Cathy O’Donnell ’75M.A. | October 2, 2020
In 1954, when I was 4, we lived in Dallas. On hot summer nights, all five of us — Mom, Dad, my two little brothers and I — would sleep in the living room because it had an air conditioner. When morning came and we went outside, it was usually in the upper 80s already, so instantly we were hot as winter oatmeal and sticky as flypaper.
But hey, we had an air conditioner, a wading pool and 10-by-10-foot patio. Life was good.
Then in August, Mom disappeared.
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