May 12th, 1951
I wrote this at the top of my journal
starting everyday like the rest.

A quiet household consisting
of my mother, father, and brother.

I run down the pine stairs of our two story
house residing on Lake Forest Drive
into the kitchen with the aromas
of fresh blueberry muffins dancing
into my nose.

Father takes a muffin on his way off to
work in the Ford auto plant.
Mother stays home and cleans,
she says it’s the hardest job in the whole family.
Michael and I head off to
Eastbrook Elementary School.

The other kids tell me we have the
“Perfect Family” of two kids, a father that
makes money, and a mother who stays home.

Our family is far from perfect.
Mother has discovered a lump in her breast,
resulting in much pain and dehydration.

Previously, she could cook and clean
and now she can only lay on the couch,
with tears filling her pale blue eyes.

Previously, money wasn’t a problem, but now
the doctor bills for her aren’t perfect either.
With multiple zeros at the end of a 5,
daddy’s paycheck can’t cover treatment.
Living on bread and butter,
from paycheck to paycheck,
life isn’t perfect.

May 12, 1951
My family is not the perfect family we want to be.