Much as I hated to admit it, Opal, Mama, and Mama’s lady friends had a point: Whenever I got bored, I made trouble.
Just like Daddy.
Once upon a time, Somwärin had itself a daily newspaper, The Somwärin Sentinel.
“Can any of you kids tell me what a sentinel is?” I remember the enthusiastic editor asking my class of grubby kindergartners when we took a field trip to the newspaper office, housed in the sturdy red brick building that has since become the Pubic Library.
“A sentinel is someone who watches,” our town’s only journalist said, rubbing his ink-stained hands together. “That’s what a reporter does. They watch what’s happening around them, then tell other people about it. What they tell them is called ‘news.’ News is printed in the newspaper, which is given to everyone in Somwärin. Isn’t that amazing?”
It was not amazing, as I recall. What was amazing was the editor’s inexorable descent into madness at the hands of Daddy. And it only took four short summers.