The Red Flannel Rag

Brenda had third degree burns on her belly and still carries the scar today. I

have always felt guilty about that scar on Bre nda’s belly but certainly came to realize

that it was not my fault. I have also forgiven my mother for giving me too much

responsibility at such a young age. She was doing the best she could since she was both

man and the woman of the house while Dad was away.

Mom got lonely sometimes in the evenings, so she would walk across the hill

about a half of a mile to Aunt Goldie’s house. She carried the two little ones, and I

walked alongside. She often stayed until after dark before she started home with us. As

we walked home in the dark, she talked to me about the stars and about how far Dad

was away from us. I got sleepy on these late evening trips home, and I would say, “Carry

me, too, Mama.” She would put her hands together and stoop down so I could si t on her

hands. With a baby in each arm and me sitting on her hands, we all made it home

safely.

Two years after my sister was born, my brother John came into the world. He

had blue eyes and blonde hair. He didn’t fit her image of the perfect child but somehow

turned out to be my mother’s favorite. By then, I was five years old. Many times as she

changed John’s diaper, she let me watch and pointed out the difference between boys

and girls. She said that when God made a boy he had extra material, and he carefully

shaped the extra material into the penis. But, when He made a girl, he ran out of

material and had to leave a gap.

Once again after being born first when Mom wanted a boy, I felt very inadequate

as a female and could sense God’s disappointme nt when He realized he had not bought

enough “materials” for his baby -making project.

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