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Tribute To
A Mother
The heat of the August afternoon had just begun to cool itself in that twilight of 1929, when the birth of a baby who one day would become my mother took her first breath and screamed her first cry.
She grew into an exceptionally pretty child with the curiousities and mischievous ways of all children. The warm days of April would find her gathering dandelions, purple violets and stray kittens, while July saw her barefooted roaming the meadows, crossing the ereeks and balancing herself on the railroad tracks.
Those Aprils and Julys and Septembers melted into years and soon the same tall frame of a child had seasoned into a young woman. Then came high school hops, rumble seats, Frank Sinatra, bobby socks, boys, and bubble gum. There were stolen kisses and sweet promises never meant to be kept. And there was a first love, the kind that each of us has felt, a pure and innocent love; one that keeps you in a whirlwind, never touching the earth, until for
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