Betty Rohai

That’s the best spelling of her name that I can guess. I never met her. I don’t know if that is her maiden name or her married name. I only know that she was once my mom’s best friend.

The party favor from her wedding reception was a pocket mirror with a portrait of her with her tall, dark, handsome husband on the back. My mom kept it in our bathroom medicine cabinet.

When I was three and my little sister was about ten months old, my dad and his twin went for training at Fort Drum. My mom took us to stay with my godmother, Kay.

One day my mom went with my baby sister to visit her friend Betty. She left me behind.

Aunt Kay decided I needed my hair washed. My mother never let anyone touch my hair. (#1). Also the shampoos at the time were not child friendly. There were tears. Many.

Mom had a way of keeping the stinging suds out of my eyes. She was as careful as she could be.

Kay and her daughter, Betty, 13, held me over the bathtub, sprayed me down with water, and poured shampoo into my hair until it dripped into my eyes. I screamed and fought them.

I remember my mom coming home in the middle of this and stopping it while my eyes were still burning from the shampoo.

On another night, or maybe that night, Kay fixed a dinner with lima beans. I have never been able to eat lima beans. They give me a migraine. I refused to eat them. Kay said I would have to sit there until I did. I sat there for many hours. Hours later she came in and sent me to bed.

I never understood why my mom did not stand up for me that night. I was three!

I never met Betty Rohai either. I wish I had.