OUT OF THIN AIR

When it came time for the famous big note, beads of sweat stood out on Dad’s brow. He held the controls. She held the note, and we held our breath. The needle on the control panel wobbled... wobbled... HELD. Everyone let out a sigh. We had won. The station was still on the air. Dad beamed, and when the soprano turned around he silently took her hand and bowed to her.

With Mother playing quiet music on the piano, Dad signed off. The crowd outside on the street applauded and slowly drifted away. The excitement was over. As soon as they were taken down off the walls, Marianne scooped up her own and Bill’s blankets and down puffs, and the two sleepy children stumbled off to bed.

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