Written by: Phyllis Ann Doros
Copyright � Feb 19, 1957
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The Sun Is In

Marty -1957

       Our son, Marty, was gazing out of our living room window.

After trying numerous ways of leaning, laying and sitting,

because the low, modern window sill offered him ample choice,

he settled into the most comfortable position.

       With one knee carelessly resting on the window sill, so

the sole of his shoe could mark the lower wall, he placed his

elbow on the sill, his chin on his hand and used his other

hand to leave sticky finger prints on the pane of glass. His

other leg remained on the floor to support the abstract maneuvers

of his well-fed body.

       His blond hair, which was in immediate need of a patient

barber, stood straight up on the crown of his head and fell in

uneven bangs across his forehead. One sleeve of his flannel

shirt was unbuttoned and part of his shirt-tail was untucked,

while the rest of it bulged through constant lack of attention.

One untied shoelace moved noiselessly as his foot swayed in a

steady rhythm. It was impossible to tell, if the other shoelace

was also untied, because that leg of his pants was unrolled,

covering most of his foot.

       With an enthusiasm completely foreign to his laziness of

a moment earlier, he jumped from his peculiar perch and ran to

my chair. As he took each step, the waistband of his pants

dropped a notch lower on his hips. It was not immodesty, which

caused his unstable waistline. Indeed not! It was a matter

of principle. He had decided to exercise the independence

of other men, although he was only four years old. From his

point of view, there was only one way to carry out this policy:

He discontinued the use of suspenders and began to wear a

belt.

       "Mama, Mama, can I go outside to play? Please... Pretty please?"

       "It is much too cold, today," I told him. " Why not

wait til it warms up a bit?"

       "But, Mama," he argued, his face overflowing with concern.

       "The sun is in!"

       "What do you mean, the sun is in?" I asked, even though

we were well aware of his annoying habit of purposefully saying

a phrase backwards.

       "But the sun is in!" He almost shouted with excitement.

       "The sun is in our front yard!"

       So we tucked in his shirt, tightened his belt, tied his

shoe laces and zipped his jacket. There was a slam of the

door as he rushed from the house. Through the smudged window,

I watched our four year old Marty dancing over the green grass.

An enormous smile covered his impish face, where rosy circles

were already coloring his cheeks. His arms raised in a spontaneous

gesture of merriment as he welcomed the sun into his

front yard.

Marty -1990


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