparkling right along with Shirley Temple. However, Mom never would admit that was the purpose for the name. Her Shirley HAD blonde hair, but no curls or sparkling dimples or an angelic voice and she definitely didn’t know how to dance. No matter, I was loved even though my parents struggled in their youth to know how to express that love equally between their boy and their girl.