Of course, I would have no vote in having my picture made again, because I'd had no vote in this one. Everybody knows that kids have no say so in what happens to them.
Anyway, it had been an exciting experience, to say the least.
After we had finished and the photographer had gone, Mama told us to get changed into our everyday clothes. Our train would be leaving around seven that evening and there was a lot to do.
Our relatives were going to the station to see us all off. We still had supper to eat, all of us together. Mama had been cooking meat and bread to take with us on the train. We still had some apples to take, too.
One of my aunts and uncle were all set to close up the house for us. It was a rented house, because my Papa was not working and we had never owned a house. We just kind of moved around from place to place. We had been here the longest, for at least five years. Papa was mostly a day laborer, working for whoever needed him.
We would have had an older brother, named Franklin, if he had only lived. Franklin was less than a year old when he died. Mama had a story she told about when Franklin was sick.
My Papa was not a Christian when they got married. Then they had Franklin, and Franklin got sick with something like Scarlet Fever. One evening, Papa was sitting by the baby's crib, and Franklin looked at Papa, then pointed up toward the ceiling and spoke just as plain as day.
Then Franklin smiled, closed his eyes, and during the night, went to Heaven.
That so affected our Papa, that a few nights later, after they had buried that sweet baby, Papa confessed his need for Jesus, and was saved.
She said that Papa's sister, Aunt Emmaline, shouted for joy, when he asked Jesus for forgiveness.
When Mama told that story to us, I wanted to know about shouting.
"You mean she just up and hollered? Why?"
My brother, Eugene, said, "Don't you pay no attention in church? People are always shoutin'."
"She goes to sleep!" Laughed Daisy.