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Show 7 was the set he had asked for but never got when he was a kid. After the presents were opened and we had begun to wear out, mom and dad sat us down and said they had one more present. It wasn't a present exactly, they said, but something to be excited about. They asked how we would feel about having a new baby in the family. We were thrilled, of course, and talked about how much fun it would be. Mom said the baby was on its way, but that it would be a while still before it was ready to leave the comfort of her belly. In the meantime, however, she said the baby could probably hear us if we wanted to whisper to it. So we leaned in close and said, "Hello baby, hello baby." That was the year we ate Kentucky Fried Chicken on the beach. On holidays and sometimes just because, dad would ask if maybe we didn't want to get out of the house and take advantage of life in Southern California. Dad wore pants and socks and a wide-brimmed hat that cast a long shadow over his face. He and mom never wore swimsuits or got very near the water, but they let us run in the foamy waves as long as David promised to stay close to me and I promised to stay where they could see us. Mom wondered how sand managed to get everywhere, even on her chicken, and said that she would like the beach better if it weren't so dirty. Dad smiled and said that was a good one, but mom shrugged as if to say she wasn't joking. Sometimes we walked together through the sand or on the sidewalk above the beach and watched the sun set. We went hunting for sand dollars or starfish but except for small, broken seashells, we rarely found much more than seaweed and aluminum cans. That was the year mom rubbed her stomach like a worry stone. The last thing we saw |