In the following excerpts, Colleen’s eagerness as a little girl to share her thoughts and do “boyish” things is very reminiscent of Anne Shirley.

Since I wasn’t in school at the time, whenever my mother sent me out of the house, I would sit out front on the stoop for hours.  Being an only child and ill for such a long time, I had never played with other children.  I had no idea of what I was supposed to do or how I was to behave with anyone other than my parents.  I was desperate for some one to talk to.  So I would sit on that stoop all afternoon, waiting for some grown-up to come along.  As they approached, I would run up to them on the sidewalk, take them by the arm and say that I was putting them “in jail”.  This meant they were now bound to come and sit with me for a while.  I can’t imagine what these people must have made of this—and, obviously, I was turned down quite a bit.  But, surprisingly enough, now and then, some kind man or woman would come up on the porch and sit beside me for a few moments.  I have no memory of what w would talk about except that after a few minutes of conversation, I would “release” the person and, content for the moment, go back inside to my mother, or sit quietly looking down the street, waiting for another prisoner. (25-26)

As I got older, I would go to the park across the street from my grandparents’ home, on occasion without my grandfather, to stand on the edge of the field and watch the neighborhood boys play baseball.  Whenever a ball was hit foul I would run after it and throw it back into the game for them.  I was entering my tomboy stage and, even then, had a very good arm.  After a few throws, they would finally yell to me, asking if I wanted to play.  I would shout “Yes!” and run over to join whichever team was short a player.
But I was very shy and continued to stand on the edge of the field waiting to be invited to play.  I never took it for granted that the boys would really want me to play, even though I knew I was good and could throw and bat as well as the best of them.  Eventually, they stopped asking me if I wanted to play, and one team would simply choose me outright.  I was thrilled.  I loved those days and those games.
My grandmother soon began to try to correct the various unladylike things she claimed I learned from my father.  When I came back across the street from the ball field, she would grab me as I came in the door and exclaim how dirty I was.  She would march me upstairs where there would be an ice-cold bath awaiting.
“Young ladies,” she explained as we climbed the stairs, “do not turn red and sweat!”  This was only the first item in what was to become her ongoing and extensive “young ladies do not” litany.
“Young ladies do not play games with boys,” she continued, scrubbing my head and hands.  “They don’t go barefoot. They don’t laugh loudly and, my dear, they most definitely do not whistle.”  And on and on for what seemed to me an eternity.  Oddly enough, she never forbade me outright to play baseball during my visits.  By then, my mother’s secretarial skills were an additional source of income for my grandmother, so she dared not go against her.  As this was the case, baseball and perhaps even the occasional bit of whistling, loud laughter, and bare feet would be fine. (29-30)

Photos: Top photo: Colleen's nickname was Biddy when she was little.  The two photos in the middle were taken in 1937.  The one on the left was taken of Colleen on her way to school one day, the photo on the right was taken after school.