About two weeks after the Ark settled and the waters dried up, Jane was born. My mother was a housewife (that's what they called stay-at-home moms back then) and my father was an engineer on a river barge hauling coal up and down the Ohio River. One of my first memories was the day daddy (who was handy with most household jobs) built a well house so mother wouldn't have to do the laundry on the back porch. He was very proud of job he did laying the blocks and putting on the roof. Then he poured cement on the walk between the house and the new laundry room.
Wet cement and five year olds do not mix - anyone ever tell you that? It became too much for me to bear and with a little help from some cousins I decorated the walkway. Names, world class artwork, even our new found talent to write our ages all became a part of that masterpiece. Little did we know that daddy, tired and impatient, would not be pleased and see the future importance of our art. As soon as we heard him come out the back door we knew we were in trouble. Where could we go, where could we hide? Safety for us came in the little two-holer (we were high-class back then) at the back of the yard. We ran as fast as our little legs could carry us and slammed the door behind us. Since there was no lock on the door it took about three seconds for daddy to rip the door open, actually nearly off its hinges, and pull us one by one out the door and spank our little bottoms until we ran crying to mother who was about two steps behind him. Now this also included my older sister who, like most oldest siblings, never did anything wrong. And yes, in the case, she had indeed not done anything wrong and had just chosen that particular moment to use the little two-holer at the back of the yard for what it was intended to be used for.
I believe that was the one and only time my sister ever got into trouble and it was my fault. Of course my parents never found out that she held that over me (still does to this day) and I became her own personal slave from that moment on.