Rompers and a Jumper

As early as April 1958, I mastered the art of getting the better of my sister. I had everything a boy could want: bangs, rompers and a striped shirt, and a jocund fleshiness that would soon go away and not reappear until 40 years had passed. Katie, as she was then known (now Kate), was justifiably chagrined at being shouldered out of prominence in the portrait by her privileged older brother. Or maybe her distress was owing to the foretaste of the plaid parochial school jumper she would have to wear until graduation from the eighth grade.



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