​I remember standing in the upstairs hallway on Heathfield Road in our Baltimore row house with my Daddy.  He was holding the wet sash of my purple plaid dress and calling down over the banister, “Mom!  What should we do?  Janny got her sash in the potty.”  He hardly knew what to do with a little girl (though he had many more chances) just as, many years later, I hardly knew what to do with a little boy.

​Mostly he let Mom deal with us, though she always prefaced it with “your father and I,” telling us the rules, handing out allowances, arranging the Easter photos (where Kathy always cried).  But one day in 7th grade I was getting ready for a first:  friends and I were dressing up and taking the bus downtown by ourselves!  Daddy pulled me aside in the den and gave me $2 for extra spending money.  I was surprised and delighted—he never just handed me money! Rather, Daddy quietly and faithfully earned the money to support us.  He was one of the young men, a handsome sailor with a big grin, who came home from the war and ran with the promise that was America in mid-century.  He went to college on the GI bill, got a job, got married, bought a row house and set about raising a family, which turned out to be four little girls (and a female cat).  I always told people he joined the Scouts to get a break from us girls.

1957:  Dad & Mom with Mimi, Kate, Lisa & Jan​ Keep reading