The Three Oopses

He left me on a hot August day in 1945. At the time, his leaving didn't concern me much. I had other more important things on my mind like 1) it's safe in here; I don't want to leave, and 2) why are people yelling "PUSH, PUSH"? and 3) why is someone pulling on my head? Then came the bright lights, my first of many spankings, and the transfer from the nurse's arms to my very sad mother's arms.

Meantime, back at my parents' apartment, my father was taking advantage of Mother being away to deliver his daughter to pack his bags and head on over to Edna's place. She was the woman he really loved, not my mother. No, Mother was an Oops, as was my older sister and me. We were the three Oopses.  "Oh, and by the way," my father said, "if we could just sweep these three oopses under the carpet and keep them a secret, that would be fine with me." And off he went to Edna's.

Meanwhile, back at my aunt and uncle's small two-bedroom apartment, they were hurriedly rearranging the furniture to accommodate the three Oopses. "It's only going to be a few months, right?" my uncle might have asked my mother's sister, Gracie, and her response, had she known, would have been, "Yes, Jimmy. Sixty months to be exact."