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A VALUABLE LESSON FROM THE DONNA REED SHOW I was thirteen years old when I watched the Donna reed show for the first time. I had been living in the Children’s Home Society Orphanage in Jacksonville, Florida for almost seven years. I had no idea what a real family was like and really did not care to find out. Why was it important to learn about new things; something of which you could never be a part. Little Billy Smith was questioning the matron about something he had heard about, earlier that day, at Spring Park Elementary School. “Well, young man. As many of you boys are illegitimate bastards, you will never know what it is like to sit down at the dinner table with a real family. So tonight I will give you a treat and I’ll show you,” stated the matron. “Are we going to a real family’s house?” screamed little Billy. “Not exactly,” replied the matron. After finishing our supper of boiled okra and eggplant, we boys were herded back to the dormitory and told to take our showers. After showering, we were instructed to go to the television room and take our assigned seating positions. Sitting, with our hands folded on our laps, no one make a sound. We knew the rule; one sound, one cough, one sneeze, one chuckle or laugh and the television would be turned off and every child was sent directly to bed. We sat in that position for almost forty minutes before the small, black and white, Zenith Television was turned on. There before our eyes was a show titled “The Donna Reed Show.” Most boys were amazed at what they were seeing. No slimy boiled okra or eggplant on their table, just large pieces of meat and lots of vegetables, even bread and butter. The mother walked around constantly making sure that everyone was happy and satisfied. “That boy spoke and he is going to be slapped in his face,” whispered Tommy Jernigan. We waited, in anticipation, but the woman did not slap the boy. We were even more surprised when the little girl spoke and was not slapped and sent away from the table, without any supper. “How come they get to talk at the table and we don’t?” asked Bill Stroud. “Shhhhhhhh,” sounded the matron, shaking her finger at Billy. I sat there knowing the truth of the matter. My friend Freddie had a real family. He told me that his dad always knocked him in the head and told him to leave the table when he talked. “How come they get to laugh when their eating?” asked Billy, with a puzzled look on his face. “Will you tell him to shut his mouth?” yelled Wayne. “Shhhhhhhh,” sounded the matron. For the next twenty-five minutes not one boy whispered a single word. I watched as hundreds of tears rolled down the boy’s cheeks. I guess they were beginning to realize that there was a better life and it only existed outside the gates of the orphanage. When the show was over, not one boy moved a muscle. The matron walked over, shut off the small television, and with her hands on hips said, “Now you boys know why you are here and not with your respective families. You don’t deserve such treatment or such good food. However, that does not mean that you should not appreciate what we give you here at the orphanage. Do you understand that?” “Yes Ma’am,” sounded a low reply, from each and every boy’s mouth. NOTE: I talked with Paul Peterson last week. He was the young boy, on the television show, who played the part of Donna Reed’s son. I thanked him for his role on the show and told him that the Donna Reed Show was the only lesson we children ever had which give us some basic idea on how a real family structure was supposed to work. Without that knowledge, we kids would have had no idea how to form a better life for ourselves, once release from the orphanage. It was good to know, at an early age, that it was not proper to slap children in the face, each and every time they spoke. It was good to know that children were not made to eat food which made them throw up, and then made to eat it again. It was good to know that one day we could have a family of our own and that we did not have to treat them in the same manner that we were treated. Thank you Donna Roger Dean Kiser, author