I was six. Peggy, my 14 year old sister, was on the phone with her friend Robert. She says that at the time they were just friends, but I had learned a lot in my six long years of life and could read so much more into the relationship. So I sang into the receiver ...
"Peggy and Robert, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"
As I took my breath to head into the "First comes love ..." portion of my diddy, I heard, "Hang on a second, Robert" and felt my body being lifted and hauled down the hallway to the bathroom. The faucet to the tub cranked at full stream, my head was under the pulsating water, and I gasped for any dry air I could find. I was going to die.
Something must have triggered in her head though ... probably the simple fact that her life would be oh so slightly worse off dealing with the consequences of killing me as opposed to just dealing with me directly. So she stopped. I have no memory of the moments that followed. I'm only happy she was convicted enough to let me live.
Happy birthday, Peggy! (Pictured here with me and her grandaughter/my namesake, Emma Jane.)
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