Dear Glory,
Oh, busy days, busy days. How is it that the war is winding down yet we’re moving faster and faster, as if God is cranking up the wheel Himself?
On Saturday we had a birthday party for Little Sal, with a festive Hawaiian theme. Roylene sent a very colorful shirt from the islands, along with a tender note. Irene baked a coconut cake and Mrs. K.—I kid you not—attempted a hula dance in my living room. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from the sight.
Charlie brought a tricycle. Little Sal is much too young for it, but the thought was sweet. Mrs. K. said Charlie must have conjured it up from 1940, as no kid around here has seen a new bike in years. “I made it myself, with scrap parts,” Charlie said, and, you know, I believe him.
“I suppose the war effort could do without a few pieces of metal,” Mrs. K. said, so I think she believes him, too.
Little Sal stared at the shining bike like it had dropped from heaven. He scooted over to it on his tush, and then held the seat to push himself to standing. I worried he’d lose his balance and fall onto the handlebars, but before I could scoop him up...he took a step, then another, and one more before crashing to the floor. Little Sal froze, startled, until what he’d accomplished dawned on him, sparking a grin from ear to ear.
Then he pushed himself up and tried again.
And I let him.
What do you think of that?
Rita