I was afraid of Daddy.
He had a loud voice and big hands. He wore glasses over his eyes. They reflected the light so much that I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were. When he slept on the couch, he snored like a bear. I covered my ears so I couldn’t hear him.
One day, Mama, who had calm blue eyes and smelled like fresh apples, was carrying me from my bedroom through the hallway that led to the living room.
It was morning, and she had just dressed me in a pink shirt and matching pants. She had combed my blonde curls and used a tiny barrette to hold them back from my face.
Momma told me it was time for breakfast. My two older sisters were playing in the family room, waiting for me.
As Momma carried me down the hall, Daddy met us and reached out his hands for me. I started crying.
“What’s wrong, Frannie?” Momma asked me, turning me away from Daddy and peering into my face.
“Not Daddy,” I cried. “Not Daddy.”
Momma turned back toward Daddy, a puzzled look on her face. Daddy reached for me again. I screamed.
“Not Daddy. Not Daddy,” I buried my face in Momma’s apple-scented shoulder and reached my arms around her neck to hold on.
Momma bounced me up and down in the air. I let go of her neck to enjoy the bounce, but kept my face hidden in her shoulder. Quietly, she sang “Ring Around the Rosie”. Suddenly, she pulled me away from her chest. I saw Daddy’s arms get bigger as he reached for me again. Those huge hands with padded fingers.
“Come to Dad,” he boomed.
I inhaled so sharply that I couldn’t make a sound. My eyes opened like oranges. As Momma continued to rock me in the air, my head dangled like a branch in the wind. Finally, I gripped Momma’s sleeves. My fingers ached.
I howled like I had just fallen and skinned my knee on the sidewalk. Like my knee had been ripped open and blood dribbled down my shin. My mouth was open so wide I could feel the air on my tongue.
“Not Daddy. Not Daddy,” I screamed again, then hiccupped as tears started rolling down my cheeks.
Momma stopped her rocking and slapped me on my padded diapered butt.
“Stop this crying, Frannie. You’re making such a fuss.” She swung me toward Daddy’s arms, then pulled me back to her chest, then swung me again toward Daddy, then back to her again.
I saw myself on the back yard swing, back and forth, up and down. The sand under my feet and then the fence where Momma’s roses bloomed. The sand. Then the fence. The sand. The roses. The sand. I laughed as the air rushed past my face and my curls tickled my neck.
Then I felt Daddy’s big hands catch me and Momma’s arms let me go.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and shook like a leaf.
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