Mom never went on tabloid talk shows br appearing in her underwear and cursing at our Dad br or any of his many 'Mousey' secretaries br Maybe because back then there was no 'Springer' br She would air our laundry on a clothesline br hung out to dry under blue cloudless skies br where fresh air would permeate a clean scent br into everything....no matter how conspicuous the odor br Sometimes she would get it out of her system br over a game of Canasta and mint juleps with the girls br where a more than adequate alibi for her betrayals br was the intoxicating gossip qualities of the crème de menthe..... br It was there.....hiding behind our living room sofa br where I first learned it was because of my silent nature br some of our neighbors thought I was retarded br retarded.... a perfectly appropriate word in the Fifties.... br I thought about jumping out and shouting something br but that seemed even more retarded to me at the time br So I crouched there....sometimes behind the piano br which was about all I could do with a piano br that didn't involve heart and soul or chopsticks.... br sometimes I'd hide behind Ms. Prichard's br most amble and intriguing Renaissance derrière br where a small parting of the drapes would fulfill br or soon dictate most of my adolescent fantasies br involving older women and adult alcoholic beverages.... br Ahhhh.....what good times those were.... br I was young and twice as smart as I am today..... br Now that I speak my mind.....