Kathryn and the soldier...

Very seldom do I venture away from a sports story. But in this case...I can't help myself.

It is fairly obvious that most of my readers are 60-and-over...many even older and very few are younger. The story below is a familiar one to most of my readers.

The year was 1944. The town was Jacksonville, Arkansas, located 12 miles northeast of Little Rock and the Arkansas River. The place: a dry goods store called Harpole's. Kathryn worked there. She was seventeen. The soldier who walked by the front window was twenty-two. Kathryn was a beautiful woman, brunette hair, blue eyes, slender build with her entire life ahead of her. The soldier was handsome, dark curly hair, short in stature, but a few inches taller than Kathryn. They were married not too long after their initial meeting.

In July of 1945, their son was born, a pudgy little thing with a big cry and a devilish smile. Kathryn is my mother, now 83 years old and as beautiful as ever. My father, the soldier, passed away 22 years ago.

I was born in the 40s, but if there was an era I would have liked to have been an adult in...well I guess the mid-1940s would be it. I flick through our family albums, glancing at my uncles, aunts and cousins...and especially my mother and father, and I can almost recall my baby years. Well, that would be stretching it, but I can imagine. You could get a full breakfast at the local cafe for fifteen cents...and a gallon of gas was 21 cents. The Jitterbug was in. Bread was nine cents and a postage stamp cost three cents. World War II ended soon after my first cry. The soldiers headed home...it was a time of celebration...and hard times.

Luckily, I curled up in my mother's arms as the adults battled the era. Thanks to all of them...many of us are now in our 60s...battling a new era and a new age. My mother is still alive and as spunky as ever. She spends most of her time at church and playing cards with her lady friends. She has a wonderful life and she sees to it that I have the same. I glance through the family album, now and then -- the album my mother spent many hours, days and months putting together.

I was a child then and a man, now. As I said, we all have similar stories. And thank goodness, we do.