Smyrna times., 1942-10-08
That's What We
Are Fighting For
reprint From Printers Ink

live in rented house. The
landlord says I'm a good tenant
because l keep the lawns, flowers,
etc., in such good shape. He doesn't
know that 1 don't keep them that
way to please him but that do it
so our little Bobby will have a
pleasant, safe place to play. Three
years ago 1 fenced the back yard.
When I told the hardware man
wanted a fence that was boy and
dog tight, he didn't quite under
stand until I explained I wanted a
place for our little boy and his dog
to romp in the sunshine where
they could not get out and no harm
could get in to them. AS 1 think
of these things, know that's what
we're fighting for.
I sit in one of the big comfort
able chairs in the yard reading the
evening paper-Bobby and his little
playmates, Mary Ann, Patty, Bar
bara, Donnie and others annoy me
scampering all over the place. They
dash up for pennies to buy pop
sicles at the corner drug store
they get the pennies and in the
deadly silence that follows their
leaving, I know that's what we're
fighting for.
At night, in my pajamas and
reading in bed, I steal out and go to
Bobby's room to see if the windows
are properly regulated. I turn on
the light and see that little body,
tired from play, stretched flat on
his tummy with a teddy bear or
puppy dog clutched under his arm
and his little head on the pillow
I stoop over, kiss his cheek and
steal out again. I haven't looked
at the windows because 1 knew
they were all right before went
in, but I know what we're fighting
for.
The school bus passes in the
morning about the time l leave for
the office. UP and down the street,
healthy, well fed, happy, laughing
youngsters are getting aboard to be
taught arithmetic, geography, his
tory and spelling rather than that
some hunk of flesh and bones mas
querading as a man is supreme
and that if their parents disagree
with his wishes it must be reported
so the parents can be lined up
against a wall and shot. AS 1 see
them, I know-that's what we are
fighting for.
On Sunday mornings the children
pass going to Sunday School the
little girls in their gay dresses and
the little boys with their polished
shoes and slicked down hair They
at the end of our street
because some go to the Baptist
some to the Methodist-some Pres
byterian-some Catholic and so on.
They go to the different churches
because their parents send them
where they think is right-and
wherever they think is right ac-
cording to the information they
have, is right, regardless of de-
want them to keep
on going by to Sunday School and
when they grow up and have babies
of their own I want them to go by
to the Sunday School Of their
choice. And, know, that's what
we are fighting for
We go out for a ride as often as
the tire shortage will permit. 1
push a button on the instrument |
panel and we have the worlds fin
est music-I glance at the clock,
push another button and we have
the news of the world. We ride |
along stretch of woodland with |
its beautiful trees, a green peace
full valley with stream of clear,
COOL sparkling water-on beyond is |
4 farmhouse, neatly painted and |
we'll kept with thin wisp of blue
smoke drifting laziy from it's
chimney, indicating preparation of
the evening meal. The lawn and
lowers are beautiful-beside the