David Colburn

This past week, I’ve been reflecting on just how fortunate I am to have had the childhood I did – one that could have turned out very differently.
I wasn’t born in a log cabin anywhere. I was born in a hospital in Santa Barbara, Calif., the seventh child of parents who were already stretched thin with six. They made the difficult decision ahead of my birth to place me for adoption. My uncle, who worked at the law firm they tapped for the private adoption, knew that my small-town Kansas parents, Ed and Louise Colburn, were hoping for a child. Within days of my arrival, I was whisked to Kansas in, of all things, a banana box converted into a baby carrier.
I still have the photo of my parents holding that box at the Santa Barbara airport – you’ve never seen two people so happy to be holding what looks like a shipment of bananas.
So instead of growing up the youngest of seven in a coastal city, I became the eldest of three in the farming community of Marion, Kan. I can’t say one life would have been better than the other, but they would have been worlds apart. And I know mine was full of gifts that shaped me in lasting ways.
My dad, once a candidate for a Rhodes Scholarship, was an attorney and probate judge before moving into banking. My mom was an elementary school teacher. From the start, it was clear I would be expected to go to college and pursue a profession, something that might not have been in the cards if I’d stayed with my birth family, as none of my siblings went on to earn bachelor’s degrees.
One of my favorite old photos shows Dad in his Army Air Corps dress uniform in the early 1940s, standing in the front yard of the Marion house on Elm St. where he grew up. What makes me smile is what’s in the background – the Elm St. house where I grew up decades later. It was a big two-story home with a sprawling front yard and, even better, a wooded lot stretching down to the creek. That stretch of woods became my kingdom, extending north to a little gravel pile in the creek we called Dogfish Island. My sisters, friends, and I spent countless hours there, sledding in winter when there was enough snow, fishing for catfish and perch in summer, and inventing all manner of games in between.
When I wasn’t in the woods, I was probably zipping around Marion on my Spyder bike with its tiger-striped banana seat. We weren’t confined to a block or two, and adults in the community were like our surrogate aunts and uncles, making sure we were safe and stayed on the straight and narrow. As an aside, given the recurring banana theme in my early life, maybe it’s no wonder my friends still think I’m a little bananas.
Fall meant hunting trips with Dad and his buddies – doves, prairie chickens, pheasants, and ducks, with the occasional rabbit hunt. The real thrill came when Dad started taking me along on overnight fishing trips with his buddies. I’d ride in the boat while they set lines for flatheads, then sit by the campfire listening to their stories until the next check.
I also became a fixture at the Marion library. The librarian, Norma Riggs, took the time to get to know kids and guide us toward books that would spark our curiosity. Some days, I walked out with an armful of 15 or 20. My second-floor bedroom, with tree branches brushing the window, made for the perfect hideaway for marathon reading.
But one of the greatest joys of my childhood was living just two blocks from my maternal grandparents. Holidays and weekly visits were a given. My grandfather paid me my first wages – ten cents a quart for digging dandelions from the yard. My grandmother baked cherry pies that no one has ever matched, and when the fruit on their cherry tree was ripe, the Colburn kids were the pickers. They were travelers, too, and their photos and slideshows stirred my imagination, especially the one my grandfather created after visiting the U.S.S.R. They took us fossil hunting in the Flint Hills, on longer educational excursions around the state, and even escorted us on a grand trip to New York, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C.
Both Mom and Grandmother modeled strong leadership. Mom had a major hand in founding a fine arts show in the park featuring premier artists from around the state. That show later shifted focus to an arts and crafts show that continues to this day. Grandmother, in particular, left a significant mark, serving at the national level of the Presbyterian church and becoming the first and only woman elected moderator of the Kansas synod, even winning re-election.
I was also lucky to have my best friend Brook’s parents in my life. Jack and Vernie ran a small downtown grocery, and Jack let us work there even as grade-schoolers. Stocking shelves, cleaning butcher-shop equipment, riding in the back of the pickup to deliver groceries, those were my first lessons in work, and when I was old enough to actually hold a job, Jack was the one who handed me my first paycheck. Long after, any trip home included a stop to see Jack and Vernie.
I could go on and on, but the point is clear: I had a wonderful childhood, one that could have looked very different had I not been adopted by Ed and Louise Colburn. Truly, I hit the jackpot.
And while life has changed in ways that make such a childhood less common today, I don’t see mine as “better” so much as simply a blessing. The freedom to roam, the closeness of family, the mentors who encouraged me, the safety of a small town, all of it left me with memories I’ll cherish forever, and a gratitude that only deepens with time.