Jacobsen Stories

New Paint Job

Cousin Robert (Jim & Marlys Ryan's son) and I painted their brand new car with house paint. Hey, they kicked us out into the garage because we were playing around with the record player, what were they thinking?

Teresa Jacobsen

The New Baby

When I was 5 years old Mom at 40 was having her last and 6th child. I insisted that Mom was going to have a girl, because I WANTED A BABY SISTER!! My family tried telling me that I might be getting a baby brother. I refused to listen to them. When I was told that Mom had a boy, I insisted that they were pulling my leg, I didn’t believe them. Then the big day came, I remember I was playing outside when Mom and my new baby brother Brent Francis came home from the hospital. I ran to one of the family room windows, got up on my tippytoes and looked inside on this baby laying on the couch. Who cares if he was a cute, cuddly bundle of joy? Playtime, interrupted, and Teresa didn't get what she wanted. I came in, looked him over, and then said “take him back”. Did they? No!

My status of being the youngest had been passed onto Brent and from then on Mom had decided that no matter how old he got, if we ever got into a tussle, I was always “old enough to know better”. What!? Take him back!!

Teresa Jacobsen

The Marlboro Man

I was 6 or 7 years old living in Cherry Valley, IL when I went over to my friends Katie and Frances Vanderbrink’s home and tried smoking cigs like the big people do. I remember trying to have smoke come out through my nostrils that I had seen done in movies, which looked cool on the big screen but really burned like hell fire. How do they do that? Well, it didn't take too long before I was soon sicker than a dog in a speeding car after my little smokingathon with the Marlboro Man. I rushed home and went directly to the bathroom, lying on the nice cool floor next to my friend, the toilet. Mom followed me up, obviously noticing that I smelled like a tobacco factory and me being totally unaware of that fact. This probably made her a tad curious and understandably concerned. What’s next, shots with the boys at the local bar? She calmly says to me “you’ve been smoking”. I was sprawled out on the bathroom floor shocked on how mother could have known. I weakly asked “how could you tell?” I received no punishment as it was decided that it had been pretty much self-inflicted. Well, I kicked the smoking habit that day, never to be interested in lighting up again and for quite awhile after this experience just the smell of cigarette smoke would make me ill. Lesson learned, smoking stinks, but you know ... I’m still in awe of the folks who can blow smoke through their nostrils without screaming in pain!

Teresa Jacobsen