Memoir for My Father A Series of Original Articles and Commentary Highlighting the Essence of Albert L. Hinton, Journalist, War Correspondent, and Family Man Standing at the Threshold of Greatness |
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| Author:
| Crowders, Lelia |
| Illustrator:
| Crowders, Lelia |
| ISBN: | 978-1-7369852-0-5 |
| Publication Date: | Apr 2021 |
| Publisher: | VanHoy Enterprises Llc
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| Book Format: | Paperback |
| List Price: | USD $19.99 |
Book Description:
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"...who knows what he would have done, what other accolades could have been his had he just lived...But, he didn't."As my mother simultaneously opened the door and ushered the four of us kids to the kitchen at the rear of the house, I understood that she and Father Martin needed privacy in order to get this right. After all, we four ( Albert, 11; Carl, 5; Gail, 4, and me) were far too young and tender to absorb what was to befall us and have our callow, sheltered lives irrevocably...
More Description"...who knows what he would have done, what other accolades could have been his had he just lived...But, he didn't."As my mother simultaneously opened the door and ushered the four of us kids to the kitchen at the rear of the house, I understood that she and Father Martin needed privacy in order to get this right. After all, we four ( Albert, 11; Carl, 5; Gail, 4, and me) were far too young and tender to absorb what was to befall us and have our callow, sheltered lives irrevocably transformed from this day forward. How I knew this, I cannot say, but I knew. As soon as Mother and Father Martin had conferred (the time of which, for me, was interminable), Mother called all of us back to the living room. She was scrunched uneasily on the cushy sofa to the left of the easy chair by the bank of windows at the front of the house-my father's chair where, every evening that he was home, my mom handed him his copy of the evening newspaper to read until dinner was ready where presided Father Martin. "Children, your mother and I have something to tell you?". Before Father Martin could get it out, I had begun to well up, and the salty water could do nothing less than force itself through my tear ducts and down my cheeks. There was nothing I could do because I already knew that my father was dead. That was the pall permeating our home for weeks before we were given this awful truth. And, I knew this because of the way that I had observed my mother and father as they said "goodbye" only weeks earlier. But, it was not so much Daddy as it was Mama who seemed to bid him a final, final farewell as he was off to the airport in a taxi. Father was excited, elated, though serious and (I supposed) resolved. Mom, not so much. And, you see, for whatever reason, very few of their friends knew of Dad's mission until the very last minute.