Photo by Tim Doerfler on Unsplash
It was mid December 1973. My older sister, Mae, and I were confined to a smoky hospital waiting room with Daddy. There was nowhere to get away from it. Even the vinyl covered chairs stunk. The smell was giving me a headache.
Daddy watched us while Nana Taylor visited with Mommy and our newborn sister. Then they would switch places after awhile. I wanted to go see the baby, but hospital rules don’t allow it. No one under twelve could visit the nursery or Mommy’s room. That’s not fair. Sarah, our newborn sister gets to go to her room. She’s younger than me.
I crept to the doorway and took one step into the hallway for a gulp of fresh air. Daddy noticed and said, “Amelia Rose, get back in here.” My first name is Nana Taylor’s middle name and my middle name is Nana Franklin’s first name. I hated it when I was called my by my first name. Kids at school made fun of my first name. They call me ‘oatmeal’ so I started going by my middle name. “If I have to get up and bring you back in here, you won’t like it.”