Ricky

April, 1957

Ricky watched his new sister Cindy sleep in her box. She was always sleeping, and when she was awake, Mommy and Daddy wouldn't let her play with him. In fact, right now, they were downstairs, bringing Gramma up to see her. Daddy told him to sit in the corner until they all came up so that they wouldn't be distracted. He even put Cindy on top of the bed so Ricky couldn't climb up and try to play with her.

So Ricky sat there, bored.

But there was one thing he could reach, and that was Mommy's music box. He liked music. Daddy would play music by a man named Elvis Presley on the phonograph while Mommy would play songs by a girl named Petula Clark.

Ricky didn't know who they were, but he did know they made songs. He just didn't know how.

Ricky got up and began to walk very slowly toward the music box. He was just about to get it when Mommy and Daddy and Gramma came in.

"No, son," Mommy said, picking him up. "That is Mommy's music box, and it's not a toy for little boys to play with." Mommy walked, carrying him to his grandma.

"Be nice to her for Mommy, okay?" she said as she kissed Ricky's cheek. "Daddy and I have to look after Cynthia."

"Music," Ricky said, frowning as Gramma took him downstairs.

"You like music, do you?" Gramma asked as soon as she sat down on the couch.

"Yea," Ricky said as he nodded.

"When I come here next time, I'll take you to a music store."

"Take me now!"

"But-"

"Now!"

"I SAID NOW!"

Gramma sat Ricky on her lap. "I have to ask your parents first. They won't let me take you now."

"You have to ask Mommy and Daddy?" Ricky asked, disappointed.

"Yes."