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Show of photographs of that navy, in red, white and blue cover, showing the ships and the victories in Cuba and the Philippines. My heart was torn with woeful civil strife. I loved grandfather. But with Father and El Vera both working me over I wilted. I let Father pin a big Bull Moose badge with glaring purple glass eyes on me in token of my bolting the Democrat Party and lining up with him on Teddy's side. Another difference between me and Father in those first years in Nebraska was less painful. The problem was not a quarrel but a difference in talents. He possessed a minor gift that I admired in a major way. But this talent made me envious: he was a sneezer of a superior sort. That was before the research in allergies. Perhaps it was the abundance of Nebraska sunflowers or some other plant. But when Father started to sneeze he did not content himself with one or two restrained sounds as Mother did-he sneezed with abandon a dozen snorts in rapid succession until he was breathless and his face turned red. As a small boy I might not admire him for his medical skill or his encyclopedic mind, though he could remember incredible numbers of facts about geography, history and other subjects as well as anatomy and chemistry. But I did feel jealous of his positive genius as a sneezer. One comfort was my hope that as his son I'd inherit the talent and grow up to be a fantastic performer in that way, perhaps even a finer one. This was one of several reasons I was impatient to gain his size and maturity. Another was that I fiercely resented the way some boys in our neighborhood twisted our name to "Clumsy." I lacked the fistic prowess Father'd had in youth but I could still strike out in fury, even if the offender was inches taller. Soon I'd find myself lying pinned to the ground, the bully sitting on me and holding my arms down. He might glare and gloat and threaten to cut out my tongue if I told on him, for no one trifled with Father. Or he might just punch me and chase me home. Father merely laughed at the way people corrupted our name. He kept a little album of misspellings of it, and would clip out a new one from an envelope or bill |
