Hobbies have never played an important part in my life. I am not a hobbyist in the true sense of the word. I remember trying to look pleased at Christmas and birthdays when an unsuspecting relative or friend would give me a stamp collection book, or a book on rare coins, or some small knick-knack or doll 'to put with your collection.' I had no ‘collection’, only a collection of useless gifts which my mother wouldn’t let me throw out because so and so had given them to me. I particularly never liked stamps at all and have always been unduly bored when friends would want to talk about their collections. “But you can learn so much about the world”, they would insist. I would retort with something like, “Maybe so, but I enjoy National Geographic more.” Which I actually did.
One year, however, when I was in the fourth grade, I decided to form a club. “What kind of a club will it be?” my mother asked. I told her that I wasn’t sure yet. She sensed I needed help, for I had already ‘found’ the Club House and had spent an entire day cleaning it out. The shed sat on the edge of our property at the back, near the alley. It afforded privacy but was close enough to the house to get refreshments and to keep our enemies, BOYS, out! All I needed now were members.
“Why don’t you form a hobby club?” she asked. Since I couldn’t think of anything better, I said, “Well, I guess we could, but I don’t even have a hobby, Mother. I mean the kind where you have to collect things.” She said, “Well, let me think a minute. I know! You could start a button collection.” “Button collection!” I exclaimed. “What a weird hobby!” But then I remembered a favorite childhood pastime for cold rainy days I had had as a very young child, and that was going through my mother’s button box. It was a real treasure trove. She apparently was reading my thoughts and remarked, “You know, I almost never throw away a button. When a dress wears out, or a shirt, or even an old coat, I always cut off the buttons before I throw the article into the rag bag. I’ll bet we could find a good many different buttons in the box.” That sounded like a good idea, but first I wanted to call my friends. I hadn’t invited anybody to join my club yet, not until I knew what to call it! I was shy, and it took all my courage to initiate something this big.
Taylor, Edith May, Betty Lou Shoemaker, Elizabeth Taylor,
Marjory Reba Nisbet, Nancy Christ, Lois Morris
I knew who I was going to call. There was Jo Beth Glasscock, Betty Lou Schumacher, Lois Morris, Patsy Nisbet and my best friend, Peggy Reming. “Well, I guess I had better call Elizabeth Jones, too, or she would get mad.” I liked all of them, but they didn’t always like each other. For instance, Elizabeth was jealous of my friends, and I suspected jealous of me. She was just that way. She never seemed happy when any of us did something really great like getting all A’s, or doing well in a piano recital, or even when we would get a nice gift. It was so hard for me to understand. Betty Lou talked about people when they weren’t around, and then smiled and was nice when they were there. I couldn’t understand that either. But otherwise, she was a lot of fun and had all kinds of courage. Lois was the kind of girl who would ‘go along’ and you never really knew how she stood on anything. But she was fun, too, and we all had fun together. We went to the same parties, spent the night, and now we were going to have a club. I really couldn’t invite one without the others, or they would all get mad at me. Friendships were precious to me. They each accepted and agreed to come to the first meeting of the new club the next afternoon.
I ran eagerly to my mother who was already going over the buttons in the big shoebox which had yellowed with age. I spent the next hour and a half sorting through all the buttons, until I was satisfied that I had a good start of a collection. Mother told me about several of them, where they had come from, and I was particularly interested in four which had been worn by my grandmother who was no longer living. She assured me they must be at least seventy years old. There were others which were pearl, crystal, leather, and wood. There were some which had been worn on an army uniform from World War I. Another was from a button shoe. She found several small pill boxes which I sorted the buttons in, labeling each one on the bottom of the box. I felt good about my collection and wondered what hobbies the other girls would bring. This club was going to be exciting.
The next day the girls each arrived carrying small sack or parcels. Peggy brought the small beginning of a pitcher collection. She had five. I was especially impressed by one she had bought at the Texas State Fair in Dallas, the Centennial. The year 1936 was printed in gold on one side and on the other, in blue, was 1836. The two dates were joined by a banner with ‘100 Years’ printed on it.
Betty Lou brought a collection of Indian Head pennies, at least twenty of them. I thought that would be simply wonderful to have all those pennies. She told us she had some real silver dollars at home, but her mother wouldn’t let her bring them with her.
Patsy brought her collection of paper dolls, and I recognized them right away, for we played paper dolls for hours on cold days. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of paper dolls, too. She had them neatly arranged in two shoeboxes.
Lois Morris brought her stamp collection, but I suspected it was really her father’s or some other grown-up’s, because it was already nearly finished. The book was full. But she said it was hers, and I didn’t dare to argue. She also brought a small packet of loose stamps she said her grandmother had sent her. She showed me one that had come all the way from England. In spite of myself, I thought that was kind of interesting as it had a king on it. I was a great admirer of the Royal Family and fancied myself as a princess, since I was the same age as Princess Elizabeth. I always wished I had been named Elizabeth instead of Edith. I still thought it must be boring to have to sit and look up where all those stamps would go into a book and through a magnifying glass, too.
