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Show in my father's house/ 59 When she had gone, I climbed inside my toy-drawer and got stuck there. I yelled until my mother came to see who was dying. When Aunt Helga found out, she laughed. And I had to laugh too, in spite of myself. A singular event, my mother's anger over Aunt Helga's bedspread. She never spanked me, rarely lost her temper, and devoted the better part of her spare time - time she might have spent at her beloved piano -- making dresses with ruffles, lace, and ribbons for me. She told me stories and poems as she ironed or kneaded bread. She invited me to make cakes and cookies, to play dolls and house, and she drew paper dolls and pictures to suit my whim. Her only daughter, I had been named after her favorite doll, and when I was with her, my life was a series of games, one make-believe after another. My mother wasn't the only one who pampered me. My father came by each day after work to kiss and hug and toss me in the air before he went off to the wife of that evening. My older brothers -- Saul, Jake, and Danny - favored me with walks and fishing expeditions. My half-sisters took me to explore the barn, rob the orchard, or swing on playground equipment the group-brethren installed near the garden. Despite my demanding, wheedling ways, even the other mothers humored me, and if they lost their tempers, they usually remembered to kiss me afterward. All but Aunt Helga. Once I grew past the stage when my |
