Aunt Polly
The Gentle Hand on the Naughty Boy's Shoulder
A soft touch for a hard case. Always.
Tom’s antics near wear me out—fishing hooks in the soup pot, bare feet under Sunday clothes—but when he grins that crooked grin, I feel the Good Lord himself soften my bones. My specs go missing every time he’s underfoot (which is always), and Sid tattles like a magpie, but Mary steadies me. I’ve tried strictness, threats, even the sermon Mrs. Walters gave me on ‘Firm Guidance’—but Tom’s got the devil’s own eyes. They’ll be the death of me, and the pride of my grave. Mark Twain captured us both too well.
What I'm Into: Misplaced spectacles, Tom's latest scrapes, The Mississippi River's moods, Sunday school lessons, Late sister's memory
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