My Red Wagon

My Red Wagon

It is a sunny, smiley morning with a bright blue sky and wisps of baby white clouds playing with each other and having fun! It is lucky to have, in Brooklyn, a small park across the street, and the wide Kings Highway behind it, since we have a good view of the sky and a safe place to play. Den, In a few years, da park was useless since we could see and smell dat it had gone to da dogs, if you know wadImean,

I love to play in front of my house. We have an attached two-bedroom brick house with a basement and a small back yard. My dad has a garden in da back, where he planted cherry trees that soon became too tall. He is proud of them, although most of the cherries were eaten by da boids. Da basement is great because it has a ping-pong table, which me and my brother use a lot. He taught me how to play, since he is four years older.

Today, it is April 12, 1945. I had my sixth birthday on April 1. The mood is, simply, happy! I stood in front of da house. My dad roles out something from the garage. I turn and see him bringing up dis bright red ting that looks like a small car! It has four wheels and certainly ain’t a bike. It don’t have no steering wheel or windows, or, even, a top. And, it has dis big red bar-thing standing up, right in front of da seat. He says it is a present for me and shows me how it woiks. I am thrilled!

It is so cool! Instead of peddling it, all I have to do was pull dis bar towards me and den push it away and da car goes forward with liddle effort. I tell him: “Tanks dad” and that “I REALLY LOVE IT!” It was kinda like dose single railroad cars that I seen in pitchures, where a woiker would stand up in the car and push da same kind or bar forward and back to move da single railcar

I am enjoying playing with it for the rest of the morning. It is the happiest day that I could ever remember! After lunch, I am playing with da wagon again, riding up and down da sidewalk. I try to show off my wagon to da neighbors, but the reaction is muted. Instead of neighbors chatting with each other and laughing, da mood has turned dark. There seems to be more people in front of their houses, but sparkling conversations are replaced with frowns and whispers. I ask my dad whats going on. He replies, somberly: “The President of the United States has just died”. I, too, then feel sad and I put my new red wagon in the garage.

When I look for my red wagon, in the garage, a day or two later, it is gone! My mom and dad will not answer any questions about it and, to this day, I don’t understand what the President’s death has to do with my missing red wagon. I could understand dat my dad is sad at the loss of the President, but he never understood the sadness dat I felt at da loss of my beautiful red wagon, with no explanation. I never saw one again! And dat ain’t funny!!

^© Norman F. Estrin, Ph.D., 05/23/2016, The Red Wagon