Happy Birthday to Me!

Sixty-six years ago World War II was still raging across the sea. America was united in facing its enemy, and though the tide was turning in our favor, the times were unsure. My mother had been sure of one thing however, that she loved her soldier husband and wanted a baby, whatever the future held. That summer my daddy was on a ship somewhere in the Mediterranean, and during her sixth month, my twenty-two year old mother went back to her spacious childhood home on the corner of Fifth and Chestnut Streets in Wilmington to await my birth. I can picture happy Mama and Papa on the big front porch, young Margaret and Marty, and Mother's many childhood friends stopping to visit. She was loved, and so was I as I entered the world that Wednesday afternoon. Of the generation that welcomed me and taught me that life is good, only my aunt and uncle remain. Now I have other, newer family members to love and to love me. But the world has become a different place. America is engaged in political battles on other soils, we the people are fragmented, not united in a common goal, and the future is again unsure. Life is faster and people are more self absorbed. But one thing I know for sure is that I have carried the love and security of the summer of forty-four with me all my years.