On that tragic Saturday afternoon, in the fall of 1946, my mom had asked my dad to take her grocery shopping. Dad had been an agreeable, spontaneous kind of guy who’d always been ready to help ‘his Jeannie’ in every way, so I imagine that he’d put down the newspaper and said, “Okay Sugar, let’s go.”
Once my parents had slipped into their coats; Dad would have unlocked and opened our apartment’s front door. Then, Mom would have bent down to hug and kiss me goodbye.
At that point: I’ll spin toward my daddy, and with a sunny, expectant smile, I'll reach up while he, bending forward to grab me up by my waist, laughingly swooshes me high over his head. Flying up toward the ceiling, like a plane soaring high in the sky, I’ll squeal with delight. Then, upon catching me against the strength of his chest, Daddy will dropped tender kisses on each of my cheeks before gently setting me down.
At that point: I’ll spin toward my daddy, and with a sunny, expectant smile, I'll reach up while he, bending forward to grab me up by my waist, laughingly swooshes me high over his head. Flying up toward the ceiling, like a plane soaring high in the sky, I’ll squeal with delight. Then, upon catching me against the strength of his chest, Daddy will dropped tender kisses on each of my cheeks before gently setting me down.
Once Dad, the spitting image of a young James Cagney, joins Mom on the third floor landing just outside our apartment’s front door, he'll throw me his customary, double tongue-clicking-wink, and with a good natured “See ya later, Dolly,” he’ll close and lock the door. As you can see, we were a merry trio, indeed.
