Location: Fort Worth, Texas, United States

Mother of 3, grandmother of 3. Compulsive writer. Single, not especially "looking."

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Beginning a new series

I'm so new to this Blogging thing, and especially reluctant, like most writers I know, to "toot my own horn." But I'm also learning that if I don't do it, nobody else will -- especially my publisher. I'm an unknown, with a book topic slanted for a specific population, so nobody would want to invest any kind of advertising budget to alert the public about this book. So I'm learning.

And one of the learning experiences in promoting my own book(s) is blogging, and inviting others to my blog, and visiting blogs. Which will occur pretty soon, when my Publicist launches her new promotion campaign. Then I will have some ready-made topics to post, at least for a month. Until that time, and most likely afterward, I will be posting memories I resurect when I look at old, faded, black and white pictures of my life as an Army Brat.

So today I'm looking at where it all began, so to speak. There's a picture of my father in his uniform, six year old me beside him in a neat little school dress, and he is holding my new born baby brother, Gary. The time period is 1944 (see, I told you I was OLD) and the location is the front yard of our rented house on South 5th Street, in Lawton OK.

My father had just graduated from Officer Candidate School, the War was going on (if you have to ask "Which war?"you're much too young to be reading this) and I was aware that my daddy might have to Go Fight the War.

Fortunately, the war ended about the time he finished flight school at Shepard Air Force Base, in Wichita Falls, TX. So he was safe.

But looking at the picture, I can see worry lines on our faces: Dad must have been concerned about his growing family, his leaving us and the possibility of never coming back. At my age, I'm sure I felt the tension in the house, and probably convinced that no matter what happened, if my Daddy left, it would be my fault. Children are so powerful like that, you know.

This seemingly common snapshot of a new growing family is one of the last childhood pictures I have that reflects the tone of that time. Now I look at it and realize, many fathers must have posed for pictures just like this one, and they didn't come home from the War.

God Bless the Greatest Generation. Your children salute you.

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