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Another Fine Web Site Designed and Maintained by EpistleWorks Creations and JoAnn Reno Wray
© COPYRIGHT 2005-2011 • ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ~
NANETTE THORSEN-SNIPES
This interview, in its entirety, appears at Crystal Miller's
As a child, I loved dogs. My mother raised German Shepherds for a short while, during
which time the female had three litters. The dog developed breast abscesses with her first
litter of thirteen puppies, which meant my mother, my eight-year-old sister and I, at age ten,
got up at all hours to feed the puppies from doll bottles. I loved the puppies so much I named
each one of them. We managed to save the puppies. My dog's next litter was eleven
puppies. By this time, my father had erected a large dog house for them. I spent many days
inside that dog house. At first, the puppies' eyes were closed, and I couldn't wait for them to
open. One by one, the puppies began opening their steel-gray eyes and romping in our yard.
And, as before, I named each of them. I had other dogs as well, three dachshunds, and a
couple of mutts. At one time, I thought of being a veterinarian, but curtailed my ambition
since I couldn't stand the sight of blood.
My fondest memory before age five was my mother reading nursery rhymes to me before naptime. She also sang some
old-timey songs like "Red River Valley" and "I've Got Sixpence." I still recall most of the words to the songs because I also
sang them (a little off-tune) to my own children. I was born during World War II (my father was in the old Army-Air Corps),
and my mother sang some of the military songs of that era to us as well. Other fond memories were of long summer days
sitting in clover-filled grass, looking for four-leaf clovers or making chain bracelets and necklaces from the white flowers. I
also loved hot, Georgia summers spent playing "Red Rover, Red Rover," or "Kick the Can" with a group of kids.
(Now) – My proudest moment is to know that my oldest son, who only finished one quarter in college, had the skill and
determination to become general manager of several Atlanta hotels. For the last three years, he was general manager of a
large, downtown Chicago hotel. Though I certainly don’t deserve credit, he says he owes a lot to how I raised him.
I was five years old in 1949 when I became sick. I remember being so sick I couldn't even get
out of bed. My mother, who wasn't a worrier, hovered over me, and she took my temperature
numerous times a day. One day when the doctor came for a visit (he was also a friend of my
parents), he said I had rheumatic fever.I could hear whispering outside my door, and by the
sound in her voice I knew my mother was alarmed. After the doctor left, I became very
concerned. "Am I going to die?" I asked. Her answer: "I don't know, but I hope not," and then
she changed the subject. My doctor told my parents that I absolutely should not exert myself,
or run, for an entire year because he was concerned about heart damage. I remember having to
walk very slowly to school, and at Thanksgiving, when we had our Thanksgiving play, I was
given the role of "tree." Even with his care, I have mitral valve regurgitation, which may have
been caused by the rheumatic fever.
I took business courses in high school and after graduation, went to work. I worked as
secretary at a moderately sized cemetery. At first, I liked the job, which consisted of
typing paperwork for the different cemetery lots and keeping up with other records. One
day, my boss came into the office grinning. He placed a box on my lap, which I held
wondering why he gave it to me. Then he said, "Do you know what you're holding?" I
shook my head. "It's Mrs. So-and-So's remains." I couldn't get the box off my lap fast
enough. I finally quit the job a couple of years later when I couldn't fight tears any longer
as I watched people burying their loved ones. One time, a friend from high school's
girlfriend had gotten killed in a car wreck. Tears streaked my face as I watched from the
office window. Doug's shoul ders shook with emotion, and Isuffered with him.
Cowgirl outfit. Although I had a couple of dolls, I really didn’t care too much for them, but instead preferred animals. I also
had a real love for the early cowboy and Indian shows like "Roy Rogers," "Rin Tin Tin," and others. So one Christmas, my
parents bought me a cowgirl outfit complete with guns and holster. I think that was also the year my father bought a train
set (though I'm not sure it was for me).
[Read More Below]
[Read More Below]
Childhood Ambition
Fondest Memory
Proudest Moment
Another proud moment occurred a few years ago when I learned from cousins on both sides of the family that my
ancestors on my mother’s side and on my father’s both served at Valley Forge with George Washington.
Biggest Challenge as a Child
My First Job
Favorite Outfit
In 1950, my mother was one of the few women who worked, but she made sure we were cared for. She hired a large,
African-American woman whose name I still remember — Lajuana— who took very good care of us. I loved Lajuana and her
roomy lap where I often sat and nestled into her chest. When my mother's dad died in Panama, Mama nestled her head
into her lap as well, and cried. I have fond memories of this woman who was the color of rich coffee beans and whose
compassion knew no bounds. I often dreamed of finding her and telling her what an impression she made on me.
Other Memories
Another revived memory revolves around Christian camp. Though there was a downside when my pastor had to take my sister
and me home because of family discord, the richest memories still live. Besides all the fun we had at camp, I enjoyed learning
about Jesus. I didn't learn about Him at home, but through a kind pastor who took it upon himself to take us to church every
Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday night. His faithfulness to the Lord makes me who I am in Jesus today.
Would you like to interview Nan or contact her for information on her writing or editing services? Just click the
Contact Page link below and use the form to send inquiries.
The Joy of the LORD is your strength. ~ Nehemiah 8:10
In fifth grade, my teacher read a chapter every day in a book titled The Haunted Hound. It was
powerful and heady stuff for a fifth-grader. We placed our heads on our desks and visualized the
scenes of this book. And when the end came, and the dog died, there wasn't a dry eye in the
classroom. I believe that book was one of the milestones that built my empathy. Another
milestone occurred when I was five. A little girl who visited our house had a naked doll, and I
remember feeling sorry for her. I wanted to give her my only set of doll clothes, but when I
realized my sister had a second set, I gave the little girl my sister's doll clothes. Not a good
idea—especially when you have to explain to your mother.
Favorite Childhood Book
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