Today, he seemed to belong to both categories. There was something engagingly innocent about the way he clutched his wife's hand throughout the prayers and sermon, and about his glance at her for approval when the preacher asked him to speak. For the first time, I wondered if there was something wrong with him. I'm afraid I can't . I nodded violently at him, over Nancy's coiffure, but he did not see me.
Reason is, that was about seventy years ago.
But I can't describe the feeling of being back here in my birthplace. Really, there are no words. These were his standard clich s to express emotion required of him, but I looked around and saw many eyes fill with tears. Satisfied, he ambled back to his pew, and we sang That Old Rugged Cross . After the service, we adjourned to the Birthplace, which was cordoned off for privacy.