I grew up using an outhouse. That’s not unusual. Many people today can say the same thing. Our outhouse, though, was a two-holer inside the back of a storage shed. I was the second oldest of three sisters and two brothers. My brother Eldon was oldest. None of us liked the outhouse, and the girls and boys found different ways to avoid using it.
We lived in Vandalia, Missouri, at the edge of town, in a two-bedroom house my maternal grandparents bought for us. My siblings and I slept in one of the bedrooms. Daddy was a