When I was two years old, my
father would lift me up and stand me on top of the refrigerator. Of course,
refrigerators were smaller in those days, but, still, my feet were at the level
of his chest.
"Jump!" he'd say,
holding his hands out to catch me. I had no fear. I remember the triumphant joy
of soaring through the air as if I were flying, and landing, giggling and safe
in his arms.
Daddy loved to joke. Sometimes he
would put me high on that refrigerator, and then fold his arms over his chest.
"Jump!" he'd say. I knew he wouldn't let me get hurt, so I would jump.
He always caught me, and I knew he always would.
* * *
I loved Rootie Kazootie! I knew him from the Golden Books my father read to me. Daddy would go to Woolworth's all the time to see if there were any new Rootie books, and he bought me every single one that he could find. We both loved them, which was lucky, because I asked for Daddy to read them to me over and over and over again. Rootie was like Daddy. They were both very good baseball players and they wore baseball caps a lot. But Rootie had something else special. He had a magic kazootie, a sort of magic kazoo which could help him out of all kinds of scrapes. Along with his spotted dog, Gala Poochie Pup, his girl friend, PolkaDottie, who was famous in her own right for making Polka Dot Pineapple Pies, and a helpful gentleman named Mr. Deetle Dootle, Rootie could do almost anything, and escape all kinds of dangerous stuff that the bad guy, Poison Zoomac, caused. Sometimes I would call Daddy Rootie, and I would be PolkaDottie. I called Daddy Rootie so much that even Mummy started calling him Rootie.
When we went to the A&P to buy food, I was always
very interested in the pineapple pies they sold, which were not made by
PolkaDottie, but instead by a lady named Ann Page whose picture was on every
one of their red pie boxes. Once in a while, we'd buy an Ann Page pineapple
pie, but I knew that they were not half as good as the PolkaDot Pineapple Pies
that I made when I was PolkaDottie.
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