NOVEMBER 22, 2016. A REFLECTION. Opaque light fills the room in rural Hereford, PA. I am holding on to the fat, rough leg of an overstuffed couch. I am tottering. The fabric is short, stubbly and scratches my face like my father’s cheeks when he kisses me goodnight. An announcer is doing a play-by-play. “And now, Miss Mahalia Jackson will sing The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It is the most beautiful song ever. Why are the adults in the room crying? My Mother leans down and picks me up. It is too sad for the children. We have to go now. But I want to stay at our grandmother’s house. I want to hear all of the song. Such a beautiful song. My brother tells me (today) he shares my upset. Only my oldest sister and brother were permitted to stay. The rest of us were ushered out. My nephew peers at his laptop all these years later on my deck in Mystic, CT. “Mahalia Jackson sang The Battle Hymn of the Republic at JFK’s funeral”. I was born February 7, 1963. The Battle Hymn of the Republic is one of my favorite songs; Mahalia Jackson, one of my favorite singers… Is it possible at 9 months old? The memory stretches lankily through time, like a tunnel in my mind… Not clear. A bit foggy. And supported by the historical record.
Photo by RTD Photography
