This cartoon is from one of Dad’s most prolific months of 1942. It reminds me of the following story. It was Christmas morning at our house on Ohio Street. As usual, we boys were beyond ourselves with excitement! We raced down the steep steps from our bedrooms that Dad had created from the attic of the old stucco, one-bedroom home. We had moved there in 1954, after my fifth- grade year in school. When my brothers and I turned the corner into the living room, my eyes shined with glee as I was greeted by the sight of a huge robot waiting under the brightly lit Christmas tree. Of course, I knew immediately that the robot was not for me. It was for my little brother. By that age, I was too "mature" for such toys! When it was turned-on, the robot's eyes lit up, its arms moved, and it traveled across the floor bumping into whatever sat in its path. My little brother was ecstatic! I was mesmerized. However, it was for a different reason. I couldn't wait to take that robot apart to find out how it worked! The problem was that it belonged to Dan, not me. I spent the rest of the day scheming how I could convince my younger sibling to let me dismantle his favorite Christmas gift.
I don't remember if I finally convinced Dan to agree, or if I just waited for the opportune time. One way or another, I managed to deconstruct that robot, and earn a strong chastisement from my mother! I didn't do it to be a mean brother, but was overcome with the need to find out how things work. My parents knew that I was always taking things apart to see how they operated. I think that may have been the only reason my life was spared!