August 8, 1951
There’s been a drought for months and Papa is getting worried. Our crops are dying, and that’s what brings in the money. Mama had to get a job as a switchboard operator… and it doesn’t pay much. Right when I come home from school, I’m in the backyard helping Papa with the vegetables.
Papa and I have been reading in the paper that the city plans on getting an irrigation system to make farming better for people. I guess that’ll make it easier to get water to the land. He keeps telling me “Son, learn the crops, you’re going to have to handle them once I’m gone.”
Papa and Mama have been sad lately. Mama used to dance to the music on the phonograph, but now it just sits in the corner. She also used to play on our wooden piano, but not anymore. Papa used to love raising his crops, but now it makes him mad. I’m almost seventeen, so once school’s done I’ll have to get a job at the general store selling cigarettes or something. Mama said she’s pregnant, so I’m gonna have a little brother or sister soon. They are worried about making enough money for when the baby comes.
I guess that’s why I’m here. To help them. I hope it rains soon. Maybe the rain will bring us happiness.