Who Do You Think You Are?

"Who do you think you are, Miss Philadelphia?" Mom always asked Bop and Zizi.

This wouldn't have burned so much, except Mom had been Miss Philadelphia. She would tell Bop and Zizi that if they were good she just might drive them down in the Wagoneer down to Van der Kamp's The windmill frightened Zizi, and she was always certain that one of those paddles would reach down and spank her or pull her up and swing her around for circles.

Bop, however, was fascinated by it, thinking of it as a symbol of flight, like the propeller of a Pan Am clipper, and she dreamed of one day becoming a stewardess, staffing the first class section -- non-stop from New York's Idlewild Airport to Paris. The very name of the airport evoked glamor and abandon -- running both idle and wild. Bop would pull out a Fiestaware platter from the kitchen and would walk down the hall with a Dixie cup on her had and pretending that her flannel robe was a tailored blue wool uniform. "More coffee, sir? Why it would be my pleasure. And how about an almond wafer? They baked exclusively for Pan Am by Van der Kamp. What, oh, you're going to Amsterdam after Paris? How fitting."