The Red Flannel Rag

Many times I sat on the kitchen chair crying and saying to her, “I wish I was a boy

with black hair and brown eyes.” She would say to me, "I asked for a boy when you were

born, and I got you instead."

The third child was a girl. Destined to be the middle child and having been a girl,

my sister, Brenda, suffered even more than I did. She was lost between two boys. She

spent her entire childhood, and her adulthood, seeking approval from Mom and Dad.

While Dad was in the army, Mom had a rough time taking care of the household

and three small children. Many times she told me how, in cold weather, she went to the

barn to milk her cow and left me in charge. I asked her, “How could you trust me to stay

with the little ones. I was only three or four years old?” She replied, “I put all three of

you in the baby bed. I pulled up the side of the bed so the little ones couldn’t fall out. I

told you to sit there and watch them. When I got back from the barn, you were always

exactly where I put you and the little ones were just fine.”

Leaving me in charge did not work one time when she went to the woodpile to

chop some wood. She told me to watch Brenda who was just beginning to walk by this

time and very curious about everything. Mom had left a ham hock boiling on the

kitchen stove. Brenda went into the kitchen, pulled a chair up to the stove, and grabbed

the handle of the ham pot. She burned her hand and, in her panic, upset the pot of

boiling broth down over her body. She slipped and fell off the chair.

When I heard the noise and screaming, I ran to the kitchen to find her floating

on her stomach in the greasy hot ham broth. I ran to the front door to get Mom, but

foun d I couldn’t reach the latch to open the door. I just started to scream and pound on

the door. Mom heard me and came running.

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