The First Moment of...The Sixties

Joseph Duffy, a veteran of the VietNam War, husband and father and health care worker shares a story from his youth featuring his recollection of an historical turning point in our nation's history.

The First Moment of...The Sixties
By: Joseph Duffy
© 2008 by Joseph Duffy.

I was sure when The Fifties would come to an end. They would end on December 31, 1959, at the stroke of midnight. I was a young boy of eleven at that moment, and my twin brother Jim and I were helping my Mom baby-sit for my sister Betty, who lived across tiny Agate Street from us. It was a big deal, as the decade would be changing, something I had never experienced, as I was too young the last time this happened. I couldn’t wait to see what it felt like; the end of The Fifties!

Midnight came, and Jim and I ran up and down Agate Street banging pots and pans together to celebrate the new decade. I awoke the next morning, looked out my window, and...nothing was changed. I was a bit surprised. Life just went on as if nothing had happened. I began to suspect that “decades” were not real; they were an invention, and that one was just like every other. Is that all there is to a decade? Banging Pots and Pans?

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What Is She Thinking: A Canyon of Quandaries

Michele Johnson Keesee, a resident of Atkins, VA shares a story featuring her daughter, Kali and the struggles she faces.

What Is She Thinking: A Canyon of Quandaries
By: Michele Johnson Keesee
© 2008 by Michele Johnson Keesee.

Two beautiful, ocean-blue eyes stared blankly from behind scratchproof lenses. Her mouth gaped, and the sauce from the breadsticks she ate moments beforehand stained the corners of her mouth. Her facial muscles slacked and her shoulders slumped. Her mind had retreated to that special place, her face utilizing its shield, guarding her private thoughts.

Over the years, I watched my daughter grow from a premature infant into an immature teen. I sat in the far corner of the room, watching Kali and thought, “What could I have done? I did everything the doctors told me to do.”

Born six weeks early on an unseasonably warm winter day, Kali triumphed, insisting her right to exist. She required no assistance in maintaining her unexpected early arrival. Breathing and eating, just like any full-term newborn, four days after her birth, the hospital released her into my care.

I remember the joy and the feeling of pride. Looking down in my hands, remembering how wonderful it felt to hold Kali when she was an infant. How was I to know something was wrong? That problems would arise and the feeling of helplessness would soon conquer all?

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