It is loud, joyous intoxicating but I am oblivious. Oma is behind me; her strong, rough fingers smoothing my collar. I close my eyes. I can see as wel... without them. Her deft fingers smooth the crisp white cotton, sliding down across my collar bones, her fingertips pulling apart the triangles which hold my top button and its buttonhole.My heart skips a beat. For a moment, I am in doubt, uncertain, frightened; but her fingers do not linger. Oma’s pleased with that choice, and that of the second. "It is amazing how long it took you to figure it out." She remained stoic as her eyes went from the middle of the table up to mine. "I don't think she has to know until she is at least eighteen or she has some sort of medical problem where it becomes necessary. Everything is fine just as it is. We can't accomplish anything by telling her now." Is that fair?" Fair to who? A stable family life is important to a girl her age. She doesn't need to know. I'll tell her when the time comes. For now. More

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