Flintstone, Georgia. January, 1956. Wedding day on Mountain View Circle, across the road from a cornfield, half a mile from the old sawmill. My mother and newly-inaugurated dad, at the brink of exchanging a safe, familiar life for an uncertain future on the other side of the planet.
The Philippines had been an independent nation for only nine years. In the news, the mountain tribes signed an agreement to end the practice of headhunting. There were things to be apprehensive about.
I was clueless. According to my brother, so was he. Mom and Dad, probably not. In those days, bravery was common.
Dad looks distracted. I wish I knew what he was thinking. At least we have the photograph and a context. It’ll have to be enough.
I write novels. Find them here.
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