A Letter to Mrs. Roosevelt by C. Coco De Young

Author:C. Coco De Young [De Young, C. Coco]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-48742-1
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 1999-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

VICTORY MEDAL

As usual, Charlie was snoring away, only this time he had cried himself to sleep on my bed. I sat on the floor and continued to scan the newspapers. I knew Mama and Papa would talk once they thought Charlie and I were asleep.

It was hard to think about my assignment, so I quietly turned the pages of the newspaper and looked at the pictures. One photo in particular caught my attention. It was a picture of some women seated around Mrs. Roosevelt. The article underneath was written by E. D. Kirby. It mentioned that Mrs. Roosevelt had held a press conference for women journalists just two days after her husband's inauguration.

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor interrupted my reading. Mama and Papa were sitting down at the dining room table. I walked softly to the top step and sat.

“I think Charlie may have seen the letter.” Papa's voice was just above a whisper. “It was foolish of me to think we could hide it forever. We came so close to losing him. I would do it all again if I had to. The doctor from Boston was the best answer.”

“It was the only thing to do,” answered Mama. “Margo and Charlie had to find out sooner or later. They are older now and will understand.”

The dishes in the china cabinet rattled as Papa slammed his hand down on the table. “How can I ask my children to understand if I can't understand?” Papa's voice grew louder. “It isn't the money for the operation, it's the sorrow I see in the eyes of those I pass on the street. It's the hungry children I see standing in line for the soup kitchen. It's the anger and frustration I hear coming from a neighbor's home. And it's the heartache I feel when I can't even afford a pound of peanut butter kisses for my children.”

I heard Papa's chair scrape the floor and the drawer of the server open. I slid down three steps to where I could peek out from behind the railing. The deep crease in Papa's brow and the misty look in his eyes made me swallow back the lump in my throat. Papa pulled out the medal and papers he cherished and clenched them tightly in his hands.

“This medal was given to me when I fought in the Great War and earned my citizenship of this country,” he said. “I was Margo's age in Italy when I dreamed of coming to the United States. I close my eyes and still see the tears people cried as our ship passed the Statue of Liberty. There must be an answer for us now. Nobody will take our home.” Papa lifted the Victory Medal he had been awarded by the army and dangled it in the air by its ribbon. He stared at it. Then he tightened his fingers around the circular bronze medal until his hand shook.

I could no longer fight back the tears. A sob escaped my lips.

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