White Flower Today

The memory holds. Margaret Ann, Bill, Gina, Walt and me piling into the back of the light green 1942 Chrysler Windsor sedan with what we now call “suicide doors,” with Daddy Walt and heading the three blocks to East Hill Baptist Church for Sunday School and church. Gina, Walt and I each had a red flower pinned, Gina to her dress, Walt and I to the lapel of our jackets. Daddy Walt, Bill and Margaret each had a white flower because their mothers were dead. I remember being so thankful that my flower was red.

As we arrived at the church, Daddy Walt drove the Chrysler round and up onto the corner that he considered “his,” headed kitty-cornered out for quick and easy exit after church. Parked next to us was that 1937 Cord sedan. Before we got out of the car, Daddy Walt turned around and gave each of us a nickel for the Sunday School offering.

Bill headed for his Sunday school class, me with him. First was assembly, for a welcome, a prayer and a song. Then kids split up and went to class, us to seven-year-boys, a group of six or seven into a small cubby. All with red flowers, the other boys asked Bill why his was white. Sunday school lesson, a Bible story and discussion, then the piano started playing in the larger room, signaling that it was time for assembly again. A short talk, a prayer, and a song; and to the sanctuary for church with relatives, the huge congregation, and hymns lustily sung, including “Faith of our Mothers,” from The Broadman Hymnal.

After, back into the Chrysler and zip off the corner, back home to 1317 East Strong Street, where Mama, Mildred and Edna were helping my grandmother with Sunday Dinner, and the house was filled with the fragrance of fried chicken piled high on platters, along with bowls of peas and other vegetables. Adults at the long table in the dining room, us at the big round kitchen table. 

“Shhhhhhh,” and everyone is suddenly silent. “Forgive our sins, heavenly Father, and make us thankful for these table comforts, and our many blessings,” prayed my grandfather, “for Jesus‘ sake. Amen.”

Today is my first Mothers’ Day without a red flower, but at 76, I feel very blessed.

After the War the Chrysler was traded in for a new 1946 Windsor club coupe. Whatever happened to that Cord?

TW+