Oc rOBE~ 25, ~966 WAS AN OBDINABY FALL DAY. IT WAS CLF_,AB AND A
bit warmer than seasonable for the South Shore of Long Island.
I was putting the finishing touches on a new school jumper for my
slx-year-old daughter, Ginny, and I really had no inkling whatever
that this particular day would become etched deeply in my
memory.
In fact, the only unusual feature of the moment was that the
house was quiet. Seven of my eight children were in school. The
youngest, seven-week-old Boberta, was sound asleep. The children
were due home shortly and I was savoring the last few minutes of
silence, thinking about the family--considering each one-wonder-
ing what the future held.
Dan and I had been married twelve years. We were both in our
early thirties and the first seven of our eight children were born
about a year apart. The three oldest were boys, the others all girls.
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