Daddy Got His Draft Notice.

8. Daddy was astride Solomon, our big black stallion who shared wagon and plow pulling with Ted, a smaller brown and white horse. It was not yet daylight. Mommy was crying. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Daddy said.

“Where’s daddy going?” Ivy and I asked as one voice.

“To town.”

Further questions elicited threats of a whipping. Mommy raised the black flag up the pole. She sat on the bench outside the dining room. She cried. Only Arville, our pesky brother could go near her. Ivy and I knew then, as we had known for a long time, that Arville was a more special child than either of us.

“Mommy, when will Daddy come home?”

Her need for alone time or for adult time resulted in Ivy and me being sent to the barnyard pasture to pick up rocks.  When Grandma and Grandpa Neely came Ivy and I were in the pasture where rocks were ubiquitous – little rocks, middle sized rocks, big rocks. Mommy’s notion of ridding the pasture of rocks never materialized. Our rock picking punishment involved moving the small pile we had long before made.

We moved the pile three times.

Grandpa and Grandma left.

It was nearly dark when Daddy returned. Mommy waited on the porch while he stabled Solomon. She met  Daddy half way between the house and the barn. Ivy and I followed. “I didn’t pass,” Daddy said. Mommy tossing aside her stoic demeanor  threw her arms around Daddy. Both cried.

Ivy and I crept away. Failing, we learned, was good. Daddy was classified 4-F. He would not be going to war.

Next morning Mommy flew the white flag.