2020 will most likely become a watershed year for this generation, just as 1963 was a watershed year for my generation. I remember clearly that autumn fifty-seven years ago. One of my clearest memories is a visit from my sister, Beth, and her little girl, Scotti. Their visit was like a tranquil pause in a tumultuous ocean. I later wrote about that visit for my high school English class. ( essay below the pictures) I recently found and read that essay, pondering how quickly time passes. We all have heavy hearts today. My niece, Scotti, is losing her battle with cancer.
Innocence (1963)
My niece, Scotti, watched her mother head for the door. "Mommy go gone-gone?"
Beth leaned down and kissed her. “Be a good girl and give mommy some bye-bye sugar.”
There was a thud as the door shut, followed by a heavy clunk of rattling jalousies on the storm door. A gust of chilly air rushed in, momentarily filling the room with autumn, night odors.
Then, it was lost in the warm air and the smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. The only sound was the soft hum of Scotti’s crayons, as they transformed the picture of a clown into blobs of green, red, and purple.
“Time to go night-night, Scotti.”
“Go ni-ni,” she repeated and smiled. “Dotta ‘unspill’ my colors.” She put two of the crayons upside down in the box, picked up her half-eaten cookie, and crawled up beside me in the rocker. As the chair rocked back and forth with a squeaking rhythm, she nodded sleepily in my lap.
Her colors, still needing to be “unspilled” lay on the floor beside the splotchy-looking clown with a big purple nose, and a squashed, half-eaten cookie fell from her hand to join them. Her soft, even breathing, and the smell of baby powder and clean pajamas filled the room. She smiled in her sleep and clutched my arm when I picked her up to put her to bed. As I rose, the rocker gave a last, low moan, and I looked around the room at Scotti’s little world. How peaceful and far away it seemed from the world of Alabamas, Viet Nam, and a downtown Dallas Parade.