Photo courtesy of Life magazine
These soldiers are at Ft. Des Moines in 1942, playing cards, drinking Cokes, and singing around the piano, just like the WACs in the rec room across the base… too bad they couldn’t do it in the same room, but…segregation. What else can I say? It sucks. Mini rant: Next time you get a chance to sit in a coffee shop or in a classroom, mix it up, okay? People fought to end this separate-but-equal thing, and it’s a shame when self-administered segregation still happens. There are tons of really interesting people on the other side of the room. Okay, rant over.
YESTERDAY’S CONTEST extends ’til midnight EST this Friday, and more great stories of being LOST can win you some spiffy signed book plates, but Campbele of the fortuitous restaurant, Leila of the exciting owls and Charlotte of the worrisome doll corpses are all already winners! (And just remind me never to get lost with you, Charlotte. Ever.)
Today’s challenge is one Tali would enjoy — it’s all about driving. Tali mainly drove her grandmother nuts, but she also did some driving with Octavia, too. I’d like to hear stories from people who were taught to drive by their siblings. What’s the worse little, um, scrape you ever got into driving, and never told your parents about? Spill. I promise I won’t tell your Dad who scratched his classic Impala.
You have until midnight on the 13th to unburden your souls, and three lucky winners will come away with a copy of MARE’s WAR, which Kirkus says is “absolutely essential reading” — preferably while someone else is doing the driving.
GOSH, Tricia. I'm not sure why your brother can still walk. I'd have beaned him right upside his head. That's incredible!!
Tricia, THAT is a great story.
When my father tired of me constantly running off the road into the ditch (hey, country roads are narrow and when you see a big tractor coming at you the first response is to give them a LOT of room) my brother offered to help. When he finally approved my parking lot driving we got on the road. When I stopped at my first intersection he said "What are you doing?" Ummm… stop sign. Here's what he said (cross my heart). "The ones with white borders are optional." Soooooooo ….
Yes people, I bought it–hook, line and sinker. (Lesson learned, read your manual. Also, never trust brother again.) BTW, ALL stop signs have white borders. He didn't tell me the truth until I ran one and the back fender got clipped. It was just a small dent and no on saw it for quite a while. I fessed up a few years later when my father was accusing my mom of denting a car we no longer owned.
I did not, however, tell on my brother. I wonder why not? It's amazing I still speak to him, but I do.