I'm 70 now and my boyhood in the 1950's is so long ago.
That is until I recall the day when my childhood innocence ended. Suddenly I'm living that day this very moment.
Poppa drove home and slowly got out of his gray Plymouth. His shoulders were slumped and his head seemed to hang down to his chest.
As I looked more closely, he appeared to be crying, as he tried to gather himself before coming in the front door.
Mamma saw it too as she watched from our living room window. I could feel her fear, as she rushed to the door to greet him.