Flower Hats

If we didn’t have different color hair then we would have been identical. Sitting on the front porch stair to hide our size difference. Camille and I were stuffed into floral print frocks with lace trim and satin bows. Bleach White cotton socks and shiny black shoes. A crochet hat adorned with a fabric flower  was the cherry on top. We looked scrumptious. Or that’s why Grandma wanted us to look like when she made us new Easter clothes. I remember the hats forever after that Sunday. Each hat had a different color flower, which was the only differentiation factor about the dresses. Like Laura and Mary Ingalls hair ribbons. But Camille and I could never remember which color flower was ours, because apparently our heads were the same size. In later years we would find one hat, but not the other and we would each explain why the hat was ours and then run shrilly to Mom to end the argument. Thought the argument only truly ended when we both grew out of the hats.

                That Easter Sunday, painted bunny baskets added to our frilly little girl look. We sat on the porch step while Dad took the annual Easter picture. We had to take another because Sister was looking into my empty basket.          

                “Camille look at Daddy.” Then we had to take another because I was rubbing my nose.

                “Mary! Stop picking your nose, smile at Daddy.” Then one more because Baby Jeffrey had to be in the picture too. It took both our little girl effort to hold him. There was no getting him to smile. He just smiled blankly and wiggled like he was asking to be dropped. Finally Mommy took back Baby Jeffrey and Daddy said, “All right girls, go find the Easter eggs.” And we were off, or Camille was. I needed some prodding to understand what I was supposed to do. So I did what came natural. I followed Camille