Aunt Lily was portly and white-crowned–the sweetest thing, and she was family, who deserved respect. Time to bring out the whoopee cushion.
They never knew I was there, hidden in the branches of the ash tree, wondering what it would be like to scamper like a squirrel or crawl like a beetle.
My first-grade teacher, Mrs. Hume, wore horn-rimmed glasses and dark dresses. I remember little else about her, except that she placed me in the bluebird reading group and seemed very old. The year was 1960, an election year. Even though I was only six years old, I was aware that two men, Kennedy and Nixon,…… Continue reading How I Learned