The things I remember most about Granny are her bony fingers and her raspy voice.
There was the day she beckoned me to her with that long index finger of her left hand. As I arrived in front of her knees, she used that same index finger to hook my shirt (white and button up) and lift it to my chest. And then, slowly, she inserted the end of her right index finger into my navel. Holding it there, she said, “See where, when you were a baby, the Yankees shot you.”
Monday, August 21, 2006
The Questing Parson: "Where We Were Shot"
The Questing Parson has written a wonderful essay about war called "Where We Were Shot". Please read it. You will be moved by it.