We were cold alot when we lived in that little shack in Carterville. Ice was all over the windows in the winter, especially in the back room where we slept—farthest from the stove.
We doubled up and threw coats over us. Ann was in a baby bed in the next room with mom and dad. She cried alot and got mad. At age 1, she would stand up as tall as she could on the tips of her toes and scream and yell and shake her little fist at you (for no reason). Sometimes when mom would get up early, she would put Ann in bed with dad. Most of the time he’d put her back in her baby bed because she fussed and kicked so much. One morning she was really screamin’ because he had just plopped her on the floor. She didn’t have a diaper on. The bare linoleum was freezin’ cold and Ann peed right where she sat. He just rolled over and ignored her. She was cryin’ so loud. I got up and walked through there and picked her up. I took her into the stove room and I warmed her by the fire. No fist shakin’ now, she just held onto me. I was 7 years old and I sat there wondering why dad would put her on the floor on such a cold morning and leave her there bare-assed cryin’ in a puddle of piss.