Wake Up in the Morning
Bright
From the
preface:
"Good night, sleep tight," Etta Oakes and
her papa would say to each other. "Wake up in the morning
bright to do what's right with all your might." Etta
tried. She really did. But the year she turned eleven, it
was sometimes hard to know exactly what the right thing
to do was.
From Part
I, Mad Santa:
Suddenly Joe's icy little feet against my
leg shocked me awake. I rolled away, but the flannel sheets
were cold there.
My little brother scooched into the warm place
where I'd been. "You awake, Ettie?"
"No."
"Did Santy Claus come yet? Joe crawled
out of bed to look through my register, which opened into
the front room below. "Nobody there," he reported.
"Except Mama in her rocking chair. Maybe Santy won't
come as long as she's down there peeking."
"Maybe he won't come 'cause you're up
here peeking," I told him. I was ten, almost one of
the grownups myself now, compared to my little brother who
was only four and still believed in Santa.
"Tell me the story about the hammer
and the piano," he said, and giggled.
"It wasn't funny," I said. He giggled
again. This was how we always began that story. "Once
upon a time, there was a naughty little boy named Joe who
was two years old. Now, everyone knows Santa is supposed
to give naughty little boys a switch for Christmas. That's
so their papas can give 'em a good switching."
"But Santy made a mistake." Joe
always wanted to hurry past the switch part.