"My mother told me he had been sent to the Warren place," (Warren State Home and Training School, in Warren, Long Island) said Miss Gordon,
"and that he died there a few years later. I had no idea then that he was still alive."
Miss Gordon requests that anyone who has any news about her brother's whereabouts communicate with the family at their home address.
The father, Matthew Gordon, who is not living with his wife and daughter, now operates a barbershop in the Bronx.
I stared at the news story for a while, and then I turned back and looked at the picture again.
How can I describe them? I can't say I remember Rose's face.
Although the recent photograph is a clear one, I still see it through the gauze of childhood. I knew her, and I didn't know her.
Had we passed on the street, I would not have recognized her, but now, knowing she is my mother, I can make out the faint details— yes!
Thin, drawn into exaggerated lines. Sharp nose and chin. And I can almost hear her chatter and bird-screech.
Hair done up in a bun, severely. Piercing me with her dark eyes.
I want her to take me into her arms and tell me I am a good boy, and at the same time I want to turn away to avoid a slap. Her picture makes me tremble.
And Norma—thin-faced too. Features not so sharp, pretty, but very much like my mother.
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