Dr Karen J Abel

I would like to share a true story with you: I think I was about four years old, I remember I hadn't began 1st grade yet. It was a muggy, hot day in 1960 and my mom was in the kitchen, pedaling her black sewing machine to make school dresses for my sisters. Her red hair was damp and sweat was beading on her face. We were poor so air conditioning (like a telephone and a tv that got more than two channels) were luxuries we couldn't afford. I looked out the screen door and noticed a man walking up on the porch.