Hitler on TV
Ack ack ack ack ack ack ack ack ack ack I looked up from my second grade homework. Daddy sat in an armchair watching TV. His face was red, and he held his arms as if he had a rifle, making a gun-shot noise with his mouth. Ack ack ack ack ack ack ack Boys did that, but not my father. I came to see what he was seeing. A man on the black and white TV stood on a high ourdoor stage Yelling and waving his arms. His speech was fast and guttural, I couldn’t understand, but Something made me think whatever he said must be true. The picture changed. My father stopped shooting. “Who was that?”, I asked. “That was Hitler,” said my father. “I should have shot him. I wanted to shoot him.” I was quiet, watching TV. Parades of goose-stepping soldiers, Hitler giving bouquets of flowers to pretty little girls in flower crowns, Maps, trains, a building missing one wall, bed and dresser obscenely exposed. I didn’t know what had happened, but two things were clear. Hitler, whoever he was, had been beloved and powerful, and my father still hated him.