The Life of Corey Salyer

The Life of Corey L. Salyer

When my mother first laid her eyes upon me, she began thinking about how she could deal with three boys. My brothers, later to be named Ty-Ty and Bam-Bam, were staying with my Grandma and Grandpa and could not wait to see me. Tyler, who was then five years of age and could not remember what it was like having a new born brother around, thought of me as a new toy he could play with and share his love of “McGuiver” tricks and booby traps. He was then disappointed when he found out that newborn babies stink and sleep for almost the entirety of the day. “Tweedle-dum” on the other hand did not know what to think of me being only two years old. However, he was happy that he was no longer on the bottom of the pecking order now that he had a younger brother he could beat up. So there it was, Jeff, Angela, Tyler, Brandon, Corey and Skeeter the dog. The Salyer family was complete. The last, but most important, piece of the puzzle was finally set in place.

I was brought home two days after the birth and things seemed to be going great. However, the puzzle was finally broken apart when Skeeter was brutally squashed when the neighbor’s pet, an overweight bulldog, jumped on him and killed him. I was only in my first two weeks of life but it was a devastating blow to the family, as the beloved Pompoo went away to doggy heaven. I could care less though as long as I was sitting in my swing with my thumb in my mouth and my momma beside me. Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum always interrupted my good thumb suckings because they always wanted to kiss me. As soon as I would get comfortable in my swing, my mom would have to go and clean or answer the phone or something, and then chubs and Tyler would be right in my face. I would scream for my mom because I knew that she would be able to pry those two off me.

We lived on 96 Darlene Drive out near the Trout Club in a small split-level home with no air conditioning, shag carpeting and a big backyard, according to Papa Salyer it was, “perfect for young boys to grow up in.” My dad wore big ole’ glasses, white tennis shoes, out of style clothing and was balding, much like he appears now. My mother on the hand was a wonderful stay at home mom who was willing to do anything she had to stay with her boys, even if it meant quitting her job. She took care of us and managed to take care of the house as well, the only problem was that she wasn’t that good of a cook at the time, but that soon changed as you can tell by my belly. That was my family, we might have been weird but we were weird together.

Most people around me discovered that I really enjoyed talking and laughing, much as I do now. I would laugh aloud and ramble on about gibberish that only I understood. I was a smart kid from an early age as well. I was able to pick up objects, kick vigorously, try to turn over, and raise my head all by myself between my third and fourth months (it was also noted, that I did not spit up as much as my two older siblings did in our infant stage). As I approached my very first birthday, it seemed like no one else cared about the major achievement except for me. My family that had had much love for me decided to plan the family vacation around my date of birth. The only problem about that was they left the most intricate part of the family, me, with my Grandparents. During that week, I showed them what they missed out on by taking my first little run. I knew I could have done it before but I always had Brandon or Tyler around to knock me down with a ball or sword or a weapon of some sorts. When they got back from vacation, I was right there to show them what they missed. I began taking my first few prideful strides but was shortly interrupted when a ball ricocheted off the wall and knocked me flat on my diaper-padded bottom.

- Everything was back to normal and seemed to be going wonderful as long as I was in my bouncy chair and my brothers were out of my vision. I had a loving family, Aunts and Uncles that lived close, a newly acquired cousin thanks to my Aunt Pam, and Grandparents that lived close to me and visited me quite often. However, that all changed. On the night of December 5, 1988, my Grandfather Pastor Billy Reid Allen died. Though I never knew him because of my infant mind; I am told that he was a great man. He grew up on the Ohio River and loved to go fishing, hunting or anything that had to do with the great outdoors. I am still greeted by people that always tell me how wonderful of a man he was or have some sort of story to tell about him. I wish now that I could just spend one day with him, he always called my brothers and I little girls but he loved us, whether we were little sissies or not.

As we were trying to deal with the loss of a beloved family member, God still had more big news in store for the Salyer family. My father worked for Kaiser Aluminum and would