When I commented on the last line of her poem, she said the memories of World War II were still in their neighborhood play. Bombs over Tokyo, and such.
We had lamented the day before that children today don't have those neighborhood gatherings. I said we played Tag, Captain May I, and Red Light, Green Light. I remembered only innocent play, but, then, I remembered one day, the neighbor boy, Billy Beckman, tied me to a tree. I was captured. He was going to scalp me.
My much younger brother saw this from afar, and picked up a rake, and came running. The Knights of the Round Table have nothing on him. He attacked the much older Billy Beckman with the rake. In his eyes, I was in danger, and, in fact, I was tied to a tree, and Billy Beckman was a bit of an unknown. He was a very serious guy. Who knows?
Anyway, my memory is that Billy Beckman went to the hospital after having his scalp opened by a rake.
I sit with that now. My brother, like you, has been incredible support for me through this, but I had forgotten his heroic rescue of me that day. I kept that full head of hair, until now, but I must admit I am coming to appreciate that I have quite a finely shaped head and a healthy looking scalp. I am glad my brother saved it for me that day.