Peggy, my younger sister, wept bitterly on her first day of school.
“Honey, don’t worry,” my mother reassured. “You’ll be home before you know it.”
My sister cried louder.
“You’ll love school. You’ll read and color.”
“But you’re so old!” Peggy squalled, tears of shame on her face.
Mom, her hair already turning fine silver by age 40, shut off the spigot: “Do you think these young mothers know how to make volcanoes that explode and really ooze lava? Do they know how to camp and cook outdoors? Do they know how to be room mothers?”
This woman was wise in the ways of motherhood.
She could turn out two dozen fudgey-chocolate brownies and handily kill a copperhead snake…
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