Welcome Home

I was somewhere close to four years old that memorable day.  I remember it must have been a warm summer day because the front door was open, and we could see outside. 

There was a hook and latch type lock on the screen door to keep my sister and me from running in and out and getting into mischief when our mother was too busy with household chores to watch us, and our older brother was not in the mood to go out and play with us.

That’s pretty much the way it was the day that man I didn’t remember ever having seen before came up on the porch and tried to open the door. 

“Damn it open the door or do I have to tear it open” the man shouted as he dropped his duffel bag on the porch.

My mother let out a scream that frightened me, as she ran to open the door, but instead of chasing him away with the broom, she jumped into the man’s arms.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

I was standing there watching in confusion when my brother came in the room.  “Who’s that man kissing mommy?”  I asked in confusion.

“That’s your Daddy dummy” was his answer.

 * * * His enlistment was over, and Dad was home.  * * *