I was five or six years old. My oldest tormentor, I mean sister, Karen, told me in all seriousness and very sternly that she had something very important that she had to tell me. It was time. She began by showing me picture of Porky Pig which she drew herself and put in a frame.
“Maura (my childhood nickname), this is your father”, she said. “You don’t have a tail because we clipped it when you were born, and we will have to clip it again when you are ten and every ten years thereafter”.
Well, needless to say, I was rather gullible and naive at that age….okay, and older, too. I believe I sobbed a bit before I realized this was another ploy of my sister’s very active imagination.
