The Red Flannel Rag

went away, so I figured out a way to get physically close to him without him knowing

what I was doing.

Just about every evening after supper, he would get us all in the car and go over

the hill to visit Aunt Goldie and Uncle Rob. One night I fell asleep before we left for

home, and he had to carry me to the car. I woke up as he was carrying me securely

against his chest. He smelled like soap and tobacco smoke, and he felt physically

powerful. I loved how safe I felt, but I knew I had to keep quiet or he would put me

down and tell me to walk. Guess what? I fell asleep every time we visited Uncle Rob

and Aunt Goldie in the evenings so Dad would have to carry me to the car.

He never deliberately hugged me or touched me again in my life until he was on

his deathbed, and then I hugged him and kissed his cheek. He kissed me back. After he

died, I found a picture of me in his wallet. It had been taken on the day I defended my

doctoral dissertation. It wasn’t until that mom ent that I knew he was proud of me.

In April of 1946, my brother, John, was born. Mom had gotten pregnant when

Dad was sent home for a brief leave before going to Japan. John was born at home on

the bed in the living room. Grandma Molly and Nettie Conley, the midwife, helped with

his birth. When the pains started, Dad put us in his car and took us to Aunt Goldie’s

house. He came to get us as soon as John was born. He was a big baby, weighing ten

and a half pounds, I learned later, and he was still wet when we walked into the house to

look at him for the first time.

I started asking questions about where babies come from after John was born.

Mom wasn’t ready to answer my questions, so she told me, “Your daddy brought him

home from Germany in a buzzar d egg.” I began to wonder if that was why Mom seemed

to love him so much more than the rest of us.

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