Biography 2


Biography 3

Like the rose bush, another of my earliest memories is also an unhappy one.  One afternoon, long before I began to attend school, I was startled from my reveries by my angry mother, snatching me up from whatever innocent pursuit I had been indulging and rushing me into the living room.  There she called my attention to a small section of wall beside the piano where I found my own name inscribed with pencil, in a waivery and childish hand.

"Did you do that?" she inquired.  (Across the street, one of the neighbors said, "do what?")  Terrified, I shook my head in the negative.   "Don't lie to me!" she demanded, and proceeded to thrash me.  After a few seconds of vigorous corporal punishment, I was transported across the room to another spot where the windowsill had been likewise embellished.  "Did you do that?" she once again inquired.  Again (having apparently not learned my lesson) I shook my head.  "Don't lie to me!"  Thrash thrash thrash!  
As children often do, I told and retold this tale all throughout my childhood years.  My mother defended herself against this charge by (a) questioning if I was all that sure that I had not, in fact, written my name on that wall, (b) suggesting that she was perfectly justified in accusing me, since I was a precocious child and had been well tutored by my sister , and (c) denying that this episode had ever happened.

One day we were all sitting around the table, and I was (once again) recounting the story of my unjust punishment when Daran began snickering and finally confessed that he had been the actual culprit.  The truth at last!  I appealed, but the miscreant received no punishment.  It would have been difficult, I have to admit, since he was thirty-something years old by then.

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Copyright 2004 Raymond K. Paden
Page last modified  05/17/2015