When my son asked me to ‘write stuff down’ I promised no
particular order of events. Memories do not come in chronological order. My last entry was of my baby brother’s birth
in November of 1945. This event occurred in April of that year.
The War for the USA was in its fourth year, following the
bombing of Pearl Harbor; the country was unified. Children were collecting
metal articles; mothers, fathers and wives proudly displayed flags in their windows, telling the world
they had a son or husband in service. Certain goods were rationed, such as shoes,
sugar and gasoline; people mildly grumbled but proudly complied. Mommie’s
brother, Uncle Kin was in the army and brother Uncle Audie in the navy.
He was so handsome in his sailor suit. Daddy’s brother, Uncle Viven was drafted
in October of 1942 and was still in the army on this April 12th of
1945.
April 12, which is Ivy’s birthday, held a more monumental
event than one small girl turning eight could expect. Birthdays in our house were not celebrated,
but merely acknowledged. But this April 12 was special. Ivy, Arville and I had
walked home from school for dinner. When
Daddy did not come at once , Mommie served us our dinner. She was fussing in
the kitchen when Daddy came in from the barn where he had been clearing manure
from one of the stalls. “Your shoes,” Mommie said.
“On the porch. I’m hungry enough to eat my hat.”
“The radio said President Roosevelt was dead”
In one fluid movement Ivy was off her chair and in the
kitchen. “Daddy, can we go to the funeral with you?”
Mommie and Daddy burst into laughter.
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