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Monday, July 29, 2013
I was not yet 5 years old and standing in the kitchen whining for something I wanted but not getting.
Mom was standing at the sink washing dishes.
Finally I had all I could stand and I said, “I hate you.”
I have no idea where I learned that word. Not in my family.
There was dead silence … no retort.
Mom was drying her hands. Now what?
She turned and walked across the kitchen and sat in a chair near me and gently drew me close and in a sweet voice said, “But I love you.”
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