Since it's the week of Easter, I'm thinking a lot about my life as a little girl. With all the cousins I had, Easter was quite a festive occasion. We'd often go down to Alice, where my grandparents and a couple of my mom's sisters lived, and everyone would be there. I was in the middle of 20 1st cousins, so I was in the best of all places.

My Mamaw, Inez May, had peacocks. Every time we went down there to visit, she'd have a feather or two to give me. I was so proud of those feathers, and knew that those birds were her pride and joy. (She didn't have much otherwise.) I could pick up whatever feathers I found on the ground, but I WAS NOT to go into the pen and approach the birds.

On one visit, the birds had held close to their plummage, and Mamaw had none to give me. Well, that was just WRONG. When I thought she wasn't looking, I went into the pen. There I stood, with evidence in hand, when out the side door of her "roundhouse" came Mamaw. I'd never seen her mad, especially at me, so it really startled me to see the look on her face. I couldn't move - the feathers weighed me down, and the peacocks were yelling my guilt at the top of their lungs! She got to me, took the feathers into one hand, and took me in
the other. I got dragged back into the house, where I spent the rest of the day alone. It was torture.

I never pulled out another peacock feather from then on.