Jo Beth brought her scrapbook of movie star pictures and stories which really impressed all of us. We were hovering around her when Elizabeth Jones arrived. She talked so loud and never bothered to see if we were busy or talking. She was like that. We all looked up. Elizabeth was always kind of bossy and once she entered a room, all attention would be on her. I dreaded that because it was my club, and I wanted to be president. Maybe it had been a mistake to invite her, but then, I didn’t dare not invite her either. It was far better to have Elizabeth for a friend than an enemy in fourth grade. I wondered just what she had brought for her hobby. Since she always did things in a big way, we were all curious. Elizabeth looked kind of smug when she saw all our hobbies on display on the floor. She first threw down her coat, then her sack on top of it but didn’t open it up for us to see. “Well,” I asked, “What is your hobby?” Elizabeth sighed, “Do you really want to know?” “Of course, we want to know,” I answered, “That’s why we are all here today, isn’t it, for our hobby club?” She smiled mysteriously and reached for the sack. She slowly opened it and reached in and pulled out another small bag, then another, and another, but was careful to conceal their contents. We couldn’t imagine what it was. Then gleefully she dumped them out of the smaller gabs and out rolled marbles across the floor, all colors in several sizes. None of us could believe our eyes. Girls never collected marbles! That was for boys. “Is that your collection?” I asked in astonishment. She just grinned. “Naw!”, she finally said, “I just borrowed them from Bo.” Bo was her cousin who lived next door to her. He was her age. “I don’t have a hobby,” she said, “except my dance lessons and expression.” Ellizabeth always danced in recitals and gave ‘declamations’ which she won prizes for. She said she was going to take singing lessons. I guess she didn’t really have time for a real hobby, I thought, as she began to pick up the marbles again. “I have to give them back to Bo after the meeting,” she continued. We were all kind of disappointed, but no one said much. She didn’t even seem interested in what we had brought.
I decided it was time for me to say something. “I want to say something,” I said. It took all my courage, and my voice sounded so quiet compared to Elizabeth’s. “Since this is a club, we have to have a president. And, since this was my idea and this is my clubhouse, I want to be president.” I was totally ignoring the whole democratic process, of course. Patsy and Peggy and Jo Beth quickly agreed that I could be president. But then something happened that I hadn’t planned on. Lois, Betty Lou and Elizabeth were whispering among themselves, and then Elizabeth said, “I think we should have an election.” Before anyone could say anything, Elizabeth said, “I want to run for president.” I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I knew then that I didn’t have a chance. The same thing had happened in third and fourth grades when she wanted to be a class officer. No one would run against her and then everybody would vote for her. Who would dare not? At least the girls always voted for her, and there were always more girls than boys. But this was my club. It was different than school. Patsy must have read my thoughts and said, “But it’s Edith’s idea to have a hobby club. I think she should be president.” Peggy answered, “Yeah, and it’s her house.” With that Betty Lou started gathering up her things, and said, “We don’t have to meet here. Let’s meet at my house. I’ve got my brother’s treehouse.” Elizabeth and Lois excitedly began to pick up their things. When Elizabeth picked up her coat that she had thrown on the floor, I knew they were leaving. I felt panic stricken. “You can’t have hobbies up in a treehouse,” I argued. “We can do anything we want to,” one said. “We don’t like your old club anyway. We might have a different club. You just go ahead and be president by yourself.” With that all three said, “Yeah”, and then, “Let’s go.” “But you can’t go!” I shouted. My eyes began to blur. I didn’t want them to see me cry, and I ran from the clubhouse with sobs bursting in my throat. What had happened? The club had started out being so much fun. Now this. In a last effort to keep them, I shouted, “We’re having refreshments!”, but they shouted back, “Who cares anyway. We’ve got chocolate cake at our house!” And they were gone.
Hot tears of anger and frustration were streaming from my eyes. I ran to the kitchen door to the safety of my mother’s arms. She had just taken some oatmeal cookies out of the oven. I sobbed into her apron while she held me trying to find out what happened. “They’re gone. They’re gone. They broke up the club. They’re all gone.” I wailed.
“We’re not gone!” It was Peggy. “Yeah, we’re still here.” That was Jo Beth. “Come on, let’s go play paper dolls. You can get yours out, too,” said Patsy. “We’ll all play. We don’t need them anyway. Who cares? It’s our club, and you’ll be president.” Jo Beth wanted to be treasurer. Patsy said she’d be secretary. “Let’s go make a sign that says ‘Private. No Trespassers’. Maybe we can find an old lock to put on the door, too.”
I wiped off a leftover tear and hugged my friends. “I’ll bring out the refreshments,” Mother said. “Who wants a glass of Ovaltine to go with the cookies?” she asked. As we walked back out to the shed, our clubhouse, I looked at my dear friends and loved them very much that day.