As a child, who thinks of death. I did not even understand death; let alone know what death really was. The cowboy was shooting Indians. Indians fell off horses. they were dead. OK, next show those Indians were there agian. We pretended to shoot one another, knife one another, pretended to strangle one another. Afterward, we went inside and had hot coco.
but, the day before my birthday...December 16, 1955; my 1st father died! And, I as a child....was angry. I was angry that I could not go to school on the 17th because our family was in mourning and I could not have the birthday celebration that the school class was to give that day. Angry because the party was not going to be held at my house either. angry because my daddy would not be home. I thought that they would bring him home from the hospital any time....and we would celebrate. My gifts were handed to me in a solomn way and when I squeeled with delight over a doll my aunt gave me...I was told that was not proper on this day. WHAT...but THIS day was my birthday ! At the age of 7, death was such a foreign thing. I did not begin to grieve over his death until years later...when I knew what death was.
Tags: Father Death Childhood Innocence
