That girl in the picture wasn’t safe, and she was not happy. I wondered about her, and me, and my hometown, and America.
I am an old crone now and I still wonder...
When images from Vietnam were on the TV screen, I was a mom of three and seven months pregnant with twins. I went into early labor on that day; a shot rang out in my hometown, and America’s prophet bled on the concrete of Memphis.
Terese sighed, flipped to a clean page, and wondered, “I am getting nowhere. I want to explain why there is war to children, but I don’t know how to go about it.”
She chewed the end of her gel pen and stared into the pistil and stamen of a white and violet day lily that grew next to the gazebo. A gunfire round of riveting from the redheaded woodpecker above her head brought Terese back to her empty page, and she sighed, “Christ, have mercy on me. What’s the deal with me? How could I think I could write a story to explain war to children, when I don’t understand why war has to be?”
She bit her lip and sighed a few more times, before putting the gel pen back to the paper. She lit up like a Christmas tree as the words flew from her fingers:
Have you heard the one about Dorothy and her cats?
Dorothy was about your age when her tiny orange and calico cat named Peachez met with an early demise. You see, little Peachez, barely a year old, got too big for her breeches, and snuck out Dorothy’s front door. Nobody knew except Rikki, the deer dog who lived next door.
Rikki could not resist his nature to hunt, and Peachez was most exotic fare, for in this neighborhood, cats lived inside. Little defenseless Peachez never had a chance, for Rikki bit right through the neck of that tiny orange and calico cat.
Oh, how Dorothy mourned; oh, how she grieved; after a week, her mother could take it no more, and told her, “Girl, you need a new kitty!”
Dorothy agreed.
“Then, I will call the cat league and see what they have in stock, okay, Dorothy?”
“Okay, okay, do it for me, please.”
“Happily,” her mom replied, as she dialed the animal league.
Dorothy could not believe it when she heard her mother say, “Hi, have you got any kitties that need a home?”
Dorothy exploded, “No, not just any kitty, I know exactly what I want. I want a pure white cat with blue eyes the color of the summer sky, and I’ll call him Bob.”
“Okay, okay. Did you hear all that, lady from the animal league?”
“Yes, I did, and, ah--good luck with it. I have a lot of cats that could be Bob; some have pure white fur, but not a one has blue eyes.”
I am an old crone now and I still wonder...
When images from Vietnam were on the TV screen, I was a mom of three and seven months pregnant with twins. I went into early labor on that day; a shot rang out in my hometown, and America’s prophet bled on the concrete of Memphis.
Terese sighed, flipped to a clean page, and wondered, “I am getting nowhere. I want to explain why there is war to children, but I don’t know how to go about it.”
She chewed the end of her gel pen and stared into the pistil and stamen of a white and violet day lily that grew next to the gazebo. A gunfire round of riveting from the redheaded woodpecker above her head brought Terese back to her empty page, and she sighed, “Christ, have mercy on me. What’s the deal with me? How could I think I could write a story to explain war to children, when I don’t understand why war has to be?”
Have you heard the one about Dorothy and her cats?
Dorothy was about your age when her tiny orange and calico cat named Peachez met with an early demise. You see, little Peachez, barely a year old, got too big for her breeches, and snuck out Dorothy’s front door. Nobody knew except Rikki, the deer dog who lived next door.
Rikki could not resist his nature to hunt, and Peachez was most exotic fare, for in this neighborhood, cats lived inside. Little defenseless Peachez never had a chance, for Rikki bit right through the neck of that tiny orange and calico cat.
Oh, how Dorothy mourned; oh, how she grieved; after a week, her mother could take it no more, and told her, “Girl, you need a new kitty!”
Dorothy agreed.
“Then, I will call the cat league and see what they have in stock, okay, Dorothy?”
“Okay, okay, do it for me, please.”
“Happily,” her mom replied, as she dialed the animal league.
Dorothy could not believe it when she heard her mother say, “Hi, have you got any kitties that need a home?”
Dorothy exploded, “No, not just any kitty, I know exactly what I want. I want a pure white cat with blue eyes the color of the summer sky, and I’ll call him Bob.”
“Okay, okay. Did you hear all that, lady from the animal league?”
“Yes, I did, and, ah--good luck with it. I have a lot of cats that could be Bob; some have pure white fur, but not a one has blue eyes.”
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