Carol J. Lysne

I was three in 1938 and sleeping in a crib in my parents’ bedroom next to my mother’s dresser. She loved her large green dresser set: mirror, brush, comb, shoehorn, nail buffer, picture frames, lamps, and two containers where she kept straight and safety pins. My mother warned me against touching the pin containers. She said the straight pins could prick my skin and make me bleed.

My mother laid me down for my nap, but I wasn’t the least bit tired. I looked around for something to do. I stood up and pulled a bit on the dresser scarf. Everything on the dresser moved toward me. 

Ahhh. I pulled a little more, and then a little more. I picked up the pieces one by one and arranged them in my crib, except for the pin containers. I placed the lamps at each end of my crib.

My mother was horrified when she came to get me and discovered me happily playing with her dresser set in my brightly lit crib. Later I overheard her telling someone how lucky it was that I left the pin containers on the dresser.  Harumph! Didn’t she know I knew better than to get myself stuck by pins?

I keep four of my mother’s dresser pieces on my dresser